Coming back to New York is risky. Even with the beard, people here know the Punisher’s face. It had been plastered all over the city. Sure, he’d been on the news around the country, but he was in these people’s back yard and his face is still surely burned into their brains.
But then that same city had shook and he kept hearing pieces of stories that had him heading closer and closer to home. First it was the quake. Then news of Karen Page and others being held at the precinct. Underground word of some ninja assassin chick. Oh, and Matthew Murdock being kidnapped right under the police station’s nose by some powered vigilantes. He had been crossing the city’s border when the explosion rocked downtown. Got to a rooftop with his scope in time to see the ambulances driving away.
He goes by her place that night, hiding in the shadows as Nelson walks Karen to her door, their eyes both red-rimmed and defeated. He thinks about going in, getting the details or just being there for her, somehow. But he is no good at the latter and she doesn’t look in any shape for the former.
“He’s not dead, Foggy,” she had whispered once they had gotten out of the taxi. “He’s not.”
“Karen,” the man’s voice is raw as they reach the door, “Luke, the others, they said he was down there. A whole building - he - I -”
“Matt’s survived worse,” she argues.
“Has he?” Foggy chokes.
“But he was in the suit, right? You said you gave him the suit.”
“I wish I hadn’t. I wish I’d burned it.” Guilt wrapped in anger and grief coats the words.
“But if he was in the suit. It could’ve given him some protection, you know?”
“Not from a bomb.”
“Daredevil survived buildings on fire, gunshots - I mean, didn’t you tell me that Frank Castle shot him in the head?”
Frank frowns.
“I mean, Foggy,” she clutches at his jacket, “this is Matt we’re talking about, right? Matt. He didn’t survive everything, all the shit that he - and we - went through, just for him to die like this.”
Foggy looks like he is going to say something more but then just wraps his arms around his friend. It’s a long time before they part and Frank lowers his gaze, feeling as though he is intruding.
“I really don’t think you should be alone tonight,” Foggy sighs.
“It’s okay,” Karen shakes her head. “I need to be.”
“I’ll come by first thing in the morning, okay?” Nelson squeezes her shoulders, offering one last embrace.
“They’ll find him,” Karen nods. “They will.”
“Yeah, Foggy’s reply is quiet and quivers.
The cab hasn’t even pulled away before Frank is off, heading back toward the explosion. It’s late and dark. The rescue team, if they even deployed one, might wait until first light. And if Matt Murdock is stubborn enough like Frank suspects to still be alive, he might not have long.
There are few options. Either Matt is just a body, buried under that building, or maybe, he is alive down there. Stuck in some air pocket or trapped. Frank can’t help with that. The dig team will find the vigilante eventually if he is.
If.
It doesn’t take the veteran long to piece together a vague outline of the events from police chatter and some old fashioned eavesdropping. Out of his options, Jessica Jones seems like the least likely to give him a headache, or try to fight him. It only takes a few internet searches to figure out that Harlem’s Hero is just as morally annoying as Murdock and that Danny Rand is essentially a child.
He gets to her apartment before she does. Has plenty of time to study the bullet holes decorating the wall, find the leftover blood in the wood grooves of the floor that someone missed. He snoops until he is bored and then he settles in to wait. Jones is probably stuck still answering useless questions from the police. Too bad Murdock isn’t there to -
Footsteps clatter down the hallway. Heavy boots and high heels. He listens as the key sticks in the lock.
“Damn it.”
“Jess, are you sure you don’t want to stay with me or I can spend the night with you?”
“I don’t need a damn babysitter, Trish.”
“I’m not - I know you don’t. I just want you to let me be there for you, for once.”
“I don’t need anyone to be ‘there for me’, okay? Shit happened. Shit always happens.”
There is a long pause. A stand-off.
“Did the cops -”
“Uh, Murdock’s friend, Nelson, he’s handling it. For all of us, I guess.”
