Group ends at seven, and after helping put up every chair, finishing off the coffee, and shyly denying an invitation to join Curtis and his brother for Thanksgiving, Frank is standing outside the church with only one place to go. He feels his trigger fingers start to twitch in anticipation. He’s not so sure what a good idea it is for him, right after dismantling barriers he’s had set up for decades in a church basement, to go to the one person who sees through it all with one look. He is sure, however, that he can’t not see her anymore. He can’t pull the shit that he pulled last time, disappearing for months on end. As hard as it is for him to understand this, she wanted him to be in her life. If there was one thing Frank had learned, it was that you can’t always choose when you leave someone, so if you’ve got the choice, sometimes you gotta stay. There was a time when she had extended him that privilege. A time where she stayed, against any sane person’s proper judgment, so he figures he owes her that, as long as it’s what she wants. He also has to take into terms that it’s what he wants too. Accepting that now, in this second, third, or fourth life, there are people who he could not live without, was harder than it seemed.
He thinks about all of that deep shit on a loop as he buys some flowers from a streetside vendor, and as he continues the walk to her apartment. He also plays out the varying scenarios of how this reunion could possibly enact.
There was the very real chance that she wouldn’t even be home. Although she’s never mentioned as much, she could have a big ol’ family that was all sitting round a table splitting a wishbone and playing a board game. Or she could be with her friends, at that dive bar they talked about during the trial. Or the three of them could all be in her apartment feasting away and the second she opened the door Murdock would toss a metal fucking pipe at his head and knock Frank out clean.
Alternatively, she could answer the door and just slam it in his face. She had more than enough reasons to. Varying from using her as bait, smashing her car in two, the destruction of her previous job at a law firm, all the way to inspiring a kid to try and blow her and many others up. If she had any sense she’d plug him the second she saw him.
But then something in the back of his mind starts to flare up. Something with Karen’s voice reminds him that she told him point blank that she wanted to see him again at the waterfront. That she wanted him to have an after. The voice brings back the way their breaths had mingled in the elevator, the feeling of her forehead against his. The way she had told him to go on, because somehow she knew he wouldn’t have been strong enough to leave that moment. It’s that voice that has propelled him all they way to her apartment’s front door, but it’s seemingly not strong enough to will him to step forward. Not to mention his fantasies are spoiled by the fact that her apartment has an intercom that requires being buzzed in from the inside. Frank is surprised how such a little increase in security reassures him so much. His trigger finger is twitching uncontrollably at his side. He sees 3B and the button next to it and he realizes how fucking batshit and cowardly he’s being. He’s been to war. He’s fought scum, and he’s fought enhanced. He’s knocked on death’s door so many times they’re practically neighbors. He shouldn’t be so goddamn terrified to ring Karen Page’s buzzer. But he is.
He finally summons enough courage and presses the button, slowly, letting the buzz drag out. He waits for a response. He waits for a minute, then two, and then five. Finger shaking he works up the fortitude to hit the button again. Same response, or lack of response really. So she’s not home or doesn’t want to see him. That’s fine, it’s fine. It’s happened before. It’s not the first time he’s tried to see her and backed out for a number of reasons. Maybe it won’t be the last. He walks down the steps and puts his hood back up when he hears a small gasp.
“Frank?”
He turns his head to his left and there she is. A dark coat with a high collar covers half of her face. Her hair is up and her nose is red from the cold. He hadn’t noticed it had started to snow, but the evidence was littered in her hair and on her shoulders. Even some snowflakes had made it to her eyelashes.
He can see her mouth moving but he hears nothing.
“What?” He breathes.
“I said, do you want to come up?” She tilts her head toward her building impatiently and he nods, quickly following behind her as she is already unlocking the front door. They both silently step into the hallway and turn towards the elevator. He can see her bite her lip before she finally presses the button.
Once they’re inside the elevator the air seems to disappear around them altogether. He can’t decide whether or not to say anything until he makes eye contact with her and she motions towards a camera in the corner of the elevator. He nods, smiles slightly, and looks at the ground. Always looking out for him.
A short ride later they’re walking single file up to her door and as she fumbles with her keys he sees her hands are shaking. He instantly wants to grab and hold them, yet simultaneously he feels the urge to run away, out of her life forever. But she manages to unlock the door before he can decide what the right move is, so he follows her in.
The door hasn’t been closed for more than a second before she drops her purse, her arms are around his neck, and her head is buried into his shoulder. It was just as fast as the last time she’d hugged him, only a few weeks before. She somehow manages to be gentle so that none of his injuries flare up in discomfort, yet firm enough for his mind to become cloudy with all the touch. It takes him a few seconds to hug her back, but she doesn’t falter or let go. And once he does have his arms around her, he doesn’t know that he’ll ever let go. One of her hands is on his neck, twisting in his hair, the other balled up with a fistfull of his jacket in it.
