The Talk
The coffee shop was nearly empty, just the two of them and the tired barista behind the counter. It wasn’t much—rickety tables, mismatched chairs, the smell of burnt espresso lingering in the air—but it was quiet.
Karen wrapped her hands around her cup, letting the warmth seep into her fingers. Across from her, Frank sat with his arms crossed over his chest, staring down at the black coffee he hadn’t touched.
They had been sitting here for ten minutes.
Neither of them had said a word.
Karen exhaled, tapping her fingers against the ceramic. “We need to talk.”
Frank huffed, running a hand over his jaw. “Yeah.”
Neither of them moved.
Karen’s throat tightened. “What are we doing?”
Frank inhaled sharply, finally lifting his eyes to meet hers.
And there it was.
That look.
Like she was something fragile. Not weak, in fact, he never looked at her like she was weak. Instead, he looked at her like he didn’t know whether to hold on or walk away. Like he had already lost too much, and the thought of losing her, too, was too much to carry.
Karen’s chest ached.
Frank leaned forward, bracing his forearms on the table. “You tell me, Karen.”
She exhaled, shaking her head. “I don’t know.”
Frank didn’t react, just watched her.
Karen bit her lip. “I know what this feels like.”
Frank’s hands curled into loose fists. “Yeah.”
“It feels like something real.”
Frank’s jaw clenched.
“But it also feels—” She exhaled. “It feels like standing on the edge of something I don’t know if I can handle.”
Frank nodded, slow. “Yeah.”
"I need you to say something more than yeah."
Karen saw the corner of his lips lift a little before he spoke, "Okay."
She almost laughed. She didn't know what she was expecting but this makes the most sense.
Karen looked down at her coffee, her grip tightening. “I’ve been thinking a lot about why I was drawn to you.”
Frank tilted his head.
They had never talked about this. Frank knew who she was, maybe not every detail, but he knew the look in her eyes. He saw her truly and openly since the moment they met and she never needed to explain. He never asked her to explain.
Karen swallowed. “Back in New York. From the beginning.”
Frank waited. This was his time to be patient. Unlike Karen, this was something he was good at.
Karen licked her lips. “I—” She shook her head, her voice quieter now. “My brother died, Frank.”
His eyes darkened. A beat in his heart jumped a bit, not by much though. He knew who she was, he knew she had lost family. Rarely anyone called to check on her when they were out together, outside of Red that one time.
She didn't have any pictures of people in her apartment and whenever family was brought up, it was always his, never hers. He knew. But he didn't push. That wasn't his style.
She let out a humorless laugh. “Not the same way as your family. Not even close. But it was my fault.”
Frank frowned, but Karen didn’t stop.
She lifted her gaze. “And when I met you… I saw myself.”
Frank’s breath hitched.
Karen leaned forward. “If I could find you innocent, if I could believe that you weren’t just the things you’d done, then maybe…” She trailed off, looking down at her hands.
Frank’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Maybe you weren’t just the things you’d done either.”
Karen nodded.
Frank’s throat bobbed.
He didn't know that. He figured that Karen wanted justice for his family in the ways she wanted justice for hers. It was a simple assumption but a false one. She didn't relate to his family, she related to him. And that hurt him.
He didn't like the person he was most of the time. The only times he tolerated himself was in her presence. And seeing herself the same way he saw himself is the last thing he would ever want.
Silence hung between them.
Then—
Frank sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “I got a lot of blood on my hands, Karen.”
She looked at him, something sharp in her chest.
He held her gaze. “You saw me. You saw this—” He gestured vaguely at himself. “And you still came back.”
She would always come back. She didn't say that though.
Karen inhaled shakily. “I could say the same for you.”
Frank’s lips pressed into a thin line.
Karen exhaled. “You never looked at me like I was broken. You didn't lie to me. That means something.”
Frank let out a short, humorless laugh. “Takes one to know one.”
Karen smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
Frank leaned back in his chair, tilting his head up to stare at the ceiling. “I wake up every day thinking about them.”
Karen swallowed.
“My wife. My kids.” His voice was quiet, raw. “Some days, I can hear ‘em. Laughing. Calling my name. I can almost see my baby girl-” His voice cracked on the sentence. A lump formed in his throat and a pained grimace contorted his features.
His voice cracked.
A lump formed in his throat, and his face twisted, jaw clenching like he could fight the grief back down. Like it wasn’t curling its fingers around his ribs and pulling, pulling, pulling—
Karen’s hand found his.
She didn’t speak. Didn’t tell him it was okay or that he didn’t have to say more.
Because she wanted him to say more.
Frank swallowed hard, exhaling shakily. “And then I open my eyes, and it’s just me.”
Karen closed her eyes for half a second before looking at him again.
Frank shook his head, his grip tightening around hers. “I don’t think I’m ever gonna stop missing them.”
Karen’s voice was soft but steady. “You shouldn’t.”
Frank looked up at her then, something cautious in his expression.
Karen met his gaze without hesitation. “You loved them, Frank. You love them. That’s never gonna change. And I wouldn’t want it to.”
Frank’s throat bobbed.
Karen’s grip on his hand tightened. “I want to know them.”
Frank exhaled slowly, his shoulders dropping just a fraction.
Karen tilted her head, her voice almost a whisper. “Whenever you are ready, I would love to know your family Frank. They should like beautiful people."
And in that moment, Frank had never wanted Karen Page more. He wanted to cry, for the first time in a long time. He knew she would want to know about his life before, their feelings for each other were quite visible now. But to hear her want to know them. The loves of his life. My god.
He wasn't letting her go. But they weren't done.
Frank’s throat worked. “I'm still grieving, and I don't know if I'll ever be done grieving. I don’t know what that means for this.”
Karen let out a shaky breath. “Me neither.”
Frank held her gaze. “I feel something for you, Karen.”
Her heart skipped.
Frank inhaled. “It’s not the same as what I had with her. And it’s not supposed to be.”
Karen nodded.
Frank rubbed a hand over his mouth. “But I ain’t ever felt like this before.”
Karen’s breath caught.
Frank met her eyes. “I lost everything. And I never thought…” He trailed off, exhaling sharply. “I never thought I’d have something worth losing again.”
Karen’s chest ached.
Frank huffed a small, humorless laugh. “But then there’s you.”
Karen let out a slow breath.
She searched his face, and for once, he wasn’t hiding from her.
Frank Castle—the man, not the soldier, not the killer—was looking at her like she was something that mattered.
Karen swallowed.
“I can live without you,” she said.
Frank stiffened.
Karen’s voice softened. “I always survive, Frank.”
Frank’s jaw clenched.
“But I don’t want to.”
Frank inhaled sharply, his hands flexing on the table.
Karen let out a shaky breath. “I want this.”
Frank held her gaze.
Karen shook her head. “But we both know—”
Frank cut her off. “Don’t.”
Karen blinked.
Frank exhaled. “Don’t give me some speech about how this isn’t healthy. How we shouldn’t.” He leaned forward. “You and me? We’re the only thing that is.”
Karen’s heart pounded.
"You gave me something to live for, a reason to stop fighting for death and start wanting a life. I would never lie to you. If I thought for a second that a relationship with me would cause you harm, I would leave your life and never return. But me and you, we're in a different place than a year ago. I'm not the Punisher. Hell, I'm not even really Frank Castle. But the one thing I do know is that this is worth trying for."
Frank’s voice dropped. “So you tell me, Karen.”
Karen swallowed.
She reached across the table, hesitating for only a second before she slid her hand into his.
Frank’s fingers curled around hers, solid and steady.
She met his eyes.
And for the first time in a long, long time, neither of them looked away.