Shes a hell of a lot braver
Karen exhaled sharply, her pulse drumming in her ears as Frank’s words settled between them.
You aren’t a murderer. You’re a victim.
She wanted to believe him. Maybe some part of her even did. But the weight of what she had done clung to her like the scent of gunpowder and blood. It wasn’t something that could be washed away so easily.
Frank had gone quiet. His jaw was tight, the muscle ticking as he stared at the table, at the empty takeout containers between them. Karen hated the silence. It made the words she didn’t want to think about feel heavier, made them echo too loudly in her own head.
She reached for her drink at the same time he did, their hands brushing. It was a brief, fleeting touch, but she felt it—how warm his skin was, the callouses rough against the back of her knuckles. Frank pulled back first, curling his fingers into a fist, like he hadn’t meant to reach for anything at all.
Karen licked her lips, trying to steady herself. “Is that really why you stayed away?” she asked, voice quieter now. “Because I said you were dead to me?”
Frank exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “Didn’t think you wanted me around,” he admitted. “Didn’t think I had the right to be.”
Karen studied him, her chest tightening. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”
His eyes flicked up to hers, dark and unreadable. It was unfair how he could do that, how he could make her feel like he was stripping her down to something raw with just a look.
Frank nodded once, but he didn’t say anything, and that silence felt worse than any argument would have.
Karen leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “So, what now? You crash here for the night, and then what? You disappear again?”
Frank’s jaw tightened. “Ain’t planning on disappearing,” he said.
“Yeah?” She raised a brow, challenging. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”
Frank didn’t argue. He just stood, collecting their empty containers and stacking them neatly. It was almost comical—the Punisher, clearing a table like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Karen watched him, and before she could stop herself, she reached out. Not far, just enough that the back of her fingers brushed his wrist. It was the lightest touch, one she could pretend hadn’t happened if he pulled away.
But he didn’t.
He stilled under her touch, the muscle in his forearm tensing, but he didn’t move. Karen swallowed, her fingers curling slightly against his skin before she let her hand fall away.
“Get some sleep, Frank,” she murmured. “We’ll see what happens tomorrow.”
Frank gave a small nod. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”
But he didn’t move right away. Neither did she. They just stood there, caught in something neither of them was ready to name.
Then, finally, he turned, taking the empty containers to the kitchen. And Karen sat there, staring at the spot where his wrist had been under her fingers, wondering when exactly she had started holding her breath.
Frank was never a man of many words, but right now, in the dim glow of her apartment, he was practically a statue— carrying something heavy in the way his breath came too slow, too controlled.
She should let it drop. Let the conversation die, let them eat in peace. He would have, but she’s a lot more brave. Karen had never been good at leaving things alone.
“You’re not going to hurt me.” Her voice was quiet, but firm.
Frank let out a slow breath through his nose. “You don’t know that.”
Karen tilted her head, searching his face for the lie he wanted to believe. “Yeah, I do.”
Something in his expression shifted. His jaw tightened, his trigger finger tapping away. But then, instead of retreating into himself like she half-expected, he reached for one of the takeout containers. He didn’t say anything, didn’t argue. Just started eating again like the conversation had never happened.
She let him have the silence for a while. Let him pick through his food like he wasn’t really tasting any of it. But she wasn’t done. Not yet.
“You never answered me.” She reached for another dumpling, not looking at him this time. “Why didn’t you come see me?”
Frank set his fork down carefully, deliberately. He sighed, and for the first time since he’d stepped into her apartment, she saw him falter. “You think I wanted to stay away?”
“I don’t know.”
“I did it for you.”
Karen scoffed, shaking her head. “That’s the worst excuse I’ve ever heard.”
Frank’s gaze snapped to hers, something flashing behind his eyes. “You think I wanted to? You think I don’t—” He cut himself off, exhaling sharply. “You got a life, Karen. A real one. A good one. You don’t need me dragging it down.”
She swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat. “That’s not your choice to make.”
Frank looked at her then, really looked at her. And for a moment, just a moment, Karen thought he might say something real, something raw. But instead, he dropped his gaze, shaking his head slightly. “It is what it is.”
She exhaled heavily, rubbing a hand over her face. “You’re impossible.”
He huffed something that could almost pass for a laugh. “So I’ve been told.”
A comfortable silence settled between them, the weight of everything unsaid hanging in the air.
Eventually, she stood to clear the table, but before she could stack the containers, Frank reached out, his fingers just barely grazing the back of her hand as he took them from her. “I got it.”
She blinked at him, caught off guard by the way his voice had softened. By the way his touch lingered for just a second longer than necessary.
“Okay,” she said quietly, watching as he gathered the leftovers and moved toward the kitchen. She should’ve walked away then. Should’ve let the night wind down and let things settle into something normal. But instead, she followed him, leaning against the counter as he set the containers in the fridge.
“You staying here all night?” she asked, even though she already knew the answer.
Frank closed the fridge and leaned against the counter across from her, mirroring her stance. “Yeah.”
She nodded, pushing her hands into the pockets of her sweater. “Good.”
A flicker of something passed over his face, something too quick for her to name. But then he pushed off the counter and headed toward the couch.
“Night, Ma’am.”
She swallowed hard. “Night, Frank.”