#hell's kitchen cronicles

Matt had smiled, wondering if the child was aware of the “stranger danger” rule. Not that he was dangerous to the boy, but this is New York. Crazy people all around.

Frank would always smile and kiss him when they remembered that story.

“You didn't even know him, already you were parenting.”

Lisa had come after, telling her brother he was supposed to be looking for pebbles, and then, to Matt, “hello. I'm Lisa.”

Frank appeared a moment later, apologizing to him, a strict tone with his children, “what did I say about running off?”

Lisa ended up asking if she could draw Matt’s face, and he laughed, said “sure” while Frank told her not to bother him, but Matt assured him it was fine.

When the fact that he was blind became evident to the kids, Lisa took it upon herself to describe his own face to him while working on his portrait.

“You're very handsome, Matt”, she had said matter of factly and both him and her father laughed.

“Thank you, Lisa”, he had said. “Can you describe your face to me? I'm curious.”

When she told him about her blond hair and her green eyes and her freckles and her nose, he said she was very beautiful and she giggled, and thanked him.

It was while she did a very good job of describing her father’s face to him, was that he noticed the man’s eyes scanning his face.

“My dad is very handsome, too, all my teachers think so. I heard them talking”, the girl said.

“You did?” Frank asked, surprised, taking his eyes off Matt to look at his daughter.

“Yes”, she said, like it was no big deal. “Miss Marks said she could just eat you up. But wouldn't that make her a cannibal?”

“Ok”, interrupted Frank while Matt tried not to laugh. “How about we change-”

“And Miss Leelo said she thinks you look like a brute.”

“Oh my God.”

“And that she likes that idea. What's a brute, daddy?”

“When- where did you- how did you hear all that?”

Matt felt Lisa shrugging and then hopping off Frank’s lap to run around with her brother and the dog that had been lying at their feet.

“God”, Frank had said, chuckling, still sitting next to Matt. “What just happened?”

“She sounds very, very smart”, he commented, all his focus on the man sitting by his side. It's been less than an hour, but he could already say he agreed with Lisa’s teachers.

“I thought I was in the clear after the terrible twos.”

They ended up spending the whole afternoon together. From the park they went for a hot dog, and then to another bench, and then another park.

When they said goodbye, Matt sort of had a date.

With Frank, his kids and his dog, to a different park, the next weekend.

When, finally, they were able to meet without the small chaperones, Matt could read all that was going on in Frank’s body, and he smiled when he felt the two eyes intent on his face.

When Frank kissed him, it was after he insulted Matt’s coffee choice. They were in his apartment, with the excuse that Frank was going to borrow Matt’s boxing gloves until Frank got new ones for himself.

“It's not bad” he had said after the first taste. “But these fancy machines can only do so much.”

“And here I thought Nespresso was the best of the best.”

“Stick with me, Red”, he said, using the nickname he came up with because of the color of the lenses of his glasses. “And you'll never have another mediocre cup of coffee in your life.”

Matt had smiled, said he was taking him up on that, and then Frank took two steps towards him, planting his mouth on his, hand on the back of his neck, fingers inside his hair, making him shiver.

Matt did stick with him. And Frank kept his promise: only the best coffee from then on.

.:.

One month in, Matt met his ex-wife.

“Ah, the famous Matt my kids seem to adore” said Maria, shaking his hand. “Nice to finally put a face to the stories.”

“Mom!” exclaimed Frank Jr. “Did you know he can fight?!”

“Yes, baby, you told me.”

“He's really good. He's teaching me.”

“Oh, that reminds me”, she said, turning back to Matt. “I don't know how to thank you enough for the meditation thing. I swear, it worked wonders.”

“I'm glad it helps”, he said, feeling Frank’s arm on the back of his chair.

“Oh, it does. Bed time used to be such a fight, now it’s a breeze”

He was glad to have a good relationship with Maria. At first, he imagined it would be hard, to date a man with two kids and an ex wife, but he got lucky. Frank was the most difficult out of the four of them, with his temper and short, short fuse.

Two months and the school’s schedule was in Matt’s planner. He would pick them up on Thursdays and Fridays, sometimes with Frank, sometimes by himself.

“Oh my goodness”, he heard Frank Jr’s teacher say under her breath when she spotted him once, all the way across the playground that separated the door from the sidewalk where Matt was waiting. “Where can I find me one of those?”

He tried to keep the smile in, but Frank Jr politely and innocently answered, offering an excited “at the park!” to the rhetorical question he had overheard. “That's where we met.”

Matt pretended to be coughing in his hand in order to mask the smile that broke out.

“Oh!” Exclaimed the teacher, blushing. “That's nice, Frankie!”

If he was extra charming just to make the teacher blush a little more, nobody could tell.

.:.

After they moved in together, the place was a mess for a while. That first week, they both took Friday off work to sort out the unending number of boxes piled around the apartment. Until, after an entire morning and part of the afternoon, Frank had enough.

“Shit”, he said, dropping a lamp he had no idea why he had bought, let alone brought to the new place, back in its box. “I can't do this anymore. I'm fucking done for the day.”

Matt sighed, tired himself.

“Listen”, Frank said, sitting by his side on the floor, hand on the back of his neck, guiding Matt's face to his for a lingering kiss. “You're picking up the kids today, right?”

Matt nodded.

“How about I go with you?”, he kept interrupting himself, kissing and kissing and kissing and Matt smiled. “We’ll pick them up and then… I don't know… we’ll get some air?”

