Coffee and you
Frank woke up before the sun. Years of training made it impossible for him to sleep past dawn, no matter how exhausted he was.
The city outside was still quiet, the streets damp from an early morning rain, reflecting the dim glow of streetlights.
For a moment, he just lay there, staring at the ceiling, listening to the soft sounds of Karen’s apartment—the faint hum of the fridge, the occasional creak of the old pipes, the steady rhythm of her breathing in the next room.
He rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling slowly. He shouldn’t be here. Staying put, getting comfortable—none of that was in the cards for him. Not anymore. But still, he didn’t move. Not yet.
His body ached in that deep, familiar way that told him he hadn’t been careful enough. The bruises, the cracked ribs—nothing he couldn’t handle. But he knew Karen had seen them. She always did. And she’d say something about it soon enough. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for that conversation.
Eventually, he pushed himself upright with a quiet grunt, wincing as his ribs protested.
The blanket she’d given him had slipped to the floor sometime during the night, and he picked it up, folding it neatly before setting it aside. It was a small thing, but it mattered. Karen gave a damn about things like that.
He stood, stretching carefully, rolling his shoulders. The apartment smelled like coffee—strong and dark. Karen was already up.
Frank found her in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a mug in her hands, her hair still tousled from sleep. She looked at him over the rim of her cup, eyes sharp but unreadable.
“You look like hell,” she said, matter-of-fact.
Frank huffed a quiet laugh, stepping forward to grab the pot and pour himself a cup. “You always this sweet in the morning?”
“Only for you.”
He glanced at her. Karen smirked, but there was something else behind it—something knowing. She took a sip of her coffee, then set the mug down with a soft clink. “You gonna tell me what happened?”
Frank didn’t answer right away. He focused on his coffee, watching the steam curl up from the surface. “You already know,” he said finally.
Karen crossed her arms. “I know there was a shootout. I know you were there. And I know you’re too damn stubborn to let me help.”
Frank let out a slow breath, then leaned back against the counter, mirroring her posture. “Nothin’ you can do, Ma’am.”
She frowned. “You don’t know that.”
Yeah, he did. But he didn’t say it. Instead, he took a sip of his coffee, let the warmth settle in his chest.
The silence stretched between them, not quite comfortable, not quite tense. Just there.
Finally, Karen sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I’m not asking you to stop, Frank. I know better than that. But you don’t have to do this alone.”
He looked at her then, really looked at her. She meant it. She always did. And that scared the hell out of him.
Frank set his coffee down and rubbed a hand over his jaw. “I should go.”
Karen’s expression didn’t change, but something in her eyes flickered. “You could stay.”
He wanted to. Christ, he wanted to. But he shook his head. “Ain’t safe.”
“For who?”
Frank didn’t have an answer for that. Or maybe he did, but he didn’t want to say it out loud. Instead, he grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair, slipping it on carefully. “Thanks for the couch.”
Karen just nodded. She didn’t try to stop him. Didn’t try to change his mind. But as he reached the door, she spoke again—quiet, steady. “Be careful.”
Frank paused, his fingers tightening around the doorknob. He didn’t turn around, but he nodded. Then he stepped out into the early morning light, letting the door close behind him.
——-
Karen sat at her desk, absently stirring a now-lukewarm cup of coffee as she stared at the open file in front of her. The words blurred together, her mind elsewhere—on Frank, on the way he had looked at her before leaving that morning. There had been something in his eyes, something she couldn't quite name. And it had unsettled her more than she cared to admit.
A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts. She looked up just as Foggy pushed his way into her office, grinning like he hadn’t just barged in uninvited. “I come bearing gifts,” he announced, holding up a bag from her favorite deli.
Karen arched a brow. “And what do you want in return?”
“Can’t a guy just bring his best friend lunch without an ulterior motive?”
She gave him a look, and Foggy sighed dramatically as he flopped down in the chair across from her. “Fine. Matt wants to get together. You, me, him—old times' sake.”
