Karen M. Page

@notthepunisher

Luckily for Karen — and Frank, honestly, she was the only one there at The Bulletin. Editors and reporters turned in for the night hours ago, but Karen diligently worked on another article. Something landmark — another controversial piece.

She flinched from the loud raps at her office door. Karen pushed back her rolling chair, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she headed to the door. She figured it was Ellison, probably back for something he left. His files sat sulking at the corner of her desk anyway. What she didn't expect, however, was Frank.

Karen's breath hitched. She hadn't seen him in so long. Too long. Her voice betrayed her — soft and reverent, like Frank was a fever dream.

"It's a baiting article. I'm after a businessman that'd done some shady stuff — like extortion, and if my sources follow up — kidnapping. I'm going to try to get him to come after me, same thing I always do with these kinds of people. Uh, I was actually outlining the piece when you showed up, Frank."

She knew it was a dangerous piece. Deadly, even. She'd only gotten out of the hospital, what, a few weeks ago? And here she was again — same reckless, stubborn, justice-driven woman, seeking to make the city better in whatever way she could. It was similar to Frank in a way — the relentless pursuing of one thing: making sure the bad apples got a taste of their own medicine.

Karen tilted her head, swaying a little as she continued to look at Frank, eyes begging for answers to silly questions she knew the answers to. She knew where he'd been. He'd been busy with patrol, most likely. She took in his hair, the rough, but somehow delicate features of his face. Features she missed on chill nights, on warm ones too.

"Ya' aren't going to give up this article, ain't ya?" He already knew the answer. She never gave up on anything, none-the-less justice. He learned that a while ago. No matter what he did, no matter what anyone did...she was never going to stop working towards a better world whether it killed her or not. He sighs

"Just dont die on me, 'right?" He had no intention to mask it as a request, it was a demand. She supported him, the last thing he can do is support her and make sure she doesn't fucking die.

As Frank answered the question, her head tilted, smile faltering into a neutral state. She took a measured step closer to Frank, not believing his reply one bit. She knew him well enough by now. His eyes spoke of emotions he always tried to bury down, and it pained her.

She decided on a whim she'd close the gap. Karen didn't say anything — just walked closer until she was only an arms-length away from Frank.

Karen wrapped her arms around the back of Frank's neck and embraced him, her eyes closing as if she was trying to absorb all those negative feelings. She missed him. She missed this. She wanted to absolve him of all the world's troubles, trauma that'd made him heavy with leftover grief and the inability to find solace.

Frank just lets his forehead lay against hers. He doesn't move anything else. His limbs were numb. He wanted nothing more to move but he couldn't. His face was the only thing that would dare budge: the faintest smile, the closing of his eyes, his murmurs of words in his head he couldn't catch.

He made sure his eyes were sealed. Because he could never control them, Karen and his own eyes were the only things he couldn't control...and it killed him and yet brought him back to life. Knowing she was unpredictable and yer wouldn't use that to hurt him, it was nice, but he still refused to accept it.

"Jesus, Frank, you look like hell.."

She refused to break the embrace. If anything, her fingers twisted into the fabric of the back of Frank's jacket, desperate, clingy, and hoping. Hoping that this was truly real — that he really was here. How long had it been? She'd stopped counting after two months. Karen buried the side of her face into Frank's shoulder, breathing in his scent like he was a dying flower.

He didn't realize he was clinging to her, until she pulls away. His hand lingered until it couldn't. Until it hurt. He didn't mind the space, but he also didn't mind the touch. If anything he wanted it back.

Karen repeated Frank's words with suspicion, her voice bordering on that investigative lilt she picked up over her years of working as a reporter. She glanced over at the clock hanging on the wall, quite surprised by the time. 1 am. How long had she been at the desk, anyway??

She picked up her coat and slipped it on with grace. The moonlight shining in from the blinds fanned over her face, illuminating her rosy cheeks and carmine lips. Karen fastened her hair into a quick bun, ensuring the curls she'd done this morning wouldn't get frizzy from adjusting her coat or from grabbing her purse. She put her attention back onto Frank, who stood silently near the darker corner of her office, as if the dark offered him a comfort only he knew. Karen wondered, how could she get him out? Help him see the light? She set aside her wishes and sighed, parting her lips as she gathered her thoughts.