Matt let himself be kissed, angling his head, opening his mouth, hand pulling on the buckle of Frank’s belt. He nodded.

“How long do we have?”

Frank looked at his watch and came back to his mouth with renewed gusto, advancing on him until Matt was lying on the floor.

“Hour and a half.”

Christen the new living room: check.

Frank was sipping his usual coffee, talking to the dad of one of Lisa’s classmates about how they both missed their motorcycles, holding on to Max’s leash, when Matt heard Lisa’s excited voice coming down the hallway, the door still closed.

“And who’s picking you up today?” Asked the teacher.

“My dad”, the girl had said, simply, but Matt’s heart did something funny inside his chest and he found himself smiling.

She meant him. Had known he was picking her up by himself, thought Frank was going to be putting her new bed together.

“Oh!” She said when she saw both of them. “They're both here!”

Half an hour later, he was sitting at the outside table of the new burger place by the Hudson River while Frank taught the kids how to throw a baseball at the small grass field a few paces away.

“Ok, sir, here we go”, said the waitress, arriving with a tray full of food. “I got two double bacon cheeseburgers”.

“Yes, that’s his”, he said, pointing to the empty seat next to his, where Frank would sit.

“Alright”, she placed the two burgers on the table, in front of the empty chair. “One double, no bacon and no pickles?”

“That's mine.”

“Now…”, she read the check. “One chicken, salad and extra sauce?”

“My daughter”, he found himself saying without even thinking about it, that feeling in his heart spreading in his chest again.

“And… one single, bacon and cheese?”

“My son.”

His throat was not closing. He was just thirsty, that's all.

“Right. I'll pick up the rest. Five fries and four chocolate shakes, right?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“You're welcome. I'll be back in a minute.”

During that whole first week, Karen picked up the phone countless times, opened the door to go to him, angry and more hurt than she cared to admit. Every time, she put the phone down, closed the door. Let go.

Because, as much as it angered and hurt her, she had to understand that Frank is a complicated man. It’s not like he’s a player, some casanova, some boy with petty lies and an attitude. Since the first moment she met him, before even, Karen knew that.

And, even when he made her smile less than an hour after his enemies decided to redecorate her apartment with bullets, even when he looked at her in a way that made her think he was reading every thought inside her mind, she never intended to become closer to him, to become his friend, his source, his… anchor? Is that what he had said?

So, she waited. Breathed in and out, willed herself to be patient. And even started coaching herself into accepting that there was a possibility that she might never see him again.

It was unlikely, she knew him by now. Still, she considered it.

A month and a week later, give or take, she actually managed to go to bed in a reasonable hour. Got home from work, made a point to not turn the TV, cooked herself dinner, soaked in the bath for a while, got into her PJ’s and turned off the lights.

She was half asleep when she heard the window crack. The first thought in her mind was that it was Matt, looking for information, checking in on her. It wouldn’t be the first time. And he had a talent for coming in when she couldn’t or was unwilling to talk to him.

It wasn’t Matt.

She saw the shotgun before she saw him. His big hand wrapped around the barrel, the sleeve of his heavy coat. Then, his heavy boot, careful not to touch her carpet - he was always careful about not staining her place, removing his shoes and placing them on the fire escape before getting up.

It wasn’t different this time. He sat on the floor and she saw him unlace first one boot, then another, place them outside the window and then close it. All the while, she didn’t move, remaining with the covers over herself, watching him.

Frank put the gun down silently, not looking in her direction until he finished folding his coat and putting it on top of the deadly weapon he carried as if it were part of him, on the corner of the room, under the reading chair she had bought and was yet to read on.

Boots neatly tucked outside, gun and coat under the chair, he got up, finally looking in her direction, his expression softening when he met her eyes. Slowly, he got up and walked towards her bed, slowly, and she knew he was giving her time to stop him, if she wished.

And she considered. Maybe make it a bit hard for him. Tell him no, he didn’t get to look at her the way he did, kiss her the way he did, undress her with such reverence it made her shudder just as much as his lips on her skin, disappear on her and then come back whenever he felt like it.

But she didn’t say anything, just lied there, holding the covers to her chin, her toes wiggling at the sight of him.

Slowly, he got close, sat on the mattress, on the same side he had slept on, and lied down next to her, looking at her, and she saw all the yearning and the hesitation in his face, along with that thing that looked a lot like adoration.

“Hi”, he said, like a boy who knew he was about to be scolded. She would laugh at the notion that the Punisher was afraid of her if she wasn’t so mad and relieved at the same time.

“Where have you been?”

He sighed, shaking his head, closing his eyes for a long moment before looking back at her, adjusting his head on the pillow.

“I was trying to do the right thing. I know!” he said, interrupting her when she opened her mouth to call bullshit. “I know. I should have… Fuck. I’m sorry.”

Karen realized that she had closed her hands in tight fists around the covers she still held to her chin. Relaxing them, she swallowed and let out a silent huff of breath, looking at him.

“I don’t know what I’m doing”, he whispered. “I don’t know if I should stay away from you, because it’s dangerous, or if I should keep you by me, because it’s safer.”

And then he broke her. Her resolve, her anger, her frustration, the will to punch him in the face.

“But I’m pretty sure there’s no safer place for you then by my side.”

Suddenly, there was a lump in her throat and she was removing a hand from inside her warm blanket cocoon, reaching for his face, trying to stop a shiver from running up and down her body when he closed her eyes and leaned into her touch, pressing a kiss to her palm.   

“Don’t you dare run away from me again”, she said, holding onto that last shred of anger. “Because if you do, I swear I’ll kill you myself.”