Frank lifts his brow. Small damn world. He remembers Nelson from his own trial. The guy was good, even if Frank did tank the thing. But he didn’t think the lawyer was “get vigilantes suspected of terrorism to walk free” good.
“What?”
“Yeah,” she huffs. “Guy lost his best friend. Was still in shock, I think, when they started in on us. You saw that part.”
“I saw them drag you all out of that room, away from the rest of us. I threatened -”
“Oh, I heard.” It sounds like a laugh. “And then Nelson just bursts in, just like Murdock did, with me, before - the guy just goes off, Trish. A bunch of lawyer mumbo-jumbo and five minutes later, we’re being let go. He wouldn’t talk to any of us afterward. Just said he’d ‘take care of it’. God, I think it hurt just to look at us.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“Doesn’t change the fact that we’re alive, and Murdock isn’t.” A heavy sigh. “Look, I just need a drink and some sleep, okay? I’ll call you tomorrow.”
She tries the lock again, grunting about someone named Malcolm. With a curse, an arm reaches in through the makeshift cardboard window and flips the lock, shoving the door open.
“You better.”
The women embrace, muttering their goodbyes before the brunette lingers in the doorway for a long moment, staring off as the heels grow quieter. Throwing her head back, she turns around, and then promptly raises her fists.
“The fuck did you come from?”
“You should really lock your windows.” Frank replies casually.
“Next time, try the door. It’s only broken open like every other goddamn week. You some straggler from The Hand?” She narrows her gaze. “‘Cause if you came looking for revenge or some stupid shit, this isn’t gonna end well for you, buddy.”
“The what?”
Jessica side-steps over to the light switch, slamming it on and thrusting the dark apartment into harsh light that makes her squint.
“No fucking way.”
“Good, you know who I am. Speeds things up.”
“Yeah, of course I know who you are. Every goddamn person in this city knows who you are, idiot. Aren’t you dead?”
“Depends who you ask.”
“God this has been such a long week.” She grumbles. “What the hell do you want?”
“Information,” he states plainly. “Details of what went down earlier.”
“Why?”
“Professional curiosity,” he grunts.
“Try again, asshole,” she crosses her arms.
“Me and Murdock,” he sighs, “we got history.”
“History?” She snorts. “From what I heard, the two of you tried to kill each other, more than once.”
“Never said I liked the guy.” Frank shrugged. “And if you know Red, then you know he was never trying to kill me.”
“And what about you?” She looks him up and down in a way that makes him feel like he’s no longer wearing his body armor.
“Nah,” he says after a long moment. “Rang his bell, that’s for damn sure, but never was gonna kill the altar boy. I only kill people who deserve it,” he leans forward, “like you.”
Her arms drop to her side and her gaze is solid now, hard and heavy.
“Don’t talk about shit you know nothing about.” She walks over to the desk, gripping the neck of a bottle hard enough that the glass starts to crack. “And I don’t make murder a regular part of my job, unlike some.”
“If I wanted to debate my methods, I’d talk to Red,” Frank huffs, “but seems I can’t do that no more, huh? Wanna tell me why that is?”
“Not really.” She takes a swig.
“Too damn bad.” He leans back.
“Look, I haven’t slept or showered or changed my damn clothes in days. My apartment was still a crime scene until this morning. My sister had to pay people to come clean brains off of my wall while I was waiting around, locked up in a police station as a suspect for domestic terrorism, which, technically, I’m still a suspect of. The only reason that I’m not sitting in a cell right now is because my lawyer apparently has the biggest balls I’ve ever seen and his firm has a lot of pull with the police. Not to mention the fact that I just faced off against goddamn supervillains and helped blow up a building. I am not exactly in a talking mood.”
“That sure was a lot of talking,” he grins and then frowns. “You’ve been through the shit, I get it. Just tell me what I want to know, and you’ll never see me again.”
Jessica stalks around her office, eyeing him, until she leans against her desk with a odd sort of look about her.