People pretend to know what hes been through, but they've only scratched their leg. No harm. No hurt. No grief. He knew he was lying to himself when he said Karen hasn't been through grief and death, she isn't lying about knowing what its like and that hurt the most. It was better to pretend like she hasn't been through the same thing he has.

Moving carefully, Karen walked over to her office door and opened it, switching off the light. She waited outside the door for Frank. The scent of fresh ink and stale, lingering cologne covered the air of the cubicles and entangled into the hallway where Karen stood patiently. She looked delicate, a wisp away from cracking. Maybe it'd been the months upon months of isolation — no contact from anyone. But Frank was here. Only Frank had reached out.

He smirked at her gun, he knew she could protect herself...but she had multiple ways to, she was smart. She made sure no one knew what she was capable of. Made him proud, if he was being honest.

Karen untied her hair and slipped the hair tie into her coat pocket. Her black, sleek heels clicked against the floor as she walked toward the exit of The Bulletin, and her hair bounced, healthy and unbelievably elegant. Karen always had that air about her — put together, heavenly, but she wasn't any of those things. She was a mess. Always had been. She was a sinner, and she'd just made it look pretty. But she knew the carmine lipstick painted on her lips, and the angel white blouse she donned would never absolve her of her past. Of her guilt. Her pain.

Karen had the same blood on her hands that Frank did. They both knew that, but he'd always deny that any of it was ever her fault. She'd never accept that. She never accepted it from Matt, either.

As they made it outside to the parking lot, a cool breeze swept through, filled with whispers of hope. Of Frank. She looked over at Frank while unlocking her car door, followed every move of his as he sat down in the passenger seat, didn't dare tear her gaze away as he shut the door. Her hand moved on its own accord. The ignition turned — Karen's eyes did as well, to the road in front of her.

Her look didn't go unnoticed. He always noticed her, especially those eyes. Those crisps waves in her. He was delighted he didn't have to drive, could make sure she was safe. Out of harm. Even if it meant she had to lift a finger. His arm rounded her seat. Nails dig into the leather. Always destructive.

"Ya' didn't have to drive, you know?"

Now, Karen Page had told her first lie of the night. She didn't care about long drives, not in a million years, but it was better than admitting to Frank that she'd do anything she could to keep him with her. Karen switched on her indicator, and a bright green arrow blinked silently to the right. She leaned in closer to the wheel to check for cars passing. When there were none, she steered the car around into a U-turn, picking up the speed again to a hair or two over the limit printed on the sign she just drove past.

She kept steady on the right lane for a while, not a few cars scattered on the lanes, too. Just more people heading home from work. Karen had memorized the route to the diner. The quickest route. The discreet route. Every goddamn route she found — it made itself a home in her mind. Because it was all just wishful thinking to her. That Frank would come back. That he'd stay. Would he stay? Her eyes flit to his face for just a second, filled with unspoken words. Emotions that she didn't dare voice.

He knew that wasn't going to happen, but with his life...her life? It still could happen. He couldn't have another die. Another person's blood on his hands. After Maria, hes been scared to death. Him seeing karen was a treat, for both of them.

He tried not to get attached, he did. But she was like honey. Glassy, beautiful, and yet you would get stuck in yet. She didn't intend it, or maybe she did. Frank didn't mind either way. She was there, with him. In that grand silence.

She brushed her hair out of her face and checked her reflection in the mirror of the drivers seat window, then strut away to the door of the diner. The bell dinged as they both entered. Karen immediately settled into the booth near the corner of the quaint, coffee-smelling place, as if she'd been here numerous times. Too many times. Too many nights. Just coffee, her notepad, and a deep yearning from the most insecure places of her heart she'd never felt for any other soul.

