Chapter Text
He wakes up on Friday morning with buzzing in his veins and fluttering, crawling sensation in his stomach.
He tangles his fingers in his hair and pulls hard, scrubs his hand roughly over his face before sitting up in bed. The buzzing is a sensation he’s familiar with, a signal from his body to his brain that he’s spent the night dreaming about Karen even if he can’t quite remember the exact details of it.
But the sensation in his stomach is new. He thinks for a moment and realizes that the easiest way to describe it might be butterflies. Finds himself both mildly embarrassed and mildly triumphant about it – embarrassed, because it’s a feeling that he thinks he should’ve outgrown with braces and little league; triumphant, because it seems that a body that has learned to stomach as much violence and cruelty and bloodshed as he has wrought has room enough in it to still feel butterflies.
He exhales loudly and reaches over to the nightstand to check his phone. Or rather, to look at the same text message from Karen he’s been intermittently studying for the last two days. They haven’t sent anything else since that initial exchange, some unspoken agreement between the two of them, he thinks, to save all their words for when they see one another in person.
At least, that’s what he hopes it means.
He shows up early to Vigilantes, a copy of the Friday morning Bulletin and a small, brown paper wrapped package tucked under his arm . Allen perks up when he walks in, though Frank just smirks and lets Gracie off her leash so that she can pad over to Allen and the newer barista, Yaire, working the counter. He figures he can get a drink with Karen once she gets here, so he just grabs a table near the large front window, faces the direction of Karen’s apartment, sets the package to the side, and opens the paper.
Most mornings, he’ll go through the paper slowly, methodically, reading every article in order like he’s trying to convince himself that he’s not just waiting to get to Karen’s. This morning, though, he flips through the paper until he finds her name, feels his brows raise in surprise when he sees another familiar name in the lead of her article.
He gets halfway through the article and sets the paper down, is about to take out his phone and send a text to Curtis when he sees Karen at the far end of the sidewalk, walking towards him. His breath catches, and he thinks that no amount of dreaming could’ve prepared him for this moment.
She’s looking down at her phone, is almost to the door before she looks up and notices him sitting there, the cadence of her step faltering for just a moment as she meets his eyes. She lifts one hand up in front of her in a tentative hello, a wide, bright smile suddenly opening across her face. The kind of smile that makes it easy to smile in return, even as he feels his chest contract and expand suddenly around his heart, feels the butterflies in his stomach multiply a hundred times over.
She steps into the coffee shop and turns towards him, her bag draped over her shoulder with what looks to be Gracie’s Bark Box gripped in her hand. She walks over to him and puts the box down on the table, then reaches up to tuck her hair back behind her ear.
“Hey, Frank,” she says, her voice a soft mix of tenderness and affection and uncertainty, the hard syllables of his name made gentle by the sound of her voice.
Before he realizes it, he’s up and out of his chair, and he doesn’t care that the movement is abrupt, the sound of the chair scraping back loud in the nearly empty coffee shop; he doesn’t care that this isn’t what he planned to do, that he’s smiling so hard at her that it nearly makes his cheeks hurt, that only thing he can hear is the rushing of blood through his ears.
In this moment, all he cares about is her, and him, and them together, here looking at one another in the early morning sunshine. All he sees and all he knows is that she’s more than a dream or a wish or a hope – she’s real, she’s here, and she wanted to see him.
He wraps his arms around her, one arm around her waist, the other across her shoulders. There’s an almost overwhelming sense of relief in the way she doesn’t hesitate at all, the way the she immediately wraps herself around him in turn – one arm laid across his back, the other pressed around his shoulders, her hand gently resting on the back of his neck. He closes his eyes and breathes in deeply, lets himself fall into this dream that isn’t a dream, this moment that eclipses all his idle daydreams. He feels her breath on his neck and there’s a shakiness to it that makes him grip her tighter, that rejoices when she tightens her grip on him in return.