It’s her who let's go, finally, and as she pulls away he sees through his own tearful eyes that hers are watering as well. She slips out of his grasp and turns away from him, giving them both a moment to wipe any evidence of tears.
“Gotta say, ma’am,” His eyes narrow in a way that is challenging and sarcastic and so him, “You sure scared me with that silent treatment on the way up here.” She chuckles lightly, “Wasn’t sure until you dropped the purse whether or not I was gonna end up with another bullet hole.”
She smiles and starts pulling off her coat, “Yeah well you still shouldn’t be. I got myself an early Christmas present.” Her coat slips off her shoulders and reveals a shoulder holster containing her very own .380 pressed against a maroon dress. As she turns to hang it on a rack Frank has to bite his lip to keep the smile off his face. “So.” She faces him, hands pressed to her thighs and an unfaltering smile on full display, “What do you need?”
“Oh… I uh… I don’t need anything, Karen.” His finger flutters when he finally spits it out. “I just thought maybe we could… talk? Unless of course, you got plans.”
She smirks at this and his heart skips a beat, “I don’t know Frank I’m pretty busy.” He immediately nods and starts to turn towards the door. “But I guess I could push suffer through writer’s block while drinking a bottle of whiskey alone off a little...”
“Hey hey, don’t kick out the whiskey out on a count of me.” He puts his hands up like he did walking into her apartment all those months ago. But this time, he’s got a smile on his face.
“You okay with cheap shit?” She questions while walking towards a closed door.
“I’m not picky.”
“Good. I’ll be back in a second.” She says and disappears behind the door, which, he decides, is safe to assume is her bedroom.
He takes this opportunity to remove his jacket and look around her place a little more. Unlike last time, there are boxes stacked up around the place and the shelves containing all of her books are empty. He makes a mental note to ask about it later.
Once she’s returned he can see her face is slightly wet, like she’s splashed water on it. She also seems to have taken off her heels and the black tights she’d been wearing under her dress. Maria used to always say suiting up to be a woman in this city was a lot like suiting up for war, one uncomfortable layer of armor over another. Karen walks into the kitchen and gets the bottle of whiskey she had promised. She uncaps it swiftly, opening and pouring them each a glass like she had done this a million times before. They stay like this, opposite each other with her kitchen island stood between them, eyeing each other. The newer white roses he had bought laid down in front of them.
Finally, she sets her now empty glass down and says, “You look good.” He raises an eyebrow in response and she corrects herself, “I mean you look better than I would’ve expected, after… everything.” He nods and looks down. He wonders how much of everything she truly knows. He knows better than anyone that no government cover up could keep Karen Page at bay. “I came to the hospital. Well, every hospital until I found one with enough men in black to take down the Hulk. Or... I guess... you.” This surprises him and he slowly raises his eyes to meet with her own. “They wouldn’t let me see you, or really they just kept saying you weren’t there. That you were ‘at large’. But I saw Agent Madani. She filled me in on everything I was missing… I’m sorry. About Billy.” She finishes her ramble and he looks down at his glass, his finger circling the edge.
"Kandahar?" He questions.
She nods.
“Guess you got your next headline, huh?”
“Nope. Homeland has made sure that any reporting of what occurred at the park has been labeled a drug deal gone wrong. I think Madani only told me because she thought I was a fever dream." He nods at that, looking down again. "Plus boss’s giving me the next month off because of ‘mass trauma’. He seems to think that getting blown up twice in one day might affect my job performance.” She’s trying to make a joke, and as much as he wants to help her relieve the brick wall of tension they’ve built up between them, he can’t smile. Instead he goes for a genuine sentiment and makes eye contact with her.
“Karen, I’m sorry. I-”
“Please Frank, that wasn’t your fault.” She interrupts him so quickly it was like she knew what he was going to say. She’s the one who breaks eye contact this time as she moves to put the flowers he brought in a vase. “These are nice. Thank you.”
“Karen. I’m sorry for more than just that.” Her backs to him but he can see her stop.
She dips her head down and nearly whispers, “You don’t have to be-”
“Yes. I do.”
So she replaces the flowers for the whiskey bottle and extends her hand towards the couch. It’s his turn to down the whiskey in his glass before he sits down next to her on the couch, a good cushion’s distance between them. A few seconds of looming silence hangs between them before he can even muster up the strength to say something. He rakes his hand through his hair, suddenly self-conscious of its unruliness, and sighs, “So, were you coming back from drinks with your old pals?”
