Still, it stings
Karen didn’t know what woke her up. Maybe it was the silence—too heavy, too unnatural in a city like this. Maybe it was instinct. Either way, her eyes snapped open, and she knew before she even glanced toward the couch that Frank was gone.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed, heart pounding as she hurried into the living room. The blanket she’d given him was neatly folded on the armrest. The pillow still had the faintest imprint of his head. But he wasn’t there.
She checked the door. Locked. No note, no message, no sound beyond the hum of the refrigerator and the stray cat scratching on her balcony doors. He’d just—left.
A frustrated breath escaped her as she rubbed at her temple. She should’ve expected it. Should’ve known that letting him in, even just for a night, didn’t mean he’d stay. Frank Castle never stayed.
But still, it stung.
She grabbed her phone and, against her better judgment, sent him a text.
You could’ve at least said goodbye.
She stared at the message for a long moment before tossing the phone onto the couch. She wasn’t expecting a response. Not really. But she still left the ringer on, just in case.
——
The first message came two days later.
You good?
She almost laughed when she saw it, shaking her head at the sheer absurdity of it. He left in the middle of the night without a word, and now he was checking in on her? Asshole.
She debated ignoring him. Instead, she typed back:
Fine. You?
His reply was quick. Yeah.
That was it. No explanation, no apology. Just Yeah.
She should’ve left it there. Instead, she sent, Don’t disappear on me again.
Frank didn’t text back that night, or the next. But then, a week later:
Stay away from Hell’s Kitchen this weekend.
Karen frowned at the message, her fingers tightening around her phone.
Why?
Just stay away.
Her stomach twisted. She could read between the lines. Something was coming. Something violent. Something that meant he wouldn’t be Frank, not for a while. Just the Punisher.
But he was still warning her. Still reaching out. As long as he did that, Frank still existed.
She exhaled slowly, then typed back:
Be careful.
A long pause. Then, finally:
Yeah. You too.
—
Over the next few weeks, their messages became routine. Short. Infrequent. But steady.
You eat today? he asked once, and she found herself glaring at her takeout container as she typed back, Yes, Dad.
His response was just a single, dry: Good.
It wasn’t much. It wasn’t enough. But it was something.
And for now, Karen would take it.
—
One night, nearly a month after he left, her phone buzzed again. This time, it wasn’t just a text.
Frank was calling her.
She stared at the screen for a moment before answering. “Frank?”
A beat of silence. Then, his voice—low, rough, but steady. “Hey.”
She didn’t know what to say. What to ask. So many things fought for space in her mind. Where are you? Are you okay? Why the hell did you leave like that?
Instead, she settled on, “You calling to check on me?”
Another pause. “Somethin’ like that.”
Her fingers curled around the phone. “Where are you?”
He exhaled, a tired sound. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Frank—”
“I just wanted to hear your voice.”
The confession caught her off guard. She had no idea what to do with it, how to respond. So she just swallowed down the lump in her throat and said, “You can’t just disappear and then do this.”
“I know.”
But he’d done it anyway. And he would do it again. They both knew that.
Silence stretched between them, the weight of unspoken things pressing down. Finally, she let out a slow breath and said, “You gonna keep calling?”
A faint chuckle. “You want me to?”
Yes. She didn’t say it, but the answer was there in the way her grip tightened around the phone. In the way her heartbeat picked up just from the sound of his voice.
“I wouldn’t pick up if I didn’t.”
Another silence. Then, softer this time: “Okay.”
She didn’t ask when. Didn’t ask how long it would be until he vanished again. She just listened to the steady sound of his breathing, grounding herself in the only thing he was willing to give her.
For now, it was enough.
“Goodnight, Frank.”
“…Goodnight, Karen.”
And then the line went dead.
—-
It was nearly midnight when she heard the knock at her door. A solid, deliberate knock. Not urgent, but not casual either.
She knew before she even checked the peephole.
Frank.
She opened the door and immediately took in the fresh bruises, the split lip, the tight way he held himself, like every movement ached. He didn’t step inside. Just stood there, hands in his jacket pockets, looking at her like he wasn’t sure if he should be here.
“Hey,” she said, keeping her voice even.
“Hey,” he echoed. A beat passed. Then another. Finally, he sighed. “Can I come in?”
She stepped aside without a word.
He moved carefully, toeing off his boots near the door before making his way to the couch like it was familiar, like it was something he could rely on. Karen followed, leaning against the wall, watching as he sat down with a quiet exhale.
“I heard about the shootout in Hell’s Kitchen,” she said. “You involved?”
He glanced at her, then down at his hands. “Yeah.”
She nodded, already knowing the answer. “Did you get what you needed?”
Frank let out a breath that could’ve been a laugh, if it weren’t so damn tired. “Not sure anymore.”