“Why do you really wanna know?”
“These shitbags that you went up against, they targeted someone I care about. Last time, Red saved her. I mean, he did have a little help from yours truly, but,” he grunts and then sighs, “the point is, if Red is dead, then he ain’t around to protect her from them no more.”
“We blew them up.”
“You came in here, you asked me if I was a straggler from, what did you call them, The Hand? That means you didn’t take all of ‘em out, huh.”
“We cut off the heads, or well,” she tilts her head, “blew them off.”
“And what? Just like that, you think all of their loyal fucking followers are just gonna run home and hide? Go find honest work? Shit. How stupid are you?”
“Hey, asshole,” Jessica straightens, “I didn’t sign up for any of this bullshit. I wanted to crack my damn case, that’s all. Then I got roped into the Avengers B-team movie from hell. I am done with all of it. We saved the whole goddamn city. Isn’t that enough?”
“I’m not asking you to suit up,” Frank huffs. “I’m just asking for information. That’s it. You don’t want to see this through? Fine. I don’t give two shits what you do. Huh, you ‘didn’t sign up for this’? None of us sign up for this, sweetheart.”
“Don’t call me sweetheart,” Jessica clenches her fists.
“You didn’t run from it either, did you?”
“I finished the job. The end.”
“The job ain’t finished with you.”
“Too bad.” Jessica takes a swig and then slams her drink down. “It doesn’t get a say.”
“Neither does anyone who gets hurt by these assholes who were left to go free. You know what happens now? The ones that don’t stay? They’ll find other godforsaken causes to cling to because it’s all they know, right. Gangs, cults, organized crime, it don’t matter. They’ll find some other way to spread their shit. The ones that do stay, though? It’ll be a damn power grab. An all out goddamn war between whoever wants to take the place of the heads you blew off. And you can fucking bet innocent people are gonna get caught in the crossfire. And maybe not just random people. Maybe someone gets it in their head that the way they can prove themselves, rise to the top, see, is to take out those people that took out their generals. They’ll come for you, all of you, and anyone you care about, just like they did before. Only this time, they’ll be sloppy. Too eager. And see, that’s dangerous. I can’t allow that.” He pauses, lowering his gaze from hers. “I can’t allow her to be hurt by them. Not again. Not if Red ain’t - I just can’t, okay?”
She studies him for a long while, staring at the man the city branded The Punisher. The man who never would’ve hesitated about blowing that building and killing those people. The man who won’t hesitate to kill whoever is left. She should feel bad about that. She should feel sick. Her words have the power to aim this man and pull him like a trigger and she shouldn’t want that. Luke wouldn’t. Danny definitely not. Matt, Matt -
“Fine.”
Jessica lowers herself into a chair and starts from the beginning. From the crazy chick with the sword to finding out she was Murdock’s ex to building plans hidden in pianos and all the way to the bombs going off and burying their enemies, and their friend. To Frank Castle’s credit, he doesn’t interrupt or ask any questions, not once. Until she’s good and done and opening a new bottle of whiskey.
“The architect’s plans,” he finally grumbles and he can tell it catches her off guard, not what she had expected him to start with. “Still got ‘em?”
“Uh, no,” she sighs, digging in her jeans, “but I got pictures.”
She hands over the phone with the shots pulled up.
“Cops gave this back to you?”
“Swiped it,” she shrugs and he smiles.
He forwards the pictures to his burner phone and then deletes the send history from hers
“Smart,” she says as he hands it back, “but I could still figure it out.”
“Sure. It’ll be trashed by tomorrow anyway.”
“What do you want with those anyway?”
“Can you pull up city plans around the building?” He gestures to her computer. “Underground shit, like sewer system and stuff?”
“Probably,” she shrugs and opens the laptop. “I ask again, why?”
Frank tucks the phone in his pocket and comes around to watch her work.
“Because,” he picks up her bottle of whiskey and takes a swig, “I’m not just looking for the stragglers.”