She copies him and runs her hand through her own locks as she shakes her head. “No, I um... The shooting range has a thanksgiving special.” He looks at her with his eyebrows drawn together with concern, but then she smiles and suddenly they’re both laughing in some shared pitifulness.
“What about them though?” He says after their snickers cease.
“About who?”
“Uh tweedle dee and tweedle dum. Your former employers.” Something dark falls over her face now and he regrets asking her about them.
“Well, um. Foggy has boatloads of family in queens, so he’s there for the week. And Matt is.. Well… Haven’t you read your vigilante newsletter?” She smiles in her sarcasm but he can tell it’s hollow.
“I haven’t seen Red since that night on the roof.”
Something more than sadness comes over her after he says that, and again he’s regretting opening his mouth, but still isn’t sure of what he said.
“So you knew too? Good, good.” He realizes then that her ‘vigilante newsletter’ quip had been a test.
“Ran into the devil plenty before you three burst into my hospital room. Recognized his voice and catholic guilt pretty soon after that.”
She’s nodding, but she’s definitely pissed, “Yeah you’d think I’d have thought of that, but nope! It took him shoving the mask in my face before I finally made the connection. God. Still makes me feel like an idiot, and he’s been dead for months.”
Frank leans back in understanding at this. She turns to him and her voice gets soft again, “You didn’t know... Yeah. How could you? Another cover up. A building fell down on him after he saved New York from an ancient evil society originating from a secret mystical location in China.” Frank’s mouth slacks in response to this. “That was my reaction as well.”
“Jesus Red,” is all he says.
“Indeed.” She takes it upon herself to refill their glasses now, and then they both drink in silence again before he finally speaks.
“Were you two together? When it happened?” He asks, trying to keep any possible subtext below the surface.
She exhales briefly and then responds, “No. Hadn’t been since, uh, since the case.”
He nods, unsure of what to say next. “Thought I told you to hold on to that.”
She shoots him a look, “Frank you may be able to read me like a book, but that doesn’t mean you know everything.” She turns away from him again, slowly taking a sip like she was trying to procrastinate what she wanted to say next, “Matt and I probably loved each other, but we were both lying to the other about so much, who knows if... if any of that love was actually grounded in something... real. We wanted bits and pieces of the other, so we that's all we ever shared of ourselves. Bits and pieces. Not to mention your whole monologue about how that person is supposed to tear you apart, it only works if you do the same to them. And I wasn’t that person for him. And although he did hurt me plenty, I don’t think he was that person for me.” She lets out the breath she had been holding in nice and slow, and a tear runs down her cheek.
Someone else might’ve heard what she just said and only seen the contempt she holds for Murdock, but Frank, Frank can see she misses him, regardless of everything else. “I’m sorry for your loss.” He states dryly, but genuinely. She looks at him and the tears in her eyes break his heart.
“Thanks. Thank you.” She looks at her watch and raises her eyebrows at the time. “Holy shit it’s almost nine. Have you eaten?”
He shakes his head no.
“Care for a thai thanksgiving meal?” She’s rising now, looking for her phone.
He rises too, a little slower, “I don’t know ma’am. I’ve probably overstayed my welcome already.”
“Doesn’t the host usually decide that? Plus how can you dip on me now? We’ve still got half a bottle to go.” She smiles, genuinely, at him and he matches it right back. “Any requests?” She asks, reaching for her phone.
“Surprise me.”
She nods and dials.
As soon as she hangs up he hands her a glass, now refilled, and holds up his own glass to make a toast. She grins, takes it from him, ignores the flash of lightning that shoots up her arm when their fingers touch, and lines it up with his to cheers.
“To Murdock,” he says, “Hope he found that God he liked so much.”
She shakes her head but smiles as they clink their glasses. They sip again in silence. She takes this moment to let down her hair, and as it twists out of the bun and onto her shoulders she manages to stand in front of a light and it hits just perfectly that she manages to look like the fucking madonna. Maybe Red is right about God after all.
She joins him on the couch again, slightly closer than before, and he has a better view of the cuts on her forehead and cheek. They’re healing well but are still apparent. He’s surprised she didn’t try to cover them with makeup.
She must notice him looking at them because she tucks her hair behind her ear and says, “Nothing like some new scars to really toughen up my image, hmm?”
“You uh… Don’t cover them up?”
“No. Someone hurt me and I don’t… I don’t want to be ashamed of that. I have survived a lot of things that many people haven’t. Not to mention it’s not the first time this spot has been scraped up.” She says as she rubs her left temple.
“The night in the woods.” He whispers.
“You remember?”