Karen tucked her purse into the corner of her booth seat and shrugged off her trench coat, deliberately leaving it on top of the purse. In case she'd have to bolt from danger, in case another hit and run happened. Karen Page, as courageous as she was, still had human fears. She just hid them well on the exterior, but those who knew her well, they saw it. The tears, the panicked breathing, the inability to speak. Shaky hands. Karen preferred to keep it that way.

He studied her, the way cleaned herself up she was so sure of herself, so confident. Frank could watch it all day. It was admirable.

As they start approached the building he scouts out the area, hand hovering over her back, guiding her without either of them knowing. The second they enter, frank begins scanning again. A woman sitting in a booth, two women on a date, a man alone in a corner writing. No one seemed like a threat, yet.

He eyed the placement of her belongings, taking note for the future. He could never let himself rest, never. It was always a battle. He's trained himself the same way he trained his dogs except treats were replaced with insults. Letting himself lay always ended in disaster. Death. Another beaten heart.

She checked her nails for no particular reason, just another distraction. A distraction from Frank. A distraction from the fluttery, dare she say loving feelings toward him. She hated it — hated this. Being infatuated with a man who concerned himself with his war and only his war. Karen Page knew he cared for her, sure, but would he be willing to give up the blood, the death, the pain, for her?

Karen couldn't help but feel selfish for having such a thought. She was the one that stood by his side, never judged.

"Please stay with me," Karen finally voiced her thoughts, her wants. "At least for tonight. I—"

She averted eye contact, body language quickly showing she was claming up, embarrassed. Words continued to tumble out in a tone of hidden pain mixed with fondness. Kindness.

"I" Frank doesn't know what to say. What does someone say in this situation 'I'll never leave you, with knowing you'll die because of me?' He planned on staying, lurking, maybe getting her coffee once and a while. But anything else would get her killed. Another innocent woman's blood on his conscious -- Karen's blood on his conscious.

"I'm staying in Hell's kitchen." His breath shakes "For a while." He pauses, not knowing exactly what to say. "I don't want you to end up looking over your shoulder though. Thats what will happen if I stay." They second it comes out, he regrets it.

"I know you're dangerous to be around, Frank." She stared at him for a good moment — let herself sink in just how..scared Frank looked behind the tough persona. "That—that didn't stop me from helping you out, ever."

Karen bit down on her lip, trying to control the tears that dared to well up in her eyes. She felt exhausted, keeping her emotions, her feelings, inside of her. The words I love you stayed trapped in the back of her throat. The urge to grab ahold of Frank's hand, run into the swathes of danger, and lie with him forever never showed.

Karen rubbed a hand over her face and sniffled, "I'm so alone, without you—without anyone, I'm so alone. Frank, d'you understand me? I'm a stranger in this city despite the fact I've lived here so long. You—" Karen cut herself off. Those words. 'You make me feel at home'—too lethal to say. She let out a fake laugh instead to wipe the tears streaming down her face and quickly slipped into that false guise of stability. Always did.

Frank couldn't act like he didn't see the tears, the redness. It hurt him, seeing her in so much pain. But mentioning it would unravel something that hes couldn't unravel again.

"I was thinking a year...or two." That was a blatant lie. He was thinking forever, and the more she talks the more he wants it.

He didn't quite understand why she was crying. He understood the feeling of being alone, but not the reason shes actually crying around him...about him? That seems a bit self centered to say though.

She sat up straighter, a bit happy he'd stay a year or two. It was rare that Frank ever did tell her how long exactly he'd be in Manhattan. Always disappeared on the nights she longed for him the most. Karen's eyes darted to Frank's hand, calloused and knuckles bruised from tireless nights of patrol. She made the impulsive decision to slide her hand close to his. Close enough to feel the warmth, but far enough to never touch. Her heel bumped against Frank's boot, a silent receiving of the comfort Frank couldn't properly articulate.

The food and drinks arrived soon. Karen was a regular, judging by the way the waitress called her 'sweetpea' and demanded she have everything on the house. After the waitress was gone, Karen smiled over at Frank, her nose scrunched in that beautiful way of hers.

"These really are the best pancakes," She mused, already cutting into the triple stack on her own plate. "Better eat fast, or I just might steal yours."