His lips curved into a slow, lazy smile that had no right to be charming, but it was.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I mean it, Frank. If you disappear again I’ll drop from the face of the Earth and you’ll never see or hear from me again.”

While she said it, he pulled the covers from her and over both of them, pulling her until she had her face tucked in the crook of his neck. Breathing in, she moved until she had her body intertwined with his, his strong arm around her, big hand running up and down her back.

“You should take a shower”, she said, letting him lift her face and accepting the kiss he pressed to her lips.

.:.

Presence

She sees it all the time. The people at the office complaining about having to attend anniversary dinners with their significant others when there was not enough time, there was too much work, they were tired.

And it’s not that Karen judged them. She understands, sometimes there is so much to do, it can be overwhelming. And she knows, that that honeymoon phase, that made her and Matt want to spend every free minute glued to each other, it was not forever. It was going to phase, eventually.

But, for now, she couldn’t relate too much. For now, she would count down the minutes until she could turn the computer off and leave the office, take the first cab available and drive to his place or run home and wait for him there.

Even when she had to wait for him at the restaurant when they both had energy to go out, when he called apologising, that he was going to be late, but he would be there soon, she would still smile, still roll her shoulders and take another look at the menu, trying to anticipate what he would order.

And when he came in, bending to kiss her and pulling his seat from the other side of the table to sit by her side, his arm around her back, asking about her day, and she could see the fresh bruise under his glasses, or the split skin of his knuckles.

Matt is busier than the average boyfriend. Her career took up a lot of her time, too, but he was a very special kind of lawyer, working both for the people who cannot afford to pay him and for people who can (he has to survive somehow, and New York is not a cheap city to live in), plus his night activities, with people like him, special in their own personal way, fighting, giving their all to protect those who did not ask for their help or knew they needed it. It’s safe to say his schedule is more than full.

So it filled her heart with a feeling it was almost alien, an euphoria, a giddiness and a warmth that spread all over when she saw him running, trying, making an effort, refusing to reschedule on her, when he fell asleep with his head on her lap while she watched that movie that has been on her Netflix list for so long instead of falling asleep in bed, just because he wanted to be with her.

“Hi, sorry, sorry, I’m so sorry”, he would say, placing hurried kisses on her lips, hurrying to change out of his work clothes so they could go out for drinks, for a walk, for food. And she would try not to sigh, and yes, of course she wanted to go out, see the city, enjoy her boyfriend and her time with him.

But sometimes, just the fact that he was still willing to, after a hard day, even when he was limping, even bone tired as he would be, that was enough. So she would stop him from putting a fresh shirt on, hold him, kiss him until he let out that breath that she knew was holding him up.

“We can go out another time”, she would say.

And, of course, stubborn man, Matt Murdock, he would argue.

“No, I’m fine, we should go. We have to eat anyway.”

Karen was stubborn, too.

“Matt. You can barely stand up straight.”

“Karen-”

“No. Don’t even try using your lawyer voice with me, it’s not gonna work.”

He raised his brows.

“My lawyer voice?”

“Yes, your ‘I have a good argument’ voice. It’s not gonna work. You’re tired. And even you, Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, have to sleep.” WIth one more kiss to his lips and a hand to his hair, nails massaging his scalp, because she knew it relaxed him. “You’re not really the devil, you know?”

A chuckle, a hand on her back, bringing her closer to him.

“There are some people that swear otherwise.”

Pulling away, she took his shirt from him and hung it back in it’s designated place in his closet and he didn’t need to hug her to his chest to make her smile. Just the fact that he tried, that he was willing to go out again, just to make her happy, just because he knew she wanted to, it was enough.

“The devil couldn’t love me as much as you do.”

He chuckled in her hair and she turned around to face him again, removing his glasses.

“Indian?”

He shook his head.

“I was thinking Italian. Chelsea Market. Cappone’s?”

“Hmm. Yeah. Good idea. Not tonight, though. Tomorrow. Or whenever you’re not half asleep already.”

Holding her by the back of her neck, he kissed her like he wanted to start something, and she let him, for more than a few seconds, enjoying his hands and his body and the noises he was making. When he took a step back towards his bed, though, she resisted.

“You get ready for bed. I’ll bring you your Italian food. Homemade pasta.”

Oh, she loved that smile.  

“My own private chef?”

“That’s right, counselor. And, if you manage to stay awake until after dinner, your own private masseuse, too.”

“Hmm”, he said, suddenly becoming handsy and bolder. “Are you trying to seduce me into submission?”

“Yes”, a bite on his bottom lip, full and red, always so distracting. “And it’s working.”

“It is.”

“Then go do as I said, and I’ll fix your dinner.”

She pushed him into the bed, giggling as he tugged on her wrist, untangling before he could really pull her there with him, walking towards the kitchen to work on the quick pasta she was becoming an expert in preparing.

He didn’t wait for her in bed. Preferred to listen to her moving around in his kitchen, leaning on the counter, asking her to walk him through what she was doing.

Once they were done eating, he promised he would take care of the dishes. “Tomorrow.” Pulling her into bed with him, Matt sighed while she perched on top of him to massage his muscles before going to sleep. It was something she liked to do for him - but it was also an excuse to run her hands all over him and not have that smug grin appear on his face.

On the next day, she heard him refusing a meeting with Jeri Hogarth, that big shot lawyer that Foggy worked with and had ties to Jessica Jones and Danny Rand. Because he had promised her to go out for dinner.

