She's corrupting you!
Karen’s heart was still hammering in her chest as they moved through the bar, Frank’s touch burning against her back despite the cool air. She hated this. Hated how easy it was to fall into this act, how natural it felt to play his girl when there was no audience watching.
Because it wasn’t an act. Not really.
Frank’s eyes were sharp, scanning the room with the quiet intensity that always sent a chill down her spine. He was in his element here—dark corners, dangerous men, the unspoken threat of violence humming beneath the surface. And yet, his focus never strayed far from her. His hand lingered, his movements slow and deliberate, making sure she was within arm’s reach at all times.
Karen swallowed hard, forcing herself to focus on the target. The man in the leather jacket was nursing a beer, his fingers tapping absently against the glass as he listened to the conversation around him. He looked relaxed. Unbothered. He had no idea that, within minutes, Frank Castle would make him very, very uncomfortable.
She leaned into Frank slightly, playing the role she needed to. “How do you wanna do this?” she murmured.
His response was immediate. “You let me do the talking. You sit there, look pretty, and back me up if I need it.”
She bristled at that, but before she could fire back, his fingers pressed lightly against her hip. Not a warning, not a demand—just an anchor. A reminder that this wasn’t about pride. It was about safety. And as much as it stung, she let it go.
They moved toward the booth, Frank leading with the kind of presence that made people clear the way without realizing they were doing it. Karen slid into the seat across from their mark, Frank settling in beside her like he’d done it a hundred times before.
The man barely looked up. “I don’t do business with strangers.”
Frank let out a low, humorless chuckle. “Lucky for you, I ain’t a stranger. And we ain’t here to do business. Just a friendly chat.”
The man glanced between them, suspicion creeping into his eyes. “I know who you are.”
Frank didn’t react, didn’t even blink. “Then you know I don’t waste my time.”
Karen watched as something shifted in the man’s expression. A flicker of recognition, then fear. Just a hint of it, but enough. He leaned back slightly, setting his drink down with deliberate care. “What do you want?”
She spoke before Frank could. “Names. Connections. We know you’re moving girls. We know you’re not the top dog. But you know who is.”
The man’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I don’t know shit.”
Frank moved then, so fast Karen barely caught it—one second he was sitting back, the next his hand was fisting in the man’s collar, dragging him forward across the table. Glass clattered, silverware rattled, but no one turned to look. Not in a place like this.
“Try again,” Frank said, voice low, almost gentle.
The man’s breath hitched. His fingers scrambled at Frank’s wrist, his pulse hammering visibly in his throat. “Alright, alright—Jesus—” He swallowed hard, darting a glance at Karen. “There’s a guy. Calls himself Mercer. Runs things outta a warehouse on 12th. That’s all I got, I swear.”
Frank held him there a moment longer, like he was weighing the truth in his words. Then, finally, he let go, shoving the guy back into his seat with a force that sent him skidding. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”
The man glared, rubbing at his throat. “You two are fucking insane.”
Karen just smiled. “Yeah. We get that a lot.”
They left the bar without another word, slipping back into the night like they’d never been there. The moment they were a safe distance away, Karen turned to Frank, still feeling the phantom weight of his hand against her back, his lips against her temple.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said, voice softer than she meant it to be.
Frank looked at her then, really looked at her. And for the first time, he didn’t deflect, didn’t crack a joke or brush it off. Instead, he reached out, brushing his fingers against hers, tentative but deliberate. “Yeah,” he said. “I did.”
And Karen knew, without a doubt, that he wasn’t talking about the guy in the bar.
—————
The act went off without a hitch—at least on the surface. Karen played the part well, hanging off Frank’s arm, laughing at the right moments, and leaning in just enough to make it look real. But her mind was elsewhere. On the way his hand stayed firm at her back, like he was afraid to let her go. On the way he looked at her—like he wasn’t sure where the act ended and where something else began.
They got what they came for. A name. An address. A lead that would bring her closer to the truth. Closer to danger, if she was being honest. And Frank knew it, too.
He was quiet on the drive back. His grip on the steering wheel was too tight, his jaw locked in that way that meant he was thinking too much and feeling even more. Karen let him stew in it for a while, watching the city lights blur past, before she finally spoke.
“You gonna sit in silence all night?”
Frank exhaled through his nose, glancing at her before turning his eyes back to the road. “Ain’t got much to say.”
That was a lie. Karen could always tell when he was holding back. She didn’t press—yet.
Back at the apartment, the tension still hung thick between them. Frank disappeared into the kitchen, grabbing two beers from the fridge, and handed her one. They sat on the couch, the only sound between them the low hum of the city outside.