She straightened, he hunched more. Even subconsciously he made a small attempt to hide. His gaze snaps to her hand, her perfect plain hands if you ignore the cracked cuticles. Karen's impulsiveness bounces to frank; He pulls her hand into his. He stares at the table, trying to pretend like he knows what hes doing.

The second the food arrives, he removes his grip even with the voice yelling at him to stop. That voice was always right, just never big enough to overpower the larger being that told it to stay silent. He smiles at the waitress, quite happy Karen has someone who recognizes her...even if it was just a waitress. He couldn't understand how anyone couldn't get Karen, or just understand how amazing she is. Maybe hes just delusional.

"Shit, wasn't expecting it to be this big. Ya might have t'steal it from me." He returns the lighthearted energy. He takes a bite of the syrup covered pancakes before easily downing it with the bitter coffee.

She joyously tilted her head at Frank's remark and tucked her hair behind her ear. "You're lucky I didn't recommend the six stacker."

They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Karen didn't mind. She occasionally shifted her foot, her heel brushing against the rough leather of Frank's boot, like a cat seeking love. Karen didn't even realize she was doing it. Her head perked up from her plate of half-eaten pancakes at Frank's question, and her brows knit together like she expected him to already know.

"What d'you mean?" Karen asked before actually answering. "We haven't seen each other in so long. I just—I get worried about you. Where you are, what you're doing, it takes up a part of my mind."

She set down her fork and knife to take a sip of her coffee and avoided eye contact with Frank. There's other, more selfish reasoning as to why she wanted him to stay, but she wouldn't speak it. Wouldn't dare allude at it.

"Frank, I don't care." Karen mumbled. She picked at her stack of pancakes for a few seconds, mulling over what she had just said. "I know the dangers of associating with you, and I'd rather take my chances. Frank—"

Karen sighed, stubborn as a mule. She leaned forward over the table a bit, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, as if someone was watching. She wished so badly he would get off his pedestal and understand she was willing to sacrifice whatever it may be to stay with him. To be with him. She couldn't bear losing him again.

"I know you care about my safety and well-being, but I'm just as self-destructive as you, Frank. We just do it a different way," She said, eyes flicking to the door. "I won't beg you to understand, but I'll keep asking because I care about you too."

She giggled at Frank's remark about Matt and settled back into her seat, though some frustration embedded itself into her delicate features, revealing her bitterness toward Matt.

After a minute or so, she composed herself and stared at Frank, her eyes filled with warmth and even affection.

"I was scared too. God. I did not want to talk to a lawyer." He looks down at the warm drink nuzzled in-between his hard finger tips. "But you were so kind. Patient. Didn't take any bullshit though."

"I can't imagine how scary that must've been," Karen shook her head, frowning. At Frank's next sentence, she smiled again. "I..I wanted to help. Needed to. I get how you feel. The guilt of inadvertently causing someone's death. My brother—" Karen cut herself off to look down at her plate. She still hated even thinking about it. She licked her dry lips and sighed. Frank deserved to know the full story.

"My brother, Kevin, wanted me to leave my ex-boyfriend who was..also a dealer. I was an addict. Kevin lit his trailer on fire, and Neiman came after him to take revenge. I shot him when it got bad and I fled the scene with Kevin but—"

Karen's lips quivered, and she looked around to avoid tears forming in her eyes. She could never forgive herself. Her voice shook, and she sniffled.

The journalist squeezed Frank's hand, trying to ground herself in the present and not that winter night.

Least: @karenpg

Least: @karenpg

There is some descriptions of violence and death in this. Karen has a gun and uses it.

She swallowed down the nausea and stared at the concrete ground, replaying everything in her head. Karen could've died tonight, and that would've meant chaos. Karen grabbed the gun to switch the safety back on. She finally exhaled out of relief and stood up, a bit weak from her adrenaline crashing.

"Well, I'm not dead, but I need to get to a hospital or a late-night clinic, Seoc. Could you..?"

There is some descriptions of violence and death in this. Karen has a gun and uses it.