And Karen smiled. Even if dinner was in Chelsea Market, eating Italian subs while standing up, paper bags on the high table next to the window, Karen loved it. Because he was there. And he wanted to be.

.:.

Joy

It’s not a new thing, to laugh when she’s with them. Their history started while she shook with fear and uncertainty, and they made their best to keep her safe. Matt and Foggy made themselves her family.

So her heart soars every time she sees them being friends again.

It took a while, after the death of Nelson & Murdock, for them to talk again. But, Foggy working now where he worked and Matt doing what he did, life forced them together eventually. It was painful, it was awkward, it even made her cry once or twice. But, slowly, they started making their way back to normal.

And she loves, she just loves seeing them teasing each other again, laughing together, sometimes working together, trading information, even arguing, when trying to take the other out of harm’s way.

“Ok, on three.”

“On three of after three?”

“On three, Foggy, or I would have said ‘on four’.”

They’re helping her put her new place back together (they all agreed she should move after the walls on her previous place were decorated with bullet holes). Now, as she took plates from boxes and put them on her new kitchen cabinets, she smiled as they tried to bring her couch from downstairs and place it where she wanted it on the living room.

“Left. No, my left”, Foggy was saying. “No, no, wait, wait! Should we maybe turn it? Is this door wide enough?”

“It’s wide enough. Come on, it’s heavy.”

He walked backwards as Foggy walked forwards, moving the couch carefully and turning it like this and like that until it was in.

“Ok”, Foggy said, throwing himself on it after it was on it’s place. “Beer break.”

Matt laughed and poked a finger on Foggy’s belly.

“You need to exercise, man.”

“Fuck off. Go get me a beer, I’m parched.”

Matt walked to the kitchen and stopped to place a kiss on her cheek before opening it.

“What are you grinning about?”

“Nothing. I just love to see you guys like this.”

He smiled and moved to get three bottles from the fridge.

“Me too.”

He pulled her by the hand and they sat on her couch, talking on the otherwise empty apartment, the easy conversations that were the true aspect of their friendship flowing and flowing, until Karen sighed and got up to keep unpacking the kitchen.

“Come on”, Matt said, getting up, too. “Her bed is next.”

Foggy groaned and got up, following Matt out the door.

“We should have called Luke and Jessica”, he mused and Karen smiled at the sound of Matt’s laughter.

This is how it should be.

.:.

Comfort

As much as she loves those moments, where she felt her small family getting stronger, she also loved, loved, loved the ones where it was just them.

He’s busy. She’s busy. Ellison likes her stories and says she is a natural, but she has had no real journalistic training. She has a lot to learn. It’s not just writing and publishing, she wishes. There are so many details, political ones, technical ones, graphical ones, ethical ones, not to mention the actually writing process of a story. Seems easy, but it’s not.

So time alone, to sit and relax and enjoy being together, it can be a luxury.

So it makes it that much more meaningful when she can lock the world outside her door and windows, when he climbs the stairs from his roof access and strips the red suit off, or when he closes the front door and undoes the knot of his tie and it’s just them.

Of course she loves it when they’re naked and breathless and there’s no space between them. She loves those times. But, if she had to pick, her favorites would be when he gets home and sits in front of her on the couch, in bed, on a chair, and presses his back to her chest, head resting on one of her shoulders, letting her run her fingers through his hair, and she could feel him breathin deep, in and out, his eyes drifting close.

That he can be comfortable with her, even if it’s such a simple thing, means so much. After he told her about how much effort it was to keep that secret from the world, how he felt like he couldn’t trust anyone, be himself with anyone, it made it that much more important.

She wants his honesty, his respect, but she also wants him to trust her. To be himself around her. She wants to be that for him, a source of comfort, someone he liked to be around.

His presence already let her heart at ease. She wanted hers to be the same for him. And when he leaned on her like that, vulnerable, letting her ease away the weight he carried on his shoulders every day, it felt good. It felt right.

“Hard day?” she asks when he does it one night, pulling her attention from that  book she had been meaning to finish reading a month ago. It has started raining outside, his hair and shirt are a little wet from when he hopped off the cab in front of her building.

“Hmm. No. Not particularly. It was actually kind of boring.”

She’s unbuttoning his shirt because a cold is the last thing he needs and he nuzzles his nose on the side of her neck.

“I missed you, though.”

Karen smiles, because oh, she did, too. Every time the weather is like this, rainy but not cold, she felt the urge to be close to him. Maybe it had something to do with that first kiss. Maybe not. She’s not too eager to find out. Doesn’t matter.

Because she has him. And he has her.

“I love you”, he says, eyes closed, one hand closing around hers when she finishes taking his shirt off him.

“I love you, too”, she says with a kiss on his temple.

She tries to read while he sleeps against her, but soon she is resting her head on the back of the couch, staring out the window, drifting off, lulled by the rhythm of his breathing.

And she wakes a few minutes later when her neck starts hurting, and he gets up and pulls her until they’re both in bed. There, he cuddles against her again, holding her flush against him, and she can feel his heartbeat against her skin.

It’s been awhile since the nightmares kept her up at night.

.:.

Peace

There are days, weeks, sometimes months, that she thinks it’s all pointless. Why fight so hard for humanity, when humanity itself can be such an ugly, hateful, hard thing? Why keep uncovering the filth, why expose evil, why put herself through this if they keep coming back? Greed and hate and so much dirt, so much ugliness. Every time she’s done with one, another one comes, bigger, worse. Sometimes she feels like she’s punching a wall, drowning in a sea of wrong.

And she knows he feels it, too. If her work gives her a front seat view of all that is wrong, his - both of them - puts him right in the middle of everything.

Including those who try to twist the good he tries to do. Who call him a criminal and a deviant, dangerous, demon, devil, dangerous. A threat to those he tries to protect, every day, every day, every day.

She gets to his place and she’s tired. Annoyed and irritated. A senator, hurt and angry that she had exposed where his campaign money comes from and where his voters taxes go, had written a long article, full of lies, accusing her of sensationalism, of taking money from his opponent, of trying to bribe him, trying to make her look as corrupt and dirty as he is.

When Matt got there, she was already in bed, having skipped dinner.

Of course he had read it. She could feel it the way he walked, careful and measured. When he opened the bedroom door and sat carefully on the edge of the bed, Karen waited.

And, sure enough, he bent and dropped a kiss on her head, long and lingering, getting up right after to change into his other suit.

“So”, he started, soft and low, but also sure and determined. “What’s the next move?”

She sighed, turning to lie on her back.

“I don’t know yet.”

“We’ll figure it out.” And then he was, shirtless and barefoot, kneeling in bed, supporting his weight on his hands and crawling the distance from her feet to her face to catch her mouth in his. “You want me to teach him a lesson?”

Karen smiled against his mouth, shaking her head and pressing another kiss or two on his lips.

“No. Best not make it obvious Daredevil cares what people say about me, wouldn’t you say?”

“I can send Jessica.”

“God, no. Can you imagine? She already doesn’t like him. Let’s not give her a reason to use that considerable strength of hers on him.”

He shrugged.

“I wouldn’t mind, actually.”

As it turns out, he didn’t have to do anything. Trish called asking her to come over for some wine, snacks and The Bachelorette reruns at her place. She was trying to convince her friend to let her take a rain check when Jessica took the phone.

“Listen, just stop whining and come over. And bring that righteous asshole you call a boyfriend, I need to talk to him. Claire found some pretty interesting shit, I need to run it by him. Ok? Ok. See you soon.”

So, off they went. She did have a few glasses of wine with Trish, listening on tips how to deal with misogynist assholes while Jessica and Matt talked about their vigilante business. And when they decided to go, she was feeling better. A little light headed from Trish’s expensive wine, but better.

“Tell me the truth”, she said, when he had his arm around her in the cab. “Did you call Trish?”

He didn’t answer right away, so she turned her face and looked up at him, the red lenses of his glasses reflecting the street lights as they drove by them. And then that smirk.

“No.”

Rolling her eyes, she smiled and pressed a kiss to his jaw.

“Thank you. You didn’t have to, but thank you.”

She fell asleep around one in the morning, after he stripped her naked and made her forget why she was upset in the first place. She was boneless and the tip of her fingers and toes were tingling when she pulled him to her, insisting he stayed, please, she didn’t feel like sleeping alone tonight, please, please.

He did. She knew he was going to leave after she fell asleep - and she doesn’t really blame him anymore. It’s his nature. She’s done fighting it. -, but he waited, held her tight and did as she asked.

To her surprise, he was still there the next morning, his alarm waking both of them up, and they got ready for work and ate breakfast together and he walked her to the Bulletin’s door.

“Have a nice day”, he said, kissing her lips and stealing one more bite of her bagel before walking towards his own office, and Karen felt like the exact opposite of how she felt the night before.

Not jaded and angry and hopeless, but energized and ready and… supported. She had him in her corner. He had her. They could do this. He was strong in ways she wasn’t and she was strong in ways he wasn’t. And it sounds sappy and teenager and cliché, but oh, if that doesn’t motivate her to go on.

Officially, Karen had died. So had Frank. Drowned, shot, tortured, who knows. The last news on her were that she had been taken by the Italian mafia. Nobody was really expecting to find her body, not after the things she had written.

Frank Castle died with her because his name was involved. Indirectly, they were careful about that, but he was both after the Italians and running from the Italians, so it was not very difficult to put his name in the dead list.

He had gotten to her place almost 24 hours ago, asking her to hear him out. She was used to him being over protective of her, forever apologising with actions for using her as bait that one time.

This time, he asked her to let herself be captured. And Karen really did think he was crazy.

But then he explained. Promised he would be there, he would not take his eyes off her, not for one minute. But in order for this to be finished, this underground bounty on her head and the sheer reign of terror the family from Sicily was building, he had to have a way in. And she was it.

Karen from Vermont would never agree to something like that. Karen from New York did, paraded herself for two hours at the last place she should ever be, let herself be followed home, let herself be captured, didn’t put up much of a fight, prayed that Frank was there, behind her, like he promised.

He doesn’t lie to her. And he didn’t. As promised, he got to her right before she got a violent slap to her face, a shot to her head, God knows what else. Suddenly there was someone else’s blood on her skin, her clothes, her face. Frank was there, putting a gun in her hand, shooting a thousand bullets per second, pulling her through a door she never noticed was there, running towards a car, pressing a button, starting the engine at the same time an explosion blew behind them, driving away and she could not believe she didn’t have a scratch on her. Maybe her arms would be bruised from when they grabbed her at her apartment, but that was it.

Frank drove for hours. Three, four, maybe five. Maybe less than that. It didn’t occur to her to ask where they were going. She focused on breathing and looked at the night sky, the lights of the city fading behind them.

When he parked outside a house hidden in the middle of the woods, she saw Max looking out the front window, his excited breathing fogging up the glass.

“I got your suitcase”, Frank said after killing the engine. “It’s in your bedroom.”

“My bedroom?”

He nodded.

“The one you’re gonna occupy while we’re here”. He looked outside the car towards the two story house. “It’s the nice one.”

“What is this place, Frank?”

He looked at her and she didn’t know what to feel. Tired, scared, relieved, angry, sad, what? She was all of those things and a few more she couldn’t name.

He just shrugged.

“Belonged to a friend. Come on.”

He collected the bag of weapons he had put in the trunk and they made their way inside. The bag with her clothes and basic belongings and his were already there, he had brought them the day before, along with Max.

Karen let him look at her, looking for bruises, didn’t complain when he fussed over the simplest of scrapes, putting a bandage over it. She let him apply medicine to the one on her forehead she hadn’t noticed, let him examine the ones of her arms, answered all his questions of “does it hurt?”

They had microwaved frozen meals for dinner and she announced that she was going to bed after swallowing maybe a third of it.

He was right, her room was nice. Big bed and curtains on the windows and her own en suite bathroom. There was even a desk where her computer sat.  

It was one in the morning when she decided she was not going to be able to sleep.

Making her silent way downstairs, she spotted a blanket folded over the couch. Picking it up, she opened the front door and walked until she was halfway between the house and the edge of the woods.

She had been staring at the stars in the sky for maybe twenty minutes when he sat down next to her, and then lied down.

Karen waited for him to say something. To apologise again. He didn’t. Just looked at the sky and there they stayed.

When she opened her eyes again, the blue of the sky was not so dark. Dawn was threatening to break and she let herself cry, silently, tear after tear rolling down ter temples towards the blanket under them.

She was dead. They were dead.

She could feel herself calming down when his arm started moving slowly towards her and he pulled her to him.

“Did you tell someone?” she asked, voice small.

He took a second and then answered her, soft and slow.

“Red. And Micro.”

She sighed in relief. At least someone knew she was alive.

“Who’s Micro?”

“Associate of mine.”

“Do you trust him?”

“Yes.”

She fell asleep again after that, inside his arms, feeling safe.

.:.

Matt called once, that afternoon, voice tortured and sighing when she answered.

He asked all the questions. Was she ok? Was she hurt? Did she need anything? Promised he would help with this fucked up situation, promised to do his best.

Asked if she wanted to go back home.

Frank sat on a chair by her side, elbows on his knees, head down, cracking his knuckles, waiting for her to finish. Max sat in front of her chair, sweet round eyes looking at her and she reached a hand to caress his face.

“No. I’m ok.”

.:.

Frank spent a lot of time talking on that strange looking phone. Satellite phone, she realized. From what she could hear, he was giving orders, asking for status, giving more orders, adjusting plans.

Other than that, she was not allowed to log into her email or any other account.

“Don’t worry, they’ll all be there for you when we go back. Micro is taking care of it.”

All she could do in her computer was check the news and try to distract herself.

.:.

After just two days, she had cabin fever. And Frank was the one feeling it’s effects.

“Wanna to go for a drive?” he offered after she used too much force to throw the ball for Max, grunting, and the pitbull ran towards the trees after it. “Maybe pick up some stuff to eat.”

She realized what he was doing. And she wanted to snap at him, tell him not to treat her like a child. Instead, she got up and said “yes”, rolling her eyes as he sighed and bent to put his boots on.

They found a farmer’s market on the way. She had never, in her life, enjoyed a farmer’s market. When her mother forced her to go when she was younger, after church, she would complain the whole way. Today, it felt like the gates of heaven.

“Karen”, he said, using that voice she imagined he used when he was bossing people around in the army, when she asked him to stop the car.

“Don’t ‘Karen’ me. Come on”, she said, putting the leash on Max’s collar. “It’s just a bunch of old ladies.”

It wasn’t. But she enjoyed talking to people, buying stuff she doesn’t usually buy, like half a pound of cherries and a dozen donuts.

She held Max’s leash, who walked by her side and stopped when she wanted to stop, not complaining, just looking behind them here and there to make sure Frank was still there.

She was paying for apples when the lady giving her her change asked if Max wanted some water.

“Oh, yes, thank you very much.”

“No problem, dear.”

She filled a bowl and Max lapped it up happily.

“I have one, myself. Well, actually he’s my husband’s. He’s like yours.”

At first, Karen thought she meant her dog was like Max, but she motioned with her head and Karen looked behind her to see Frank, wearing his sunglasses and hoodie over a beanie.

(He looked good, a part of her brain noticed. Really good.)

“Only Charles does not look like that anymore”, the lady whispered, humor in her voice. “Military?” she asked, already nodding, a small smile.

“Uh, yeah”, Karen answered.

“Mine, too. After forty years, you learn to recognize them just by the way they walk and stand.”

Max finished his water, Karen thanked the lady and then walked back to Frank, saying that they could go.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

.:.

Two nights later, she was crying on the porch, thinking he had gone to bed already, but he opened the door and crouched in front of her.

“What is it?” he asked, careful, distant and present at the same time.

She tried to wipe her tears  away, tell him it was nothing, but he insisted, and insisted, and she told him she felt strange, knowing the world was going on without her.

“I’m…” she started, sighing, annoyed with herself. “I’m dead, and it seems to make zero difference.”

It was his turn to sigh, getting up, asking her to move, to make way for him.

He sat with one leg bent against the back of the bench, a foot on the seat, and made her sit with her back against his chest, his arms coming around her.

She thought he was going to hug her, but suddenly there was a gun in his left hand, and he was placing it on hers.

Before she knew what was happening, she was holding his gun and he was making her point it towards the trees.

“Do you see the thick one, a little behind?”

“What-”

“Do you see it?”

Confused, Karen looked and spotted the tree he was talking about. It was taller and thicker than the others around it.

“Yes.”

His thumb clicked the safety off and he cocked the gun, his finger guiding her own to the trigger.

“Come on.”

She blinked, not understanding why he wanted her to shoot a tree, a wild thought that there was someone hiding there and he was making her kill them crossing her mind, but vanishing when she realized his mouth was there by her ear. She could feel his breath, his chest rising and falling slowly against her back.

“Ma’am. Pull the trigger.”

Swallowing once, she did. And she felt so good after the shot echoed and she spotted the bullet mark on the bark of the tree, she did it again without prompting. And again. And again, again until the gun clicked empty.

Silently, Frank pulled a full magazine from his pocket and placed it in her hand. Karen changed it, letting him take the empty one, clicking it in place and cocking the gun herself, shooting again and again until there was a faint ringing in her ear.

She felt incredibly better. Her hands were vibrating, her heart was pounding and she felt she wanted to smile.

“Better?” Frank asked after she lowered the weapon. She nodded.

Getting the gun from her, he placed it on the floor near his foot.

“The world didn’t stop because you didn’t really die”, he said, picking her chin and turning her face to his. “If you did, everybody else would die with you.”

She had time to recognize a different quality in his voice before he put his lips on hers. He didn’t whisper, but his words were low, meant only for her, and she was close enough.

Or at least she thought she was.

She had always, somehow, known he would be a good kisser. And that he would, eventually, kiss her. The effects his mouth had on her, though, were a bit of a pleasant surprise. It was a natural thing, felt right and organic, but also an addicting one. The more she did it, the more she discovered, lips and teeth and tongues, the more she wanted, the more she craved, the more she needed.

Karen turned around and Frank latched onto her neck, hands gripping at her, the intensity of him making her shiver, her own hands grabbing at him when he slid his hands from her waist to grab at her ass, getting up, her legs instinctively going around his hips, mouth looking for his again,God, it felt like breathing.

Frank stripped her with his hands and covered her body with his mouth. The look in his face when he lifted it to look at her made her feel warm inside, but not the cozy kind. Warm like there was a fire starting in the pit of her stomach, spreading up her spine and through her limbs, making her skin ignite and she felt like she could conduct electricity, shock him the next time he touched her.

It didn’t happen. Frank lowered his face again and she ran her hands on the skin revealed by his shirt.

She was focusing on the feeling of his hands on her when he rolled them over, and she moved to sit on top of him, straddling his lap, no teasing, it was not about that, it was just about them, getting and giving, everything.

He tugged at the hem of her sweater and she removed it, watching as he watched, feeling powerful and beautiful, but cold without him pressed up against her.

Karen tugged on his wrist and he sat up, an arm around her waist, his tongue on her neck, teeth scraping skin, breathing intense and palm heavy. He held her firmly and she reveled in it, in his strength, how he didn’t touch her as if she was made of paper.

She forgot she had been crying, remembering only when he lied down again, after bringing two hands to her face and wiping the dried up tears from her cheeks, and she turned her face towards his palm.

Frank was on top of her again, her legs were up and around him, arms too, her back was arched and she was feeling so good, the world falling silent around them, moving slow, all she could see was him, all she could feel was him, all she wanted was him.

Karen and Frank needed to die in order to feel alive again.

.:.

It had been a week when his phone made itself known one more time.

Her computer had been off for days and all she wore were his shirts, not because she felt comfortable in them (which she did, but her own clothes were also efficient in that department), but because she liked the way he looked at her when she did. Watching her with precision, focused, chasing the movement of her legs with his eyes, unmasked, unguarded, no Punisher, just Frank.

She was wearing one of his hoodies, the grey one he loved to throw over his bare chest, perched on the kitchen island with her legs around him when the satellite phone beeped in his pocket.

Sighing, he picked it up, but kept scanning her with his eyes, and she brought her hands to his face, the tip of her fingers caressing his jaw, the contour of his nose, ghosting over his lips.

Damn it. She was in love with him.

She has heard some people describing that feeling as heavy. “The weight of realization”. To her, it felt the opposite. She felt like she would float away if he wasn’t holding her down.

“Yeah. Fine. Thanks, man. I’ll call back later.”

Hanging up, he drew a deep breath and leaned in to kiss her, sweet and gentle and… Devoted.

“It’s been a week”, he said, forehead touching hers. “We have to go back.”

It was her turn to sigh and cast a quick look around, to this mysterious house in the middle of nowhere, where she already felt so at home.

“I don’t want to”, she admitted, lacing her fingers on the back of his neck, kissing his forehead and he held her to him, chest to chest, tight and sweet.

“Yeah”, he said. “Me neither.”

“Can’t we stay?”

Lifting his head from her neck, he gave her a teasing look.

“Weren’t you crying over your own death just the other day?”

She smiled, pinching his side, making him squirm, smile, and she wanted to make him smile everyday, take him away from his demons, for good.

“That was before.”

“Before what?”

She kissed him once, open mouth and sliding tongue, and leaned back, back, his hands sliding from her back around her waist, lifting the hoodie, exploring, warm and heavy, she loved that pressure.

“Before you”, she said, laying down on the marble counter, arching her back, letting him lower the zipper, knowing his eyes were doing a sweep of her, reveling in it. “Before us.”

He grunted and he moaned and she breathed deep, lost in the feeling of him, sitting back up to hold him, unable to resist the allure of his mouth on hers for too long.

“I want to stay”, she told him again, hand on his chest, feeling his heart beating.

Alive. Both of them.

His burner vibrated in his pocket. The world called.

The paths that led him here really didn’t matter anymore. All it did was that Frank has walked them, step by step and, and before he knew it, someone cared about him. Someone cried for him, smiled at him, trusted him and welcomed him. Fought for him.

Before, when he was nothing to no one, he lived. Walked away from unthinkable situations, beaten and bloody, but standing.

Now that there was a heart that beat for him again, he was going to die by the hand of someone else’s enemy.

He saw Karen’s face and he knew he was hallucinating. She was miles and miles and miles away, safe in that hel holel of a city while he hunted people down, people that did not have their eyes on her yet, but he could not risk it. Damn it, he could not risk it.

Red’s enemies were, by definition, her enemies. Nelson’s enemies, that nurse’s enemies. And as much as Frank didn’t really mind saving their lives by proxy, it was hers that mattered the most, he was doing it because they knew who she was, they knew who Red was, they knew she mattered to him.

So he took it upon himself. And Red told him, the righteous bastard, he told him to wait, to stay out of it, to trust him, but Frank didn’t listen, because he could not, for the life of him, wait around for them to find her.

He found the small dart on his neck and it struck him odd, that they would attack like that. Subtle. But maybe the goal was to make him suffer.

His fever began and he lost his balance, managing to, at the very least, close the door to the shed behind him before collapsing, his vision dancing and his skin erupting like it was on fire, he could feel the sweat beading down towards the floor.

And he saw her. All the times she had made him feel, unintentionally, all the times he found himself smiling, averting his gaze from her because she was hard to look at. Too beautiful.

He called her name to the ceiling and she called his back, reaching her hand, asking him to come with her, follow her, it’s quiet here.

Frank knew it wasn’t real because his imagination did not measure up to the feeling of when she was really touching him. He always thought he remembered it right, but he didn’t. It was always a shock when her fingers found his skin again. Every single time.

When he woke back up, his head was spinning and he could not yet sit up, but the echoes in his mind were gone. He could see it was day, could see his gun right there by his hip, his vest was tight against his chest, the dart that had poisoned him still secure in his left hand.

He picked up his phone and dialed the number he hated having in his speed dial.

“Frank?” he answered, voice already frantic. “Where the hell are you?”

“Red”, was all he managed to say before Karen appeared before his eyes again, smiling bright and warm, calling him, come with me, Frank.

The phone fell to the ground and he could hear Red’s distant voice calling him, and he knew that one was real. The one in his head, though, hers, was better, it made him feel better, he wanted to go with her.

But he knew it was a lie. His imagination was not that good, she was always better when she was there, always. This was not her.

Frank closed his eyes and focused on his blood. “Flush it out”, he thought. “Flush it out so you can go back to her, don’t die, don’t you die now, don’t die, don’t die.”

While she smiled and he ran the tip of his fingers on her face, her voice distant even when she was right there in front of him, he felt a palm on his mouth, and a bitter taste. Karen disappeared and he saw eyes, dark and focused, looking at him, and he swallowed, and Karen was there again. The pressure was off his mouth, the taste gone.

He promised himself he would kiss her if he got to see her again. It seemed so stupid now, all that reasoning and the useless distance he kept from her. If he’s gonna die, he might as well know how she tastes like.

(Except he did know. He never kissed her, she never kissed him, but he knew, he knew it on his tongue and his brain and his eyelids.

If he didn’t die, he would kiss her and make sure.)

He opened his eyes again when he felt himself being moved. There were people, it was dark, he was being turned sideways and there were fingers inside his mouth, then he was gagging, his stomach was convulsing and he was vomiting whatever it was someone with dark eyes had made him swallow before.

He wished the image of her would come back.

When he could breathe again, hands turned him to lay on his back once more, and there was someone on top of him, prying his eyes open with their fingers, a light blinding him, one eye at a time. He moved to push them out, get rid of them, but then his arms were pinned to the floor.

“Whoa, ok, calm down”, said a deep voice he didn’t recognize. “Wake up, man, come on.”

“We need to move him, he needs an IV now, or he’s not gonna make it.”

That voice he knew.

Opening his eyes, he saw Karen smiling big again, but he blinked it away (the real one was better). When his vision came into focus again, the nurse, Claire, was looking at him with a frown.

“Frank. Do you remember me?”

Looking around, he saw a big man holding his arms down. He didn’t know him.

“Frank!” she called again. “I’m Claire. Do you remember me?”

He wanted to say yes, but his voice didn’t come out, so he nodded.

“Ok, good”, she said, climbing down from him. “We need to go. Luke, get Matt, we need to get him home now. Like right now.”

.:.

The theory was they tried to weaken him. Frank was too strong to waste, Red said.

After that place that looked like a hospital, but wasn’t, after the needle Claire put in his arm, after Red’s theories, after his fever broke and after he said he had to go, he was knocking on her door. Still not steady on his feet, his head still spun, but he had to be there.

When she opened the door, his heart tightened at the sight of her face. Her real face, not the half assed one his mind conjured up during poison induced hallucinations.

“Frank? You ok?” she asked, her voice careful, and he smiled at her. He was sure the sight was not a good one. “You look like shit.”

Stepping inside and closing the door behind him, he swallowed past the lump in his throat and reached for her.