Karen took a sip, watching him. Waiting. When he didn’t speak, she sighed. “You gonna tell me what’s eating you, or do I have to guess?”
Frank scoffed. “You don’t let up, do you?”
“Not when it matters.”
He was quiet for a long moment, fingers tapping against his bottle. Then, finally, he sighed. “I just—” He stopped, shaking his head. “You scared me tonight.”
Karen blinked, caught off guard by the honesty. “Scared you?”
Frank leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it held all the answers. “You walk into places like that like you got nothing to lose. Like you’re untouchable. And you’re not, Karen. You’re—” He cut himself off, exhaling sharply. “I can’t lose you.”
Her throat tightened. It wasn’t the first time he’d said it, but it felt different now. More raw. More real. She set her beer down and turned to face him fully. “I know what I’m doing, Frank.”
“Do you?” His voice was low, rough. He finally looked at her, and for once, he didn’t look angry. Just tired. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re running toward a fight you don’t have to take.”
She held his gaze. “I don’t run, Frank. You know that.”
He swallowed hard. “Yeah. I do.”
A beat of silence stretched between them. Then, carefully, Karen reached out, resting a hand over his. He tensed but didn’t pull away.
“I know you think you have to do this alone,” she said softly. “But you don’t.”
Frank let out a shaky breath, his fingers curling around hers. When he spoke, his voice was quieter. “Yeah. Okay.”
It wasn’t much. But for Frank, it was everything.
Karen squeezed his hand. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”
Frank didn’t respond—not with words, anyway. But when he lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a quiet, lingering kiss to her knuckles, she knew he believed her.
For tonight, that was enough.
The phone rang twice before Karen picked up. “Foggy?”
“Karen! Jesus, are you okay? I just heard about the shooting—at your place? Are you hurt?” His voice was high with worry, fast-talking, and frantic.
“I’m fine,” she assured him, glancing at Frank, who was sitting across the couch from her, arms crossed, watching her reaction. “It’s…complicated, but I’m safe.”
“Complicated?” Foggy echoed, incredulous. “Someone shot up your apartment! How is that complicated?”
Karen sighed. “Just come over. I’ll explain.”
There was a pause, then: “Come over where?”
She hesitated, glancing at Frank. He rolled his eyes and muttered, “Just tell him.”
“…Frank’s.”
A longer pause. Then, with utter disbelief, “You’re at Frank Castle’s house?”
“Foggy—”
“I’m on my way.”
The line went dead.
Karen exhaled, setting the phone down. Frank gave her a look. “Told you he’d freak out.”
“Yeah, well,” she muttered, rubbing her temples. “Better he freak out here than out there.”
Not twenty minutes later, there was a knock at the door, and when Karen opened it, Foggy was standing there, slightly out of breath, eyes darting around like he expected an ambush.
Frank, from the couch, waved a lazy hand. “Relax, Nelson. No one’s gonna shoot you.”
Foggy’s eyes landed on him. Then on Karen. Then back on Frank. Then at the beer in Frank’s hand. Then at Karen, wearing what was very obviously one of Frank’s sweatshirts.
“…What the hell am I looking at?”
Karen sighed and stepped aside. “Come in, Foggy.”
He did, albeit stiffly, still eyeing Frank like he was some kind of cryptid. “So, just to be clear, I had a normal day, got some dinner, turned on the news, and saw that my friend’s apartment was turned into Swiss cheese. And now she’s here, playing house with the Punisher?”
Frank snorted. “Yeah, ‘cause I’m real good at domestic bliss.”
Foggy blinked. “You just—made a joke. A real joke. I don’t know how to process that.”
Karen rolled her eyes. “Foggy, sit down.”
He did, albeit still wary, and Karen launched into an explanation—everything she could tell him without breaking Frank’s trust. Foggy listened, frowning, but as the conversation stretched on, some of the tension in his shoulders eased.
At some point, Frank tossed him a beer. Foggy caught it, looking surprised. “You drink?”
Frank raised a brow. “What kinda question is that?”
“I don’t know, you seem like the type to drink, like…gun oil.”
Frank smirked. “Only on Sundays.”
Karen snorted, and Foggy gave her a wide-eyed look. “Oh my God, he’s corrupting you.”
“She was already gone, Nelson,” Frank deadpanned.
Foggy shook his head, amused despite himself. Then he turned back to Karen, a little more serious now. “I miss you.”
Her throat tightened. “I miss you, too.”
There was a pause before Foggy nodded, voice softer. “Then let’s fix that.”
Karen smiled, reaching over to squeeze his hand. “Yeah. Let’s.”
Frank, watching the whole exchange, took a long sip of his beer. “So this is what friendship looks like.”
Foggy shot him a look. “Yeah, Castle. Try it sometime.”