She swallowed down the nausea and stared at the concrete ground, replaying everything in her head. Karen could've died tonight, and that would've meant chaos. Karen grabbed the gun to switch the safety back on. She finally exhaled out of relief and stood up, a bit weak from her adrenaline crashing.

"Well, I'm not dead, but I need to get to a hospital or a late-night clinic, Seoc. Could you..?"

There is some descriptions of violence and death in this. Karen has a gun and uses it.

She swallowed down the nausea and stared at the concrete ground, replaying everything in her head. Karen could've died tonight, and that would've meant chaos. Karen grabbed the gun to switch the safety back on. She finally exhaled out of relief and stood up, a bit weak from her adrenaline crashing.

"Well, I'm not dead, but I need to get to a hospital or a late-night clinic, Seoc. Could you..?"

@notthepunisher

Luckily for Karen — and Frank, honestly, she was the only one there at The Bulletin. Editors and reporters turned in for the night hours ago, but Karen diligently worked on another article. Something landmark — another controversial piece.

She flinched from the loud raps at her office door. Karen pushed back her rolling chair, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she headed to the door. She figured it was Ellison, probably back for something he left. His files sat sulking at the corner of her desk anyway. What she didn't expect, however, was Frank.

Karen's breath hitched. She hadn't seen him in so long. Too long. Her voice betrayed her — soft and reverent, like Frank was a fever dream.

"It's a baiting article. I'm after a businessman that'd done some shady stuff — like extortion, and if my sources follow up — kidnapping. I'm going to try to get him to come after me, same thing I always do with these kinds of people. Uh, I was actually outlining the piece when you showed up, Frank."

She knew it was a dangerous piece. Deadly, even. She'd only gotten out of the hospital, what, a few weeks ago? And here she was again — same reckless, stubborn, justice-driven woman, seeking to make the city better in whatever way she could. It was similar to Frank in a way — the relentless pursuing of one thing: making sure the bad apples got a taste of their own medicine.

Karen tilted her head, swaying a little as she continued to look at Frank, eyes begging for answers to silly questions she knew the answers to. She knew where he'd been. He'd been busy with patrol, most likely. She took in his hair, the rough, but somehow delicate features of his face. Features she missed on chill nights, on warm ones too.

"Ya' aren't going to give up this article, ain't ya?" He already knew the answer. She never gave up on anything, none-the-less justice. He learned that a while ago. No matter what he did, no matter what anyone did...she was never going to stop working towards a better world whether it killed her or not. He sighs

"Just dont die on me, 'right?" He had no intention to mask it as a request, it was a demand. She supported him, the last thing he can do is support her and make sure she doesn't fucking die.

As Frank answered the question, her head tilted, smile faltering into a neutral state. She took a measured step closer to Frank, not believing his reply one bit. She knew him well enough by now. His eyes spoke of emotions he always tried to bury down, and it pained her.

She decided on a whim she'd close the gap. Karen didn't say anything — just walked closer until she was only an arms-length away from Frank.

Karen wrapped her arms around the back of Frank's neck and embraced him, her eyes closing as if she was trying to absorb all those negative feelings. She missed him. She missed this. She wanted to absolve him of all the world's troubles, trauma that'd made him heavy with leftover grief and the inability to find solace.

Frank just lets his forehead lay against hers. He doesn't move anything else. His limbs were numb. He wanted nothing more to move but he couldn't. His face was the only thing that would dare budge: the faintest smile, the closing of his eyes, his murmurs of words in his head he couldn't catch.

He made sure his eyes were sealed. Because he could never control them, Karen and his own eyes were the only things he couldn't control...and it killed him and yet brought him back to life. Knowing she was unpredictable and yer wouldn't use that to hurt him, it was nice, but he still refused to accept it.

"Jesus, Frank, you look like hell.."

She refused to break the embrace. If anything, her fingers twisted into the fabric of the back of Frank's jacket, desperate, clingy, and hoping. Hoping that this was truly real — that he really was here. How long had it been? She'd stopped counting after two months. Karen buried the side of her face into Frank's shoulder, breathing in his scent like he was a dying flower.