“Unfortunately I remember just about everything about that night.”
“Me too.”
There’s silence for a few seconds and then they say at the same time, “Frank I-” and “There’s a lot-”
This prompts another segment of tension fueled silence.
She breaks it. “I would hope you know this by now, but,” She sighs, “there’s only one way you could ever be dead to me, alright?”
“Karen, that’s not-”
“I know what you do, probably better than anyone else. And somehow that doesn’t seem to dampen how much…” He can’t breathe until she finishes this sentence, “How much you mean to me. I know you’re more than The Punisher. Okay?”
“Okay.” He has a strong sense of deja vu rush over him in that moment.
They both exhale and look away from each other, searching for something else to hold onto rather than the true meaning behind her declaration. It’s when his eyes scour of a stack of books when he sees a something else.
He stands up and retrieves it, recognizing the thin book instantly. Everything about it is the exact same as when he saw it last. He opens it, wondering if it will have the same inscription as the one he was so familiar with. It doesn’t. Instead, it reads in faded cursive, 'Merry Christmas little KareBear, hope this book makes you smile for a long time to come! - Grandma'. He doesn’t notice Karen approach behind him, but soon they’re both looking down at the worn children’s book.
“My Grandma gave it to me when I was five. It’s the book I learned how to read with. I read it so many times, especially to my brother, sometimes I still hear ‘One batch, two batch, penny and dime’ in my dreams.”
He’s speechless, and, although it’s not too difficult for him to be so, he really feels as though someone just stuck his brain in a blender. He’s practically frozen, even worries his heart will stop beating.
She puts her hand on where he holds the book and his heartbeat increases rapidly, suddenly reassuring him that he hasn’t turned to stone, “I saw it. When I was at your house. In your.. in Lisa’s room.” She tries out the name like she's walking on ice.
Speech and air return as he sets it back down into the stack. The motion feels almost therapeutic. “It was Lisa’s favorite too. Sometimes when I…” He hesitates but remembers what she said earlier, “Before I pull the trigger, I’d say it. ‘One batch, two batch, penny and dime.’” He repeats, worried that when he looks back at her she’d have some look of disgust mixed with fear that often follows when he speaks to other humans. But she doesn’t. She’s got the same look that she had in the hospital when he had shared about Frank Jr. and the piano. He sits back down on the couch and refills his glass, letting the relief of being able to remember, but not break, wash over him. She follows his lead and does the same, again, sitting slightly closer to him on the couch.
“I can’t say that I knew you have a brother.” He says, “Although I can’t say that I know anything about your family.”
“Yeah, well it seems that only one of us did intrusive research on the other’s past, hmm?”
She’s a pro at changing the subject, but he doesn’t push, “You saying you read my file Page?”
“File? Files. Anything that wasn’t confidential.”
“So the transition into investigative journalism, wasn’t too much of a jump, huh?”
She looks at the ground and smiles slightly, “No. I, uh, guess not.”
“S’that why you work there now? Is it just natural for someone with your caliber of the nosy gene?”
She doesn’t laugh at that like he’d intended, her face relaxed but hard, “No um… It was a lot of things. The job I have now belonged to a... a friend." She pauses when her eyes get glassy but continues, "And when you were arrested and I did all that research that led me to your house and then your identity was released... all the papers, the police, no one talked about what had happened with your family. No one. Or your time in the military. And of course you’re not the only person that that’s happened to but I guess… that was too important for me to let it happen again. So now I work to make sure that the truth… the truth always comes out, one way or another. Really I should be thanking you, I guess.”
They could take turns thanking each other all night. Back and forth for hours, after all the shit they’ve been through.
He’s starting to feel the alcohol a little more, just barely rising up his horizon, making him feel the tiniest bit bolder. “Karen I-”
The buzzer interrupts him and he’s immediately reaching for the gun he’s got tucked into his waistband. She places her hand on his arm, and like a drug her touch instantly calms him, reassures him.
“Five bucks says it’s just dinner and not a dangerous criminal.”
She gets up to go to her intercom and before she can say anything he mutters, “Could be both.”
She asks who it is and they say it’s the Thai Palace and she buzzes them up. Soon enough there’s a knock at her door and she walks to go answer it. He clears his throat and she responds to him by removing her gun from the hanging holster and shooting him a look. He can’t see her answer the door, but after a five-second interaction she walks to the kitchen and begins unloading the bag, safe. Safe as she can be with him.
“You owe me five bucks.” She says as she unwraps the plastic cutlery.
“Put it on my tab.” He smirks.
They spend the next hour sharing pad thai and casually catching up. She tells him about “The Hand” and he tells her about group. “Wow. Frank, that’s… That’s really great. I’m so happy for you.”