The stay like that for another moment longer, breathing one another in, swaying gently in the morning light – the movement familiar and new all at once. He lets his hand lightly brush against the curtain of her hair, a movement that he’s thought about over and over again in these last eight months, a movement he can hardly believe is no longer confined to his dreams. He feels Karen take a deep breath in as he does, feels her own fingers graze the curling hair at the back of his neck.
She loosens her grip on him and steps back just far enough to look him in the eye, but still close enough that he can see the way she inhales – like she’s steadying herself – before she speaks.
“It’s good to see you, Frank.”
He nods, takes a deep breath in.
What he means to say next is: you look well, and then grin because he knows she’ll catch the allusion; or else, it’s good to see you, because it is – even if those words seem wholly understated for this moment.
What he says instead is: “You look beautiful,” then freezes, because that’s exactly what he didn’t mean to say.
The words roll off his tongue easily, like he’s said them a hundred different times. He guesses that, in a way, he has. Has imagined saying it to her dozens of times while lost in a daydream, has dreamt saying it to her in countless different dreams. He thinks his mouth can’t help but say it now that she’s here, standing in front of him, as though all his imagined scenarios and dreams have only ever been practice for this moment.
They’re still halfway wrapped up in one another, one of his arms around her waist, her hand still resting against the back of his neck. He’s near enough still that he can hear her breath catch as he says those words to her, the way her eyes widen as the words land.
Close enough that he can hear the heavy cadence of her heart as it speeds up, so close that he can’t actually tell whether the beat of it is his or hers. The sound of it seems to get louder as the silence stretches between them, as the the anxiety in his chest folds in on itself and starts to become panic.
Then, she smiles, and he feels the tightness in his chest loosen. She’s looking at him with unfiltered openness and warmth, her smile shot through with obvious, undeserved affection. For a moment, he forgets where he is, forgets what he just said – just lets himself fall into it, never wants to climb back out.
She bites down on her lip, flicks her eyes up above his.
“I like your hair,” she finally says, her fingertips brushing up the back of his head before she drops her hand and steps away from him, that same soft smile still on her face. “The scruff too,” she adds, and he tries not to be disappointed that she doesn’t reach out and brush her hand against his roughened cheek, too. “It’s not quite as hipster as before,” she says, a teasing lilt to her words. “Looks good on you, Frank.”
He pulls his hand away from her waist, tries to make the action more casual than reluctant, then runs his fingers through his hair.
“Yeah, you know – really didn’t wanna be a called a hipster again.” He grins at her. “But I figured I should at least make an effort not to look like, uh, me, you know, when I go to a coffee shop that serves a drink called The Punisher.”
She gives him a close lipped smile.
“We didn’t have to come here, you know. I would’ve gone anywhere to see you.”
He shrugs, looks away from her momentarily so that she doesn’t see the effect those words have on him, the way they cause guilt and tenderness to curl up together in the center of his chest.
"Nah, I like it here.” He glances over at her and clears his throat. “Coffee’s good.” He lifts the corner of his mouth in a half-smile before he turns towards the counter and calls out Gracie’s name. Glances over at Karen as Gracie comes out from behind the counter, then pads right over to Karen and sits down in front of her.
Karen drops down to one knee.
“Hi girl, it’s good to finally meet you,” she says softly, scratching behind Gracie’s ears, then running her hands over Gracie’s head as she looks up at him. “Oh, Frank. She’s even cuter in person.”
Gracie stretches her neck out and gives Karen a slobbery kiss right on the lips just as she says that, which makes Karen splutter and him chuckle.
“Yeah, saw that one coming,” he says, grinning while Karen pulls a face at him and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “Guess you’re not used to dogs?”
She gives Gracie one last scratch behind the ears before she stands up and shakes her head.
“I always wanted one but…uh, no. We never had one growing up.” She gives him a tight smile, then gestures to the counter. “Wanna get a drink?”
He nods, walks over to the counter in step with her, tries not to notice when their hands brush up against one another.
Allen smiles widely at the two of them, bounces up and down on his toes.
“Hey Pete, hey Karen! Good morning to you both! What can I get for you guys?”