He didn't realize he was clinging to her, until she pulls away. His hand lingered until it couldn't. Until it hurt. He didn't mind the space, but he also didn't mind the touch. If anything he wanted it back.

Karen repeated Frank's words with suspicion, her voice bordering on that investigative lilt she picked up over her years of working as a reporter. She glanced over at the clock hanging on the wall, quite surprised by the time. 1 am. How long had she been at the desk, anyway??

She picked up her coat and slipped it on with grace. The moonlight shining in from the blinds fanned over her face, illuminating her rosy cheeks and carmine lips. Karen fastened her hair into a quick bun, ensuring the curls she'd done this morning wouldn't get frizzy from adjusting her coat or from grabbing her purse. She put her attention back onto Frank, who stood silently near the darker corner of her office, as if the dark offered him a comfort only he knew. Karen wondered, how could she get him out? Help him see the light? She set aside her wishes and sighed, parting her lips as she gathered her thoughts.

People pretend to know what hes been through, but they've only scratched their leg. No harm. No hurt. No grief. He knew he was lying to himself when he said Karen hasn't been through grief and death, she isn't lying about knowing what its like and that hurt the most. It was better to pretend like she hasn't been through the same thing he has.

Moving carefully, Karen walked over to her office door and opened it, switching off the light. She waited outside the door for Frank. The scent of fresh ink and stale, lingering cologne covered the air of the cubicles and entangled into the hallway where Karen stood patiently. She looked delicate, a wisp away from cracking. Maybe it'd been the months upon months of isolation — no contact from anyone. But Frank was here. Only Frank had reached out.

He smirked at her gun, he knew she could protect herself...but she had multiple ways to, she was smart. She made sure no one knew what she was capable of. Made him proud, if he was being honest.

Karen untied her hair and slipped the hair tie into her coat pocket. Her black, sleek heels clicked against the floor as she walked toward the exit of The Bulletin, and her hair bounced, healthy and unbelievably elegant. Karen always had that air about her — put together, heavenly, but she wasn't any of those things. She was a mess. Always had been. She was a sinner, and she'd just made it look pretty. But she knew the carmine lipstick painted on her lips, and the angel white blouse she donned would never absolve her of her past. Of her guilt. Her pain.

Karen had the same blood on her hands that Frank did. They both knew that, but he'd always deny that any of it was ever her fault. She'd never accept that. She never accepted it from Matt, either.

As they made it outside to the parking lot, a cool breeze swept through, filled with whispers of hope. Of Frank. She looked over at Frank while unlocking her car door, followed every move of his as he sat down in the passenger seat, didn't dare tear her gaze away as he shut the door. Her hand moved on its own accord. The ignition turned — Karen's eyes did as well, to the road in front of her.

Her look didn't go unnoticed. He always noticed her, especially those eyes. Those crisps waves in her. He was delighted he didn't have to drive, could make sure she was safe. Out of harm. Even if it meant she had to lift a finger. His arm rounded her seat. Nails dig into the leather. Always destructive.

"Ya' didn't have to drive, you know?"

Now, Karen Page had told her first lie of the night. She didn't care about long drives, not in a million years, but it was better than admitting to Frank that she'd do anything she could to keep him with her. Karen switched on her indicator, and a bright green arrow blinked silently to the right. She leaned in closer to the wheel to check for cars passing. When there were none, she steered the car around into a U-turn, picking up the speed again to a hair or two over the limit printed on the sign she just drove past.

She kept steady on the right lane for a while, not a few cars scattered on the lanes, too. Just more people heading home from work. Karen had memorized the route to the diner. The quickest route. The discreet route. Every goddamn route she found — it made itself a home in her mind. Because it was all just wishful thinking to her. That Frank would come back. That he'd stay. Would he stay? Her eyes flit to his face for just a second, filled with unspoken words. Emotions that she didn't dare voice.

He knew that wasn't going to happen, but with his life...her life? It still could happen. He couldn't have another die. Another person's blood on his hands. After Maria, hes been scared to death. Him seeing karen was a treat, for both of them.