“Yeah. Curtis does a good job, he… he’s really helping people.” He takes a sip of beer, (the whiskey was now empty so they switched over.)
“So um… Are you a free man now? Madani didn’t reveal that part of your status to me.”
“You’re looking at Pete Castiglione. Frank Castle is officially dead.” She scrunches up her face as he reveals his new name and he raises an eyebrow, “What? Poor word choice?” He asks.
“No. No, I’m not that fragile.” She takes a big gulp of beer, “I, uh had a high school boyfriend named Pete. Real dick too. Day after we slept together for the first time he was found making out with Cindy Anne Cooper in the mall parking lot.”
“Well, shit Page. You’ve got some sorta shitty luck with men.”
“You’re telling me.” She sighs and holds his eye contact for a second too long. “Want a refresher?” She gets up and grabs two more beers out of the fridge.
“That’s the third thing, you know.” He’s feeling a little bold.
“Third what?”
“That is the third piece of personal history you’ve ever shared with me.”
She freezes, unsure of what to say next, and then goes to a cabinet and pulls out a bottle of scotch.
“You trying to get me drunk Page?”
“Not you.” She mutters as she pours the brown liquid into her glass.
He takes the bottle from her, “You know… on off nights at the beginning of a tour, someone in the unit would get alcohol somehow, and we’d play a game to get to know each other. You get asked a question, and you either answer it or you drink.”
“Frank I don’t think-”
“Hey. You know so much shit about me, you owe me a chance to catch up.” She hesitates, and he can see her weighing the options in her head, probably making some sorta pros and cons list.
Finally, she nods.
He rises from their seats at the table and moves back toward the couch, bottle in hand. She sits down next to him, but the cushion’s full distance has returned.
“You can… you can ask first,” Her voice is quiet, and he wonders if this was a bad idea.
“Alright. The brother, he your only sibling?”
She looks at the glass in her hand, and again he can see a debate going on in her head. Then she brings it up to her lips and says, “Yeah. Kevin.” She drinks regardless of her answer and he decides not to scold her on breaking the rules. “What about you? Any siblings?”
He exhales and leans forward hoping to engage her a little more, “What you didn’t find that out in my files?”
She shakes her head, “Didn’t go back further than the military.”
He nods and chews on his lip, “Nah, only child. But a few came close.”
“What do you mean?”
He shakes his head, “Nuh uh, not your turn to ask.” This results in an eye roll from her. “Where’s Kevin on this most familial of holidays?”
Because she already downed the contents of her drink, she takes the bottle from his hand and takes a solid gulp. He almost protests but again decides not to.
“Who came close?”
He can feel his trigger finger start to tremor again. “Well Curt for one, but also uh... Billy. Billy Russo.”
“Ah yes, the man whose face has been permanently etched into the central park carousel.” She’s getting drunk, he can tell, but that doesn’t stop him from shooting a look over her way that could freeze over hell. “Sorry.” She whispers, only just realizing how insensitive her words were.
“He took that photo, you know.” She leans forward and tilts her head, “The one you so professionally stole from my house. With the wife and kids on the horses. He was Frank Jr.’s godfather.” His voice is getting harsher and his fingers are shaking so bad that he almost knocks over the bottle before he can get a grip on it.
She puts her hand over his on the bottle. “Frank. I’m sorry.” He looks down at their fingers and she slowly removes her hand from his.
He takes a big gulp of scotch and the familiar burn seeps down his throat.
“Kevin, my brother. He died when he was sixteen. It was a car crash and I was driving. I was home from college for thanksgiving and he had gone to some party and gotten too drunk, so I went and picked him up, and, ever the older sister, lectured his ear off until… until a big truck came out of nowhere and he was gone. In a second. And the last thing I ever said to him was some shit about being more responsible.” She’s not crying, and it surprises him because there’s so much emotion in her voice.
“Karen. I’m sorry.” He copies her previous statement but it’s meant just as genuinely. He had never known what had happened in Karen’s past, but he knew it couldn’t have been pretty. He always saw her as the light. A fire walking around in a pencil skirt, illuminating everything she touches. Now he understands why he sees her avoid looking in mirrors, why she deflects personal questions like a pro.
She takes the bottle back, has a swig and says, “Dropped out of college, packed up my shit, and did small jobs until I ended up in New York. Never been back to Vermont since.”
“Karen, I… God that night in the woods. When I wrecked your car… I didn’t… Jesus Christ.”
“No Frank don’t worry about it. It’s behind me.” She nods at him and he nods back. “It’s your turn to ask.”
“I uh… I think you won an extra turn.” He grunts.
