The choosing
Frank came to slowly, his head pounding, the beat reminded him of the way he tapped his trigger finger. A coppery taste of blood was thick in his mouth. The cold bite of metal cut into his wrists—zip ties, too tight to wiggle out of.
Frank knew he was taken. His first instinct was to always look for ways out, how to get the fuck out.
His arms were pulled behind him, shoulders screaming in protest. Frank was always in pain though, he could deal with this. His legs were bound at the ankles, and when he shifted, pain flared up his side. Probably a broken rib or two. He was taking into account how bad his injuries were. Nothing he hasn't delt with before. Frank lived through a bullet to the head so most pain kind of blurred together at this point.
Sloppy. He’d gotten sloppy.
A sick laugh rasped out of his throat. He’d gotten too comfortable, let his guard down. Let himself believe, even for a second, that he could have something close to peace. Karen. The nights spent at his place, the sound of her voice filling the silence, the feeling of her presence—warm, real. He’d let it lull him into security. And now he was paying for it.
He was stupid because instead of worrying about getting out, he was worried about them finding her. If they already found her.
A boot connected with his ribs, knocking him onto his side. White-hot pain shot through him, but he swallowed the groan. Wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. A voice, gruff and full of amusement, broke through the haze.
“Frank Castle. The infamous Punisher, look at you now.”
Valdez.
Frank lifted his head just enough to glare through blood-matted lashes. Valdez crouched in front of him, smirking. “Gotta say, wasn’t easy catching a ghost. But even ghosts get careless when they think no one’s watching.”
Frank’s jaw clenched. He’d been stupid. And now Karen—
No. He wouldn’t let them use her. Wouldn’t even think her name in this hellhole.
"Honestly, I had no clue you were alive. Imagine my surprise when I find out the guy hunting me down is one that has been dead for 3 years."
Frank felt blood rushing to his head and a smile growing on his face, "Ghosts tend to haunt people they have unfinished business with. I have a lot of business with scum like you."
Valdez lost his smile and Frank felt himself lose consciousness as another kick came to his head.
—
Karen hadn’t slept in two days. He never called that night, or the one after that. Karen could take it as a blow-off from a guy if she wasn't quite literally living in the guy's home.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him. Not as people knew him—sharp, scowling, guarded—but as he should be. Sitting across from her, an amused smirk tugged at his lips as she ranted about Ellison’s latest editorial. His voice, low and steady, saying her name like it meant something.
There was a silent weight in the home now. She hadn't realized how much she relied on him being here. Sleeping in the room across from him made her feel safe. Comfortable. She didn't wake up to fresh flowers or a pot of coffee waiting for her. She could barely sleep anymore and even their dog (yes THEIR dog, because at this point it was their child) was growing uncomfortable at the thought of him not coming back.
Now, the apartment felt empty. Like a tomb.
She ran a hand through her hair, staring at the map of Hell’s Kitchen she’d spread over her table. Red ink marked possible locations. Circles and notes filled the margins.
Her first instinct was to call Curtis.
"I have no clue where he is. He hasn't been to group. Listen, this is Frank. He's different than he was. I'm not really in his world anymore but I'll make some calls to see what I can find."
"Thank you."
"He's my best friend, the closest ill get to one. I want him alive just as much as you do,"
She highly doubted that was true, though. Because Curtis still had a life if Frank was gone. But Karen? She needed him.
The next call was Micro.
"I looked into what I could find. I always kept extra eyes on Frank, just in case. And it seems like he's been looking in this Valdez character a little more recently. I think he took Frank. The last sign of him on any security cameras was at North ave and 6th 2 days ago at around 12 AM. He was on his usual rooftop waiting around. Nothing after that. I'm sorry."
Micro had sent her some leads after that, and she’d cross-referenced them with the information she and Frank had been gathering on Valdez. Neither had wanted to admit the obvious—Frank was in trouble—but she could hear it in their voices. The same fear coiled in her gut.
Ellison, surprisingly, hadn’t asked questions when she told him she needed time to investigate something. He just sighed and said, “Don’t make me write your obituary, Page.”
She loved Ellison a little more after that. He knew she wouldn't be safe. He knew she was going to chase the story regardless. Yet he never asked her to stop.
Foggy had been a harder sell. She begged him to get into contact with Matt “Karen, if Frank’s missing, you don’t think—”
"Stop"
"I'm just saying. He's not known for being the most cautious. And if he is dead-"
"He's not."
"But if he is, then hunting him down would bring nothing but danger your way, which is the last thing he would want."
Karen paused for a moment and then said, "I love him. And I know he’s alive.” Her voice had cracked. “I know.”
Foggy made the call a second later.
Matt knocked on Franks front door and she opened it immedietly.
There he stood, back straight and those same red glasses gudging her before he even stepped foot in the room.