He tried not to get attached, he did. But she was like honey. Glassy, beautiful, and yet you would get stuck in yet. She didn't intend it, or maybe she did. Frank didn't mind either way. She was there, with him. In that grand silence.

She brushed her hair out of her face and checked her reflection in the mirror of the drivers seat window, then strut away to the door of the diner. The bell dinged as they both entered. Karen immediately settled into the booth near the corner of the quaint, coffee-smelling place, as if she'd been here numerous times. Too many times. Too many nights. Just coffee, her notepad, and a deep yearning from the most insecure places of her heart she'd never felt for any other soul.

Karen tucked her purse into the corner of her booth seat and shrugged off her trench coat, deliberately leaving it on top of the purse. In case she'd have to bolt from danger, in case another hit and run happened. Karen Page, as courageous as she was, still had human fears. She just hid them well on the exterior, but those who knew her well, they saw it. The tears, the panicked breathing, the inability to speak. Shaky hands. Karen preferred to keep it that way.

He studied her, the way cleaned herself up she was so sure of herself, so confident. Frank could watch it all day. It was admirable.

As they start approached the building he scouts out the area, hand hovering over her back, guiding her without either of them knowing. The second they enter, frank begins scanning again. A woman sitting in a booth, two women on a date, a man alone in a corner writing. No one seemed like a threat, yet.

He eyed the placement of her belongings, taking note for the future. He could never let himself rest, never. It was always a battle. He's trained himself the same way he trained his dogs except treats were replaced with insults. Letting himself lay always ended in disaster. Death. Another beaten heart.

She checked her nails for no particular reason, just another distraction. A distraction from Frank. A distraction from the fluttery, dare she say loving feelings toward him. She hated it — hated this. Being infatuated with a man who concerned himself with his war and only his war. Karen Page knew he cared for her, sure, but would he be willing to give up the blood, the death, the pain, for her?

Karen couldn't help but feel selfish for having such a thought. She was the one that stood by his side, never judged.

"Please stay with me," Karen finally voiced her thoughts, her wants. "At least for tonight. I—"

She averted eye contact, body language quickly showing she was claming up, embarrassed. Words continued to tumble out in a tone of hidden pain mixed with fondness. Kindness.

"I" Frank doesn't know what to say. What does someone say in this situation 'I'll never leave you, with knowing you'll die because of me?' He planned on staying, lurking, maybe getting her coffee once and a while. But anything else would get her killed. Another innocent woman's blood on his conscious -- Karen's blood on his conscious.

"I'm staying in Hell's kitchen." His breath shakes "For a while." He pauses, not knowing exactly what to say. "I don't want you to end up looking over your shoulder though. Thats what will happen if I stay." They second it comes out, he regrets it.

"I know you're dangerous to be around, Frank." She stared at him for a good moment — let herself sink in just how..scared Frank looked behind the tough persona. "That—that didn't stop me from helping you out, ever."

Karen bit down on her lip, trying to control the tears that dared to well up in her eyes. She felt exhausted, keeping her emotions, her feelings, inside of her. The words I love you stayed trapped in the back of her throat. The urge to grab ahold of Frank's hand, run into the swathes of danger, and lie with him forever never showed.

Karen rubbed a hand over her face and sniffled, "I'm so alone, without you—without anyone, I'm so alone. Frank, d'you understand me? I'm a stranger in this city despite the fact I've lived here so long. You—" Karen cut herself off. Those words. 'You make me feel at home'—too lethal to say. She let out a fake laugh instead to wipe the tears streaming down her face and quickly slipped into that false guise of stability. Always did.

Frank couldn't act like he didn't see the tears, the redness. It hurt him, seeing her in so much pain. But mentioning it would unravel something that hes couldn't unravel again.

"I was thinking a year...or two." That was a blatant lie. He was thinking forever, and the more she talks the more he wants it.

He didn't quite understand why she was crying. He understood the feeling of being alone, but not the reason shes actually crying around him...about him? That seems a bit self centered to say though.