“Hmm… Okay. How many times have you walked up to my door and then left, like you almost did today?”
“You uh… you really wanna know?” She nods, and he begins, “In those… those months before, I uh… god the nights when I couldn’t sleep, it wasn’t too hard for me to find myself around your neck of the woods. I never went up to the door, but uh… I’d be lying if I said that one night was the last time I’d looked down on you from a rooftop. Had to make sure you were staying safe. And that makes precisely one of us.” He quotes her, hoping it will make her smile.
She surprises him then. She’s moved close, and the air hangs as heavy as it did back in that hotel elevator, although this time, there’s no smell of blood, no explosions ringing in their ears, no mob of cops waiting outside to put a bullet in him. She slowly lifts her fingers and traces a bruise along his cheekbone. Heat rushes to his face and he wonders how many people would pay to see The Punisher blush like this. He can barely tell if her eyes are watering or just unbelievably starry. And there’s a moment, similar to one they had in the elevator, where he thinks about how easy it would be to lean in, to disappear into her, to open to floodgates, and finally let someone in.
But like moments so often do, it passes.
He stands up so quickly she nearly falls off the couch. He’s pacing around the room and running his fingers through his hair muttering to himself and she’s standing up to try to find out what’s changed.
“Frank?” She pleads, “Frank, what is it? What happened?”
He stops. Turns and there are tears in his eyes. His voice is a low grumble. “You gotta get away from me Karen.” She’s rolling her eyes and sighing but he doesn’t stop there, “I’m no good. You gotta get out. I’m a ruiner. People around me, they drop. No one survives me. You once said that I never lie to you. Well, that’s bullshit. And you know it. I lie and I wreck and I kill and I punish.”
“Oh come one Frank don’t do this. We’re past this.” She moves towards him, but he’s shaking his head and backing up.
“We aren’t past shit. We’re two people who got too tangled up, and now one of us has to fix it. Because I’m not taking you down with me Karen. I'm not”
“Down Frank? What are you talking about? I’m not-”
“Now you listen to me, Karen. My family, my wife and kids, they’re gone and now I’ve made some sort of peace with that. But Billy, Schoonover, Madani, Curtis, David. I’ve fucked up their lives so much that over half of that list has tried to kill me more times than I can count on one hand. If I hadn’t done what I did who knows what Lewis would be doing. You said it yourself, two guys, who don’t like the world and make their own rules. I did that. I made that okay. I’ve killed so many people that the fucking shittiest scum on this earth quiver when they hear my name. I.. I… You should know what a shitstorm I am better than all of them. I’ve done a real doozy with your life ma’am. Destroyed your practice, almost killed the man you loved, hit you with a car, used you as bait, gotten you blown up, shot up, hell I even sent some shots at your head the first time I ever met you. I hurt people Karen. I hurt you.” He’s panting, raving after this monologue of his in a dark corner of her apartment, shaking uncontrollably with his fists balled up so tight it looks like he could split his knuckles himself.
But she’s still, stood tall, in the light (as always), and she says calmly, “The people who can really hurt you are the ones close enough to do it.” Those words, his words, repeated back to him cause his heart to slow, but they scare him more than a loaded gun to the temple. “You said that,” her voice is rising, getting more daring.
“I’m a madman Karen… I’m crazy.”
“Fuck that.” She says and he whips his head up to look at her. “Fuck. That. You think you’re a shit magnet? You think you’re the one who’s fucked up? Well you, Frank Castle, have met your match. I ever tell you how I came to work at Nelson and Murdock?” She waits for him to respond and he shakes his head no, “Well it was lovely Wednesday morning when I woke up from a drug induced sleep to dead co-worker and a bloody knife in my hand. I was framed, arrested, and then come Nelson and Murdock, to save me from myself. I was working for a company that was covering the construction after the incident, when I smelled some bullshit, and dug too deep. You think ‘Blacksmith’ was the first person who tried to kill me? Picture me asleep in a holding cell when a paid off guard wraps a sheet around my neck and tries to strangle me until I poked his eye out. And then when I was released, the second I went home someone was waiting in my apartment with a knife that had my name on it. Yeah, that guy made a nice dent in the wall with my head until my future boyfriend or boss or whatever showed up and tossed him through a window.”
As he listens he can feel his jaw twitching, his hands shaking. His anger is so rampant within him he’s worried that his blind rage will shut down his hearing and he won’t be able to give her what she so definitely needs, to be heard. But surprisingly fury is not the only thing he can feel as she reveals it all to him. He feels her pain, he feels the sheets around his neck as the guard strangles her. He feels her exhaustion, he knows her sadness. Her loss. He wants to go to her, but somehow he knows she’s far from done.
