Rest now, little one
Frank knew he was selfish. A coward. It was a fact he came to accept a long time ago. He could walk into fire a million times but still get squeamish when his old lady would ask him how he was.
So he woke to another night terror. It was the usual most days.
Key word being most.
See the days he would sit on that rooftop, or text that blessing of a woman, he found himself sleeping with no trouble.
But tonight was different.
Tonight the dream was about her.
Now it was irrational to believe that his dreams were true, but he had to check. Frank was slightly anal about these things.
—-
Frank knocked. Three short raps, sharp and deliberate.
He didn’t know why he was here. Well—he knew, but he didn’t want to say it out loud, even to himself.
The door swung open a few seconds later. Karen stood there, arms crossed, head tilted as she met his gaze. She didn’t look surprised.
“You’re back early,” she said.
Frank let out a slow breath, something like a chuckle but not quite. “Yeah.”
He didn’t know what else to say. Didn’t even know why he expected this to be different.
Karen just studied him for a moment, then took a step back, leaving the door open.
He hesitated. Then he walked inside.
The apartment smelled like vanilla and old books, familiar in a way that settled something tight in his chest. Karen closed the door behind him, locking it with the same quiet efficiency she always did.
Frank stayed near the door, unsure if he was staying or if this was just another one of those nights where he paced until his bones ached and then walked back out.
He also had a dog hidden in his jacket that was begging to come out of hiding.
Karen smiled when she saw the thing poking his head out and said,
“Cmon little one. Let’s go sit.”
She dropped the little one on the couch and he rolled into a little ball.
Karen didn’t ask any questions. She just moved to the kitchen, grabbed two glasses, and poured whiskey into both. She handed him one without a word.
Frank accepted it, staring down at the amber liquid.
“Trouble sleeping?” Karen asked.
Frank exhaled through his nose. “Something like that.”
She settled onto the couch, legs stretched out, dog on her lap, watching him with the kind of patience that made his skin itch. Not because it was unwelcome—because it was rare.
“You gonna tell me what’s on your mind,” she asked, “or do I have to guess?”
Frank huffed. “It’s nothin’.”
Karen arched a brow. “Bullshit.”
His mouth twitched—almost a smirk. Almost.
She loved to push. It was in her nature and his KNEW this. Sometimes he wanted her to pull things out of him. It gives him the leeway to say he was forced.
He doesn’t know what she saw in his eyes, but it was enough for her to know not to push. To just leave the space open for him to talk, if he wanted to.
Frank took a slow sip of his drink. It burned on the way down, but it wasn’t enough to make him forget.
Nothing ever was.
He set the glass on the table and ran a hand down his face. His fingers pressed into his eyes, like that would somehow erase the images burned into his brain.
“I had a dream,” he muttered.
Karen’s posture shifted slightly. She didn’t say anything, just let him talk.
Frank sighed. “It was them.”
He wasn’t lying. His dreams always started with his family.
This time though, they led to her.
He thinks she knows it was more than just his family. But she waited for him. She always waited for him.
“Usually, it’s just memories,” he said. “Same ones, over and over. But this one—it wasn’t real. I knew it wasn’t real.” He swallowed hard. “But it felt like it was.”
Karen set her glass down. “What happened?”
Frank flexed his fingers, jaw tightening. “They were alive.”
The words felt like gravel in his throat.
“We were in the house. Maria was making breakfast. The kids were running around, fightin’ over somethin’ stupid. It was normal.” He let out a humorless laugh. “So normal, I almost forgot.”
Karen didn’t move, didn’t speak. Just listened.
Frank stared at his hands. “Then they were gone.” His voice was quieter now. “One second, they were there. The next, they weren’t.”
The silence between them stretched.
“And then there you were.”
She heard a soft breath come from her then. Maybe she didn’t know.
“You were there in those sweats humming some tune I didn’t know. And I was happy.”
His throat felt tight. He rolled his shoulders, forcing himself to breathe. “I was so god damn happy. And I shouldn’t be. They’re gone. And I’m here and my mission…”
He felt his eyes burning,
“My mission, that’s what matters. I don’t deserve an after.”
He paused then, shaking his head and keeping his eyes trained on the dog in her lap.
He had a feeling he shocked her. She wasn’t moving, from what he could see from the corner of his eye. She didn’t even seem to be breathing.
And then Karen nodded like she understood. And maybe she did.
“So you came here,” she said.
Frank ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. “Yeah.”
Karen studied him, eyes unreadable. Then she shifted, nudging a spot on the couch. “Sit down, Frank.”
He hesitated.
Then, finally, he lowered himself onto the couch beside her.
Neither of them spoke.
Frank leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, staring at the whiskey in his hands.
He didn’t know why he said it out loud, but the words came before he could stop them.
“I want it.”
Karen turned her head slightly. “Want what?”
He clenched his jaw, staring down at the glass. “An after” He swallowed hard. “You.”
The silence between them wasn’t heavy. It wasn’t suffocating. It was just… there.
Karen leaned back against the couch, voice steady when she said, “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.”
Frank’s fingers tightened around the glass. He didn’t know how to respond to that.
She didn’t press. She just sighed, stretching her legs out. “I know you think you’re supposed to suffer. That you have to carry this alone. But that’s bullshit.” She glanced at him. “You don’t have to do this by yourself.”
Frank scoffed. Not dismissively—just out of habit.
“And you can have an after. You just have to want it more than this war.”
Frank didn’t want to think about giving up yet. He knows he needs very few things in this world:
1: Food and water
2: This war, as long as people are getting away with crimes, the Punisher would exist.
3: And Karen Page to be safe
“I’m not ready.”
She nodded at that two. She could be just pretending to understand, but Frank knew her. Karen didn’t feel the need to sensor herself to save anyone from hurt feelings. Karen was strong and brave and all the things he couldn’t pretend to be. And Karen was also honest. She didn’t lie, at least to him. They told each other the truth, no matter how many scars opened because of it.
“You will be. At some point.”
Frank rolled the glass between his hands, watching the whiskey catch the dim light. "I ain't lookin' for pity, Ma’am.”
"I know," she said. "That's not what this is."
For a long time, neither of them spoke. The city murmured outside—cars passing, the occasional shout from the street below, the hum of life continuing whether he wanted it to or not.
Karen finally sighed and stood, stretching. "You should sleep."
Frank let out a dry chuckle. "Yeah. 'Cause that worked out real well last time."
She gave him a look. Not amused, not annoyed—just steady. "You don’t have to do it alone."
Frank knew what she meant. He also knew she wouldn’t force him to stay, wouldn’t push him into anything.
But the idea of going back to that empty apartment, to the silence pressing in on all sides? That wasn’t appealing either.
So, instead of getting up and walking out the door, he let out a breath, rubbed a hand down his face, and muttered, "Yeah. Okay."
Karen didn’t smile, didn’t make a big deal out of it. She just nodded, grabbed a spare blanket from the chair, and tossed it at him. She took the dog with her, knowing he needed some space.
Frank caught it, shaking his head. "You really think this is gonna fix anything?"
"No," Karen said simply. "But it's a start."
He exhaled slowly, sinking into the couch, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. It wasn’t much. It wasn’t a solution.
But maybe, for tonight, it was enough.