"Come in"
He nodded and walked inside, taking his shoes off at the door. He looked up at the couch and said, "You have a dog."
"It's Franks. I'm just watching him. Name's lucky." It wasn't a lie. It was Franks dog. It was their dog. She had a feeling Matt could tell. But he ignored it.
"So Frank's missing."
"I was hoping for your help."
Matt nodded at that, "Okay. Why?"
Karen paused 'for a moment, looking up at him from their dining room table. "What do you mean why?"
"Why do you want my help? Why are you specifically looking for Frank Castle? Why did your heartbeat jump when I asked about the dog? And why does it skip every time I say Frank's name? Take your pick". He said, setting his cain down and sitting across from her.
"Look I didn't ask you here to be judged like a damn priest so if you won't help, just leave. You know where the door is." Karen winced at that, poor phrasing of words.
Matt smiled at that, "I am not here to judge. I just wanna know. Your smell is all over this apartment. There's 3 day old flowers on the island and you most likely haven't slept in the past 2 days."
"What's your point? Get to it."
Matt’s jaw tightened, frustration warring with something else. He exhaled sharply. “Why are you doing this?”
Karen hesitated. Swallowed. Then Matt’s head tilted, and his face changed.
Her heartbeat. It gave her away. She hated herself for it.
“Karen.” His voice was softer now, edged with something raw. “You love him.”
Her breath caught, and for a moment, she couldn’t speak. Because it was true. Of course, it was true. And now, it was hanging between them, undeniable.
"So? That has nothing to do with this."
“You’re not going.” He says up front. This is different now. Karen has something to lose and Matt knows this. He won't let her out with him.
Karen glared at him from across his living room, fists clenched. “You don’t get to tell me that.”
“Karen, this isn’t just some lead you’re chasing at the Bulletin. It’s Valdez. His men aren’t playing games.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Her voice rose. “You think I don’t understand what’s at stake? Frank is out there, and I am not sitting at home while you go play hero.”
“I can't stay here any longer. I can't function like this. I’m going with you,” she said, finality in her tone.
Matt didn’t argue after that.
—
The warehouse smelled like oil sweat and blood. Frank was slumped in the chair, head hanging low, but he wasn’t broken. Not yet. He had maybe an hour left in him before his body began to shut down. He could almost smell Karen from here. Her new favorite hobby was guessing what flowers he was going to get her and matching her perfume to them. He got her purple roses, but she only wore lavender.
Valdez stood in front of him, arms crossed. “Last chance, Castle. Who else knows? You working with the feds now?”
Frank spat blood onto the floor. “Go to hell.”
"You're so quick to want to die, its almost like you have nothing to live for."
Franks's demeanor shifted, as he thought of her. He did have something to life for. He had a girl, and a life. A million more nights on the couch with her and their dog with. a fire in the background and books on their laps. They had evening walks and coffee in the mornings. He needed to be able to kiss her again, to feel the warmth of her skin in his hands, To hold her and tell her that she was everything.
The door burst open. A blur of movement—he saw Red from the corner of his eyes and a truck pull up from behind the gate. It was his truck. Karen.
The sounds of fists meeting flesh, bodies hitting concrete. He heard Valdez's men empty their clips and yet he knew, none of them hit Red. They never did.
In a second, Karen was in front of him, hands shaking as she cut through his restraints.
"What are you doing here?"
"Stop asking me stupid questions."
He barely had time to take in her face—pale, determined, furious—before he saw it. From the corner of his eye he spotted the man firing from across the room. The bullet clipped Karen's ear before he shoved her to the ground. He looked at her face, scared and worried and something else all at once.
"You okay?" He asked.
"I've been shot." She said, touching her ear.
"Clipped. Barely a scratch, you'll live." He won't.
Something inside him snapped.
Frank rose from the floor and before the guy could get a shot off, Frank sent a punch to his jaw. Before he knew it, the guy was under him and Frank's arms were flying. He felt the warmth of the blood growing on his hands and there was a tug on his shoulder.
Karen shouted something, but the blood was roaring in Frank’s ears. They’d touched her. Laid hands on her.
He wasn’t leaving until they were all gone.
Frank looked at the figure tugging his shoulder and it was her.
"Frank we have to go."
"No."
"Frank, please. I just got you back." There was an undertone in her voice, a pleading. Asking him to choose her over this. Over the war. He felt it. He took the gun off the floor and shot a bullet into the man's skull. He was gone, nobody could have lasted a pummeling like that, but he had to do it. Had to finish something. One Batch, Two Batch, Penny, and Dime, he said to himself.
His hands were shaking. His trigger finger was aching to get the other guys attempting to run off. He was still breathing hard, still wired from the fight. Her fingers found his wrist, grounding him. “It’s over.”
And he knew at that moment, with her hands on his, that he had chosen a long time ago.
And he would choose it again.