She pushed off the wall and walked toward him, her movements slow, careful. She hesitated for half a second before sitting beside him, close enough to feel the heat radiating off of him.
Frank didn’t move away.
For a long moment, they just sat there, the air thick with everything unsaid. Then, cautiously, Karen reached out, her fingers grazing the back of his hand where it rested on his knee. Just a touch. A quiet reassurance.
His fingers twitched, but he didn’t pull away.
She swallowed, her voice soft when she finally spoke. “You could stay. Just for the night.”
Frank closed his eyes briefly, exhaling through his nose. When he opened them again, there was something raw there. Something vulnerable.
But then, he shook his head. “I shouldn’t.”
Karen let her fingers slide away from his hand. “But you want to.”
His jaw tightened. “Yeah.”
She studied him, then stood. “Couch is yours if you change your mind.”
He looked at her for a long moment, then finally, finally nodded.
Karen turned, heading toward her bedroom. As she reached the doorway, she glanced back. Frank was still sitting there, staring at his hands like they held answers he wasn’t ready for.
She left the door open.
——
Karen woke to the sound of movement in the living room. Soft, deliberate. The kind of movement that came from someone who didn’t want to be heard but wasn’t trying too hard to hide it either.
She stayed still for a moment, blinking at the dim glow of her alarm clock before slowly sitting up. The faint rustling of fabric, the quiet creak of the couch—it was enough to tell her Frank was awake.
Slipping out of bed, she padded toward the doorway, careful not to make a sound. She hesitated before stepping into the living room, leaning against the frame.
Frank was sitting on the edge of the couch, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together. His shoulders were tense, his head bowed slightly. He hadn’t noticed her yet, too caught up in whatever was going through his mind.
“You always this bad at sleeping?” Karen asked softly.
His head lifted, and for a moment, his expression was open—unguarded in a way that was rare for him. But then the wall was back up, and he huffed a quiet, humorless laugh.
“Yeah. Always.”
Karen stepped forward, crossing her arms as she studied him. The bruises on his face had darkened overnight, the cut on his lip now a thin line of dried blood. He looked exhausted.
She let out a slow breath. “You wanna talk about it?”
Frank glanced at her, then away. “No.”
She nodded like she’d expected that answer, then moved toward the kitchen. She didn’t ask if he wanted anything—just grabbed two mugs and started making coffee.
Frank didn’t say anything as she worked, but she could feel his eyes on her. He was always watching, always assessing. It used to unnerve her. Now, she found it almost comforting.
By the time she set a mug in front of him, he had leaned back against the couch, legs stretched out, fingers tapping idly against his knee.
“Thanks,” he murmured as he took the cup, wrapping his hands around the warmth.
Karen sat beside him, close but not quite touching. She cradled her own mug, letting the silence settle between them.
After a while, Frank sighed. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t,” she said. It wasn’t entirely true, but it wasn’t really a lie either.
He turned the mug in his hands, watching the steam curl upward. “I don’t do this.”
Karen arched a brow. “Drink coffee?”
His lips quirked slightly, almost a smirk. “Stay.”
Something tightened in her chest, but she kept her expression even. “I know.”
Frank exhaled sharply, shaking his head like he was irritated with himself. “It’s not a good idea.”
Karen took a sip of her coffee, then set it down on the table. “You think I don’t know that?”
Frank didn’t answer.
She shifted, resting her forearms on her knees. “You keep showing up. You keep texting me. So either you’re bad at staying away, or you don’t actually want to.”
Frank’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t argue.
She reached out then, not grabbing his hand, not pushing—just letting her fingers ghost over the back of his as they rested on his knee. A slow, deliberate touch.
Frank stilled. His fingers twitched like they wanted to pull away, but he didn’t move.
“You’re here,” Karen murmured, barely above a whisper.
Frank’s eyes flicked to hers, dark and unreadable. His breath was slow, measured. Like he was waiting for something to snap.
For a second, Karen thought he might close the distance between them. Thought he might let whatever was between them take shape, become something tangible.
But then, just as quickly as it had come, the moment passed. Frank’s hand curled into a fist, breaking the contact. He set the coffee down, pushing himself to his feet.
Karen watched as he grabbed his jacket from the arm of the couch, shoulders tense. “I should go.”
She didn’t argue. Didn’t try to stop him. She just nodded, keeping her voice steady. “Okay.”
Frank hesitated, lingering by the door like there was something he wanted to say. But whatever it was, he swallowed it down.
His hand hovered over the doorknob. Then he exhaled, a quiet, almost resigned sound.
“I’ll see you,” he said, voice rough.
Karen nodded. “Yeah. You will.”
He left without another word.
The door clicked shut, and Karen let out a slow breath, sinking back onto the couch.
She knew better than to expect him to stay.
But still, it stung.