She sat up straighter, a bit happy he'd stay a year or two. It was rare that Frank ever did tell her how long exactly he'd be in Manhattan. Always disappeared on the nights she longed for him the most. Karen's eyes darted to Frank's hand, calloused and knuckles bruised from tireless nights of patrol. She made the impulsive decision to slide her hand close to his. Close enough to feel the warmth, but far enough to never touch. Her heel bumped against Frank's boot, a silent receiving of the comfort Frank couldn't properly articulate.

The food and drinks arrived soon. Karen was a regular, judging by the way the waitress called her 'sweetpea' and demanded she have everything on the house. After the waitress was gone, Karen smiled over at Frank, her nose scrunched in that beautiful way of hers.

"These really are the best pancakes," She mused, already cutting into the triple stack on her own plate. "Better eat fast, or I just might steal yours."

She straightened, he hunched more. Even subconsciously he made a small attempt to hide. His gaze snaps to her hand, her perfect plain hands if you ignore the cracked cuticles. Karen's impulsiveness bounces to frank; He pulls her hand into his. He stares at the table, trying to pretend like he knows what hes doing.

The second the food arrives, he removes his grip even with the voice yelling at him to stop. That voice was always right, just never big enough to overpower the larger being that told it to stay silent. He smiles at the waitress, quite happy Karen has someone who recognizes her...even if it was just a waitress. He couldn't understand how anyone couldn't get Karen, or just understand how amazing she is. Maybe hes just delusional.

"Shit, wasn't expecting it to be this big. Ya might have t'steal it from me." He returns the lighthearted energy. He takes a bite of the syrup covered pancakes before easily downing it with the bitter coffee.

She joyously tilted her head at Frank's remark and tucked her hair behind her ear. "You're lucky I didn't recommend the six stacker."

They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Karen didn't mind. She occasionally shifted her foot, her heel brushing against the rough leather of Frank's boot, like a cat seeking love. Karen didn't even realize she was doing it. Her head perked up from her plate of half-eaten pancakes at Frank's question, and her brows knit together like she expected him to already know.

"What d'you mean?" Karen asked before actually answering. "We haven't seen each other in so long. I just—I get worried about you. Where you are, what you're doing, it takes up a part of my mind."

She set down her fork and knife to take a sip of her coffee and avoided eye contact with Frank. There's other, more selfish reasoning as to why she wanted him to stay, but she wouldn't speak it. Wouldn't dare allude at it.

"Frank, I don't care." Karen mumbled. She picked at her stack of pancakes for a few seconds, mulling over what she had just said. "I know the dangers of associating with you, and I'd rather take my chances. Frank—"

Karen sighed, stubborn as a mule. She leaned forward over the table a bit, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, as if someone was watching. She wished so badly he would get off his pedestal and understand she was willing to sacrifice whatever it may be to stay with him. To be with him. She couldn't bear losing him again.

"I know you care about my safety and well-being, but I'm just as self-destructive as you, Frank. We just do it a different way," She said, eyes flicking to the door. "I won't beg you to understand, but I'll keep asking because I care about you too."

She giggled at Frank's remark about Matt and settled back into her seat, though some frustration embedded itself into her delicate features, revealing her bitterness toward Matt.

After a minute or so, she composed herself and stared at Frank, her eyes filled with warmth and even affection.

"I was scared too. God. I did not want to talk to a lawyer." He looks down at the warm drink nuzzled in-between his hard finger tips. "But you were so kind. Patient. Didn't take any bullshit though."

"I can't imagine how scary that must've been," Karen shook her head, frowning. At Frank's next sentence, she smiled again. "I..I wanted to help. Needed to. I get how you feel. The guilt of inadvertently causing someone's death. My brother—" Karen cut herself off to look down at her plate. She still hated even thinking about it. She licked her dry lips and sighed. Frank deserved to know the full story.

"My brother, Kevin, wanted me to leave my ex-boyfriend who was..also a dealer. I was an addict. Kevin lit his trailer on fire, and Neiman came after him to take revenge. I shot him when it got bad and I fled the scene with Kevin but—"

Karen's lips quivered, and she looked around to avoid tears forming in her eyes. She could never forgive herself. Her voice shook, and she sniffled.