“The usual, Allen.”
Allen does a finger gun in his direction, clicks his tongue.
“And is that gonna be an 8 ounce or a 12 ounce Punisher, Pete?”
“8.”
Frank looks over at Karen, who’s grinning at him, an expression he might describe as glee on her face. He gives her a flat look, but can’t help the way his mouth twitches upwards in a barely suppressed smile before he gestures towards the counter and steps back so she can order.
“Fr – Pete.” She clears her throat. “You – you don’t – .”
He shakes his head, gives her a rueful smile.
“Least I can do, right?”
Karen huffs a laugh, then nods.
“Yeah, I guess so.” She smiles at Allen, glances over at Frank with a sly grin before she orders. “I’ll take a 12 ounce Luke Cage and one of those cranberry orange scones.”
Allen gives her a thumbs up.
“You got it!”
He hands Allen his debit card while Yaire grabs a scone for Karen.
“Alright, drinks will be out in a second, you two!” Allen grins at them, somehow even more chipper than Frank usually sees him.
He nods and walks back over to their table, waits for Karen to sit down before he pulls out his chair and does the same. He doesn’t think he’s anxious, but the fact that Gracie comes over and immediately sets her head on his knee tells him otherwise. He runs his hand over the top of her head, can’t deny that he’s grateful to have something to do with his hands as he looks across the table at Karen.
She reaches up and pushes her hair back behind her ear, rests her hand underneath her chin and smiles at him.
“It’s gonna take me a while to get used to calling you Pete.”
He tries not to grimace. It’s vaguely off-putting hearing that name from her. He’s only ever been honest with Karen, has only ever been himself with her – can’t, he now thinks, be anything but. But Pete is a name that belongs to another, second life – one that’s never known the scent of gunpowder, that’s rooted in half-truths and benign deceptions
“You don’t have to – call me that, I mean.” He clears his throat. “It’s not – I don’t –.”
He sighs heavily and looks down at his hands, glares at them like they’re the ones responsible for him being unable to say outloud what he wants.
He startles at Karen’s touch, her fingertips lightly grazing the back of his hand. She’s leaning forward slightly, her hair falling across her face, and he has close his hand tightly into a fist to keep himself from reaching up and brushing it back behind her ear.
“I’m not gonna stop calling you Frank.” She glances around the coffee shop before looking back at him and grinning. “I just need to make sure I don’t do it while we’re standing in a coffee shop that has a bunch of posters of you while you order an eight ounce Punisher.”
He lifts the corner of his mouth in a small smile and nods.
“Fair enough.”
His voice comes out rougher than he intends, every part of him acutely aware of the fact that her fingers are still resting against the back of his hand, that it would only take a few slight movements for him to turn his hand over and wrap her fingers in his. He looks down at where their hands are touching, slowly unclenches his fist, his thumb hovering above her hand and –
“Pete, Karen, your drinks are – ow!” Allen breaks off suddenly, turns and looks at Yaire, who’s standing behind Allen with an irritated expression on her face. Allen turns and looks at her, confused, while she just rolls her eyes and hisses something under her breath. The two of them have a short but heated whisper fight where Allen is clearly on the defensive. Frank can’t hear a word of it but doesn’t envy the poor kid for whatever it is he’s done wrong.
He glances over at Karen, both her hands now folded on top of one another across the table from him, an amused look on her face.
“I’ll go get our drinks for us,” he says. “Make sure Allen is ok.”
She smiles, nods at him while she reaches down to pet Gracie, rests one hand on top of the box in the corner of the table.
“I’ll give you both your gifts when we have our drinks.”
He nods, then walks over to the counter and grabs the two drinks.
“Hey, man, I’m really, really sorry about that!” Allen says in a low voice, an apologetic look on his face.
Frank tilts his head.
“For what?”
Allen rocks back on his heels, gestures in the direction of their table and gives an exaggerated grimace.
“Interrupting your, you know – .” He leans in closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “Your moment you were having with Karen.