“You think you’re the only one who’s had someone they loved killed because of something you’ve done? The man who had my job before me was named Ben Urich, he was a friend and married to a lovely woman, and he was strangled because of something I dragged him into. Specifically, he was strangled by big bad kingpin; Wilson Fisk, or someone employed by him, as Fisk was the owner of the company I worked for and the piece of shit that Ben was helping me investigate.” She pauses then, deciding whether or not to push it more, deciding whether or not to say it. But she’s got to. So for the first time ever she says out loud, “Fisk. was the employer of James Wesley. James Wesley, who drugged me, kidnapped me, held me in an empty warehouse and threatened everyone I love until I shot him seven times with the same goddamn gun he threatened me with. And I’d love to tell you that he was the first person I killed, but you once told me that you heard it. You heard them before they killed your family. Well, I heard that truck. And I killed my little brother. So don’t you dare try to sink lower than me. Because if you’re a monster… then… then so am I.”
It’s her turn now to heave and reel over her own words. She collapses to her knees on the ground into of fit of shaking and tears. And even his mass of injuries can’t stop him from diving to her, holding her in his arms while she cries. Nothing else could be this important. No revenge, no fight. Nothing. He had no idea. No idea. God, how selfish could he be? Talking about his war, his tragedies, talking about the injustices in his life, when she was a walking, talking, hell survivor. And even more, she has been keeping it all inside. He could tell. He could see by the way it had poured out of her that she had never said it all out loud before. Never before let the cracks show.
After a few minutes of him protectively rubbing circles on her back and shushing her she sits up and says, “Why are you here Frank? And be honest. Please.” Tears stain her face. His arms are still wrapped around her.
“You… You said you wanted me to have an after. This.. This was starting to feel like one.” He’s shaking his head and she staring right at him, maybe even through him. “But.. But then you talk about all the hurt, the hurt that others have done onto you. When I hear... “ He cups his hands on her face and wipes away some of her tears. “I hear what they did to you, to others, shit! That same fire in me that took out the irish, the cartel, and the dogs, and the fucking CIA, it wants to burn down this whole city.” He drops his hands and stands up, backing away slowly. “See that’s my problem Karen. This fight… this fight will never be over for me. I’m never gonna be able to have the picket fence again. And I’m never gonna be able to just sit back while these assholes hurt the people that I lo-” He stops himself and looks at the ceiling.
She stands back up and slowly walks towards him. He’s still trying to look away from her, but she sets her hand on his arm the way she did in the elevator. “Hey… Hey, look at me.” He does. “I can’t say that I’m always going to be okay with what you do, or what you've done. But I sure as hell can see that I’m never going to be okay without you. Now I don’t know what this is, or will be. But I know, that I need it. I need it like I need fucking air. And I know despite what we've been through, together and apart, we’re both still alive. And I know it must be hard for you to see this. But I’m alive because of you. You have saved my life, time and time again.” She moves her hands to his chest. “You have taken bullets for me. You’ve protected me against explosions, against drug dealing colonels, and against my own self. And don’t pull that bullshit that they wouldn’t have been shooting at me if you were just gone. Okay? Because if there’s one thing the class has learned tonight it’s that I am more than capable to walk into the middle of a firefight all by myself. And I don’t think that fight in me is ever going away either. So quit being so fucking selfish, okay?” He nods and she lets out a deep exhale. She moves her hands up his neck and into his hair. Her left hand gently grazes over his the result of Billy’s bullet. He leans into her touch. “Now,” she sighs, “Now I’m going to go shower because I don’t know if you noticed but when we hit the ground all of the scotch poured on me.” He hadn’t but now not only can he smell it but the bottle has rolled to his feet. He starts to apologize but she stops him and says, “I would really like it if you were here when I got out, because, as of…” She glances down at her watch, “Twenty-seven minutes ago it’s the anniversary of my brother’s death and I don’t really want to be alone. So please… Stay.” He nods and she lets go of him, slowly heading towards her bedroom.
