I can follow a couple of orders
Karen hadn't slept well. Not that she expected to. The last 24 hours had been a blur of gunfire, blood, and Frank Castle barging into her life like he always did—uninvited, unavoidable, and impossible to shake.
After the shooting at her apartment, he’d all but dragged her to the safe house, grumbling the entire time about how reckless she was and how she needed to lay low. And, for once, she listened.
They were currently in a spat regarding her lack of safety. They sat on his couch, if it can even be called that, and faced each other.
Karen expected a fight. She expected violence and ruthlessness and all other things associated with the Punisher. But she should've known.
Because this isn't the Punisher, the man in front of her was all Frank.
"I don't need you to stop. I'm done asking for that. I never want you to sacrifice who you are for what I think is right. I just want you to be fucking safe Karen."
"I am being safe, Frank."
He sighed at that and moved his hand to rest on hers. Karen wasn't good at this, intimacy. She preferred the yelling. But Frank hated yelling at her almost as much as lying.
"You're not. If you were, you wouldn't be posting the story now. Or going on stakeout alone. Or not calling me."
He paused in his words. She wanted to interrupt and shut this down. Every bone in her body told her to. But she had a feeling that what he would say next was going to be important.
"I want you to call me. I want you to trust me."
"I do." She stated without hesitation. She wasn't disagreeing for the sake of it. She did trust Frank. "I trust you more than anyone."
Her heart sped up a bit and in that moment she was beyond grateful Matt wasn't here. For Karen, that was everything. Love was fleeting, but trust. Karen trusted scarcely and she has a feeling Frank knew that.
"Then I need you to trust what I'm saying is true. You consider your life less than the people you write about. I don't think you want to die. I don't think you're fighting to live either."
Karen stayed silent at that. What was she supposed to say? Frank could always read her like a book and his incapability of lying made that worse.
"I cannot lose you. I have nothing to fight for anymore. And the only thing keeping me from following my family is the idea that you, that people like you, deserve to be safe. And the scum on the streets makes that impossible."
Karen's breath hitched and Frank paused. She knew he cared, Karen could read him too. But caring and needing are different. Frank needed her. And he was being bold enough to say it.
"I'm supposed to be the talker out of the two of us."
He chuckled slightly, "I'm trying something new."
She smiled and said, "So what do you want me to do with that?"
He paused, and let his body lean a little closer to hers. She felt her head lean until their foreheads touched.
"Call me. Whenever you think about rushing into the heart of it, call me. I'll come."
And she believed him, Frank didn't lie.
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Now, she was camped out in Frank’s place, sleeping in the room he’d given her, with the dog curled up on the floor like a sentry. The dog—who she stubbornly refused to call by the ridiculous name Frank had chosen—had settled against her legs the entire night. It helped, a little.
She liked being in Frank's space, she realized.
The morning was slow. Frank barely spoke over breakfast, mostly grunting in response to her attempts at conversation. But she knew it wasn't because he was mad. The second he got his coffee, the life came back into his eyes and she saw a piece of herself in him once again.
She liked that she was starting to pick up on his moods, reading his silence like a book. He wasn’t angry. Just wary. Watching her like he expected her to run off the moment his back was turned.
She wasn’t planning to. Not yet, anyway. Last night was good, for both of them, she thinks.
Karen needed to trust him. And she did. It's just a bit harder to put that trust into action.
They sat in the apartment all day. She realized Frank's routine was a lot like hers. He went to his room to work out for a bit while she got some work done on the computer. Her Valdez story was pushed on the backburner after the shooting. Ellison texted her and said, "Never hesitate to use that speed dial ever again. That man saved your ass."
Frank came out about an hour later and sat on the couch next to her with a book in hand. She saw it was "A Clockwork Orange", fitting. She put her computer down and grabbed the only book she packed with her, "The Girl on the Train" by Paula Hawkins.
She felt her body lean more towards him and she leaned on his shoulder. She felt him tense and as she was going to pull away, he lifted his arm around her shoulder. Karen smiled softly and continued reading her book.
By the time evening rolled around, she was getting restless.
She’d spent most of the day after that either using Frank as a human pillow or combing through files on her laptop, trying to make sense of the trafficking ring that had put a target on her back. It was bigger than she thought. Too big.
And now, she and Frank had a lead. A bar, run by one of the traffickers. A place where cash and bodies changed hands, where people disappeared if they weren’t careful. T
hat was how she ended up here—standing outside a seedy dive, her arm hooked around Frank’s like they were just another couple out for a drink.
Fake dating, he’d called it, but she knew better. It wasn’t just a cover. It was a leash. His way of keeping her close, keeping her safe.
“I still don’t see why I couldn’t just go in alone,” she muttered as they stepped inside. Frank shot her a look. “Because I ain’t gonna be scraping you off the floor when things go south.”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. After their talk, she decided she would fight him a little less. If he could be bold and speak his mind, she could follow a couple of orders
Plus, he had that look on his face—the one that meant he’d already made up his mind.
The bar was packed, the air thick with cigarette smoke and bad decisions. Karen kept close to Frank, playing the role of the doting girlfriend. She let him lead, his hand firm against the small of her back as they made their way through the crowd. She hated how she liked how natural it felt.
“You see him?” she whispered. Frank didn’t answer right away, just shifted slightly so his body angled between her and the rest of the room. Protective. Always protective. “Yeah,” he said finally. “Corner booth. Guy in the leather jacket.” Karen followed his gaze. Their target.
The man who could get them closer to whoever was running this whole operation. Frank exhaled sharply. “Alright, sweetheart. Let’s put on a show.”
Before she could react, he leaned in, his lips brushing against her temple like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her breath hitched. It was just for cover, just an act—but it felt like something else, something heavier. He pulled back just enough to look at her, his expression unreadable. “You good?” She swallowed hard, nodding. “Yeah. Let’s do this.”