Karen’s stomach twisted. She looked down at her coffee, as if it could offer an excuse. “I don’t know, Foggy.”
“I get it.” His voice softened. “But, you know, time has passed. It doesn’t have to be weird.”
She shot him a dry look. “Matt and I haven’t spoken in months. It’s already weird.”
Foggy hesitated, then leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Look, I’m not saying you two need to be besties again, but I also don’t think avoiding each other forever is the best plan.”
Karen sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. “Fine. But if he starts with the judgy bullshit, I’m leaving.”
Foggy grinned. “Noted.”
The bar was dimly lit, the familiar scent of whiskey and old wood settling around her as Karen nursed her drink. Matt had arrived before them, sitting in their usual booth like nothing had changed. But everything had changed, and she felt the weight of it pressing against her ribs as she slid into the seat across from him.
“Karen,” Matt greeted, his voice even, careful.
She took a sip of her drink before answering. “Matt.”
Foggy cleared his throat. “So, uh, how’s work? Everyone still pretending you’re not the best reporter in the city?”
Karen snorted. “Always.”
Matt gave a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’ve been busy.”
“So have you.”
The words lingered between them, the unspoken history threading its way into the silence. Karen took another sip, letting the burn of the whiskey ground her. “So, what’s this really about?”
Matt exhaled, fingers tapping lightly against the table. “I heard about what happened last night. The shootout.”
Karen stiffened. Of course he knew. “And?”
“And I know Frank was there.”
She met his gaze head-on. “So?”
“Karen.”
She shook her head, jaw tightening. “I’m not doing this with you, Matt.”
“I just want to make sure you’re safe.”
“I can take care of myself.”
Matt’s lips pressed into a thin line. He turned his head slightly, nostrils flaring just a little, his brows furrowing. Karen frowned, realizing too late what he was doing.
“Frank’s been near you.” It wasn’t a question.
Her fingers curled around her glass. “Matt—”
“I can smell the gunpowder. His soap. The blood.” His expression darkened. “You’ve been with him.”
Foggy shifted uncomfortably. “Okay, this is getting intense—”
Karen straightened, not letting Matt’s scrutiny shake her. “So what if I have?”
Matt clenched his jaw, his fingers flexing on the table. He inhaled again, like he was trying to place something else, some other lingering trace Frank had left on her. It made her skin prickle.
“I don’t trust him.”
She let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, I don’t trust a lot of people these days either.”
Matt’s head tilted toward her, his expression unreadable behind the red glasses. “Karen—”
“I’m leaving.” She stood abruptly, pushing the glass away. “Foggy, I’ll call you later.”
Foggy sighed but didn’t try to stop her. “Yeah. Be safe, okay?”
Karen nodded once and walked out without another word.
The night air was cool against her skin as she stepped onto the sidewalk. She exhaled sharply, rubbing her temples, trying to shake off the frustration curling in her chest.
She didn’t need to turn to know he was there.
Frank was leaning against the wall a few feet away, arms crossed, watching her with that unreadable expression.
“You following me now?” she asked, voice sharper than she intended.
Frank shrugged. “Just happened to be in the area.”
She scoffed. “Right.”
He pushed off the wall, stepping closer. “Murdock in there?”
She tilted her head, studying him. “You already know he is.”
Frank nodded once, slow. His gaze flickered over her face, searching. “He give you shit?”
Karen huffed out a bitter laugh. “When does he not?”
Frank’s jaw ticked. “You good?”
Something in his voice made her pause. Not just the question, but the way he asked it. Like it wasn’t just polite concern—like he actually cared about the answer.
She let out a breath. “Yeah.”
Frank didn’t look convinced. His hand twitched slightly, like he wanted to reach for her but thought better of it. “You wanna get outta here?”
Karen hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah.”
Frank fell into step beside her as they walked down the street, the city humming around them. Neither of them spoke, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable.
Matt had sensed Frank on her. He had known, before she’d even said a word.
And Karen? She wasn’t sure what unsettled her more—the fact that Matt had figured it out, or the fact that she hadn’t cared enough to lie about it.