It’s silent until he hears the shower switch on. He thinks about everything that has changed in the past few hours. He thinks about how he came up to this building thinking she was some kinda angel, but now he knows better. Now he knows that she’s no angel. She’s better. She’s human. She’s real and despite… despite the cascading river of new information he’s received in just a few hours he aches for more of her. He wonders if he should’ve said he met Fisk in prison. Should’ve mentioned they almost ripped each other to shreds when Fisk locked him up with an entire cell block. He wonders if he should’ve mentioned the only reason he was holding her right then, was because Fisk let him out. A part of him has a feeling that he’ll have the opportunity to tell her another time. Her omissions tonight had been for her own good. She needed that. She needed to tell someone, and it probably shouldn’t have been him. Probably should’ve been Nelson, or a shrink. Someone who doesn’t know how it feels to believe that by taking someone’s life you’re doing the right thing, but still be eaten up inside. Someone who doesn’t know the sound of an AK-47 firing better than any song. Someone who isn’t so used to the smell of blood that air without it, is almost harder to breathe. He thinks about this as he cleans up the scotch, and then their leftover dinners. But then he thinks how much better that it’s him. Him who understands all this, rather than Red. Who is or was so wrapped up in his own shitty conscious that he couldn’t even fathom the pretty assistant doing a deadly sin. Frank knows what it feels like to be woken up by a familiar gunshot on replay in a dream. He knows what it’s like to look in the mirror after making sure that a person never would again. He can’t judge her. He is her.
Soon the water shuts off and he can hear footsteps all around her room.
“Frank?” He hears her softly call.
“Yeah?” It’s gruffer than he means it to come out but with his voice it always is.
She steps out, hair still dripping, in a t-shirt and sweatpants. “I uh… I think we could both use some sleep.” He nods and begins to take his jacket off the hook. “No.” He stops, “I was hoping you would sleep here. With me. If you’re alright with that.”
He keeps the jacket in his hand and says, “Ma’am, I’m not sure you’re sober mind would approve of this idea-”’
“I’m not drunk Frank. I’m lonely. And although the gun under my pillow is a better conversation holder than you, I’d really appreciate it if you would stay with me.” He hesitates before she says,
“Stay… Please.” Suddenly any thoughts of running off are abandoned as she quotes his words from so long ago.
He nods, drops his jacket, and before he knows she’s helping him remove his shoes, setting his own piece on the bedside table. and he’s lying on top of her comforter.
The sound of her fan circling above them, and their contrasting breaths are the only audible sounds for minutes. He doesn’t know how long. They both are on their backs staring upwards. He can tell she isn’t asleep from her breathing. It’s irregular and anxious, while his irregular and pained. He barely hears himself say, “It’s my turn.”
She shifts onto her side slowly, she’s probably still a little sore, and murmurs, “What?”
“The game, when we… uh.. when we left off it was my turn.” He turns to face her then, lying on his left side, even more slowly, feeling lucky he’s on the right side of her bed, as his right arm is still pretty fucked.
“Shoot,” She whispers, the light from a window reflecting in her eyes, and he worries for a second that he might drown.
He concludes now that he must to think of a question to ask. He finds this difficult. And it’s less of a question of what did he want to know and more that of what didn’t he want to know. But it’s been a long night. So he simply inquires, “You moving?” Tilting his head toward some of the boxes in the corner of the room.
She sighs. It’s long and tired but there’s no animosity in it, no annoyance, or resentment. “Turns out getting death threats, is very concerning to the apartment board, so they’ve asked me to relocate.”
He begins to get offended, to tell her that’s bullshit and that she should fight it, but she soothes him by laying her hand on top of his and saying, “It’s alright. I’ve learned not to get connected to apartments. I’ve been here for three and a half years and this next spot will be my fourth place.”
“You got something lined up?” He questions.
“No, I’ve been so busy with what happened and the paper, I haven’t had much time. I’ll probably stick all my books in storage and live in a hotel for a bit, or Foggy’s couch, just until I find some place.”
He doesn’t like the idea of all her books sitting in a dark room alone almost as much as he despises the idea of her doing that. He intertwines his fingers with hers, “When do you gotta be out?”
“Monday.” her index finger is rubbing circle on his broken knuckles.
“Hmm,” He hums.
“Hmm,” She hums. He stops making eye contact then.
“I gotta place, in the kitchen, with some money David... owed me, that’s got two bedrooms. One’s got your name on it if you want it… Until you find a spot of your own.” He tries to ignore the speed his heart is beating at as he returns his gaze to her eyes.
She’s smiling, just a little. He can’t see her lips but her eyes are a dead give away to the emotions she’s feeling at all times. “Yeah, that would really help me out. I could help with the rent too.. Depending how long it takes…”
He shifts on to his back now, smiling and still holding her hand, “Nah, just as long as you lend me a book now and then,” Her exhale is silent agreement to that deal.
“Thank you, Frank.”
“You’re welcome, ma’am.”
She wakes up in the morning after sleeping better since… since she can’t remember when. He’s not there, but in lieu of his presence, on the nightstand appears a vase of the flowers he got her and five dollars. A note attached to the vase says an address and apartment number. She almost misses it, but when she sets the note down on the back she sees a word and her heart nearly jumps from her chest.
After