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It was Wednesday in New York and snow was falling; little flakes, translucent like dust motes. Karen hurried through the chill, her head down, the wind sending her hair dancing around her face. She could feel the cold right in her fingertips, and the grasp she had on her handbag made it seem as if she were frozen to it. The weight of her gun nestled within was comforting.
Karen had left the office in a rush after a phone call from an anonymous source, claiming to have information on the "rebirth of Daredevil". It'd been months since the Midland Circle Building had fell, and she and Foggy were busy collecting clues to explain the absence of Matt's body in the wreckage. This, in addition to the emergence of a new horned vigilante in Hell's Kitchen, still to be identified, had Karen's professional and private lives blurring more and more. Dot-to-dot, superhero style.
The snow flurries continued to cascade, growing thicker by the second, so she ducked under an awning for shelter. The building was a diner, and Christmas lights illuminated the windows, warm colours reflecting on the glass like a kaleidoscope. Karen shook her feet, cursing as slushy ice poured from a hole in her shoe.
"Fucking things," she muttered, securing her scarf where the wind had tangled it.
"Ma'am, are you in need of assistance?" A voice to her left said. Husky, serious.
"No thank you, I'm good," Karen wondered if the sarcasm in her tone was a bit heavy. The voice let out a chuckle, a rumbling thing. She bent down, examining the damage to the shoe. Her foot was tingling, her stockings a damp wreck. A hand that wasn't her own came into sight.
"You've made a bit of a mess here," Yeah, no shit. "Can I help you out, Karen?"
Her head snapped up, shoe disaster forgotten. Perched beside her, the onset of a beard peppering his face, was Frank fucking Castle. His eyes were hidden by his baseball cap, but at Karen's look of bewilderment he tilted his head back, and his eyes met hers. He looked... good. And not in some shallow way, not the carnal way she'd always noticed, however hard she tried not to. No, he looked healthy. No bruises marring his face, under-eyes devoid of shadow, he even had the makings of a smile set in motion.
Karen shook her head, as if to scatter these thoughts. Stop staring at him like an idiot and say something.
"Ugh..." Wow, real smooth Page. Frank looked at her expectantly, eyes crinkling in apparent amusement. "Are you Jewish?"
Frank's face twisted into confusion, and Karen berated herself. She hadn't seen the man in months, and these were her first words to him? What the hell was she saying? Her mind flickered back to the elevator that day, and she let out a stuttering breath. Her hand on his chest, their foreheads just touching, their bodies circling but not connecting. Magnets barred from colliding by an invisible barrier. A wish to ‘take care’, and then he was gone.
"Christmas," She attempted to clarify, "I bought you something" and why had she done that? Some childish hope of his return, she supposed. Not wholly unfounded, apparently.
"I celebrate Christmas, Karen," her name in his mouth was otherworldly. Particularly when spoken like that, with a smile. Frank stood, and she watched the muscles in his thighs move under the tight denim of his jeans.
God, she wanted to...
"Yeah, I knew that, I don't know why I said that," She said, as if to halt her own thoughts.
His hand was in front of her again, and she grasped it, allowing him to help her to her feet. His hand was jarringly warm, and his thumb moved over her fingertips as if to brush away the chill there. The Punisher, a chivalrous man. In someone else's actions the move could have seemed condescending. But she'd fought alongside Frank, and he’d always made her his equal. Karen looked down at their still entwined hands. It was so odd to see them together like that, the contrast of her own, ink-smudged from work, with his, calloused from his vigilante escapades. She wondered how his hands would look in the coming months, now his vendetta was over and done with. She wanted to be there to see the changes within him as they happened, not have to observe them suddenly, take notes in fits and starts like this, after being apart for weeks. She didn’t want to let go, let her hand drop, lose her point of contact. A silence settled between them.
They stood like that, hand in hand, side by side, with just the ring of the bell on the diner door to let them know sound still even existed. The snow had placed a dampener over the scene, as if settling the hum of the city, freezing the moment in place for them to solidify it in their memories. Karen wondered how long this would have to tide her over for, these little touches. She’d spoken to Lieberman, she knew that Frank Castle was technically no more. To the world at large, he truly was Pete Castiglione now. What that meant for them she didn’t dare consider. If there even was a them to be considered, that is.
Karen glanced at Frank, quick looks on the edges of her vision, as if turning her gaze directly at him would have him carried away by the snow. The man was no less Frank than he was the Punisher, no matter what the records said.
There was so much to say, but she didn’t know where to begin.
She didn’t even know how to feel, didn’t know if she wanted to kiss him or cry.
At this moment, both seemed probable.
Yet at the same time, neither were realistic.
Why hadn’t he come to her sooner?
The flowers were in the windowsill.
She’d had them there since she got home from the hotel that day. They were wilted beyond recognition now, but she couldn’t bear to throw them out. Just in case. Even replacing them seemed like a task best left alone; what if he saw new flowers and didn’t realise they were for him?
Karen realised that she kept moving her mouth, wanting to speak, but finding no place to start.
“I wanted to see you,” it came from him, and she turned, jolted from her whirring thoughts. He’d saved her again, from awkward silences rather than bullets this time. She valued both rescues equally. His words were direct, as was his gaze, and she resigned herself to look at him full on. Hoped not to break the fragility of the moment. “Karen, I wanted to be there, but I’ve been figuring some stuff out.”
As excuses go, that was pretty lame. She only knew she’d said so out loud when Frank let out a surprised noise, the jolt of a stifled laugh.
“I’ve been going to Curtis’ vet group,” he explained, his face turned…nervous? She wouldn’t believe it if she weren’t looking right at him. That was not what she expected to hear. He seemed almost sheepish. She stepped forwards, ignoring the icy slush in her shoe, so they were standing chest to chest. A thank you for being vulnerable. They communicated better without words.
“That’s great Frank, really,” she said, feeling like a jerk. His thumb ran over the backs of her knuckles, a reassurance. “I think you should come back to my apartment.” She added in a rush, before she could talk herself out of it.
Frank quirked an eyebrow at her, but made a sound of interest.
“Karen…” he started, unsure how to take the request.
“I need a change of shoes,” she supplied. There, a safe invitation. No commitment.
“I’d be happy to escort you,” he said immediately, ever the gentleman, . “These New York roads, what a hazard.” He gestured at her feet with their entwined hands.
In an unspoken agreement, they stepped out into the snow together.
New York was a bed of white, the heart of a star. A new beginning.
There was a lot to be discussed, to be done — Karen’s apartment awaited them — but it would come.
For now, it was enough to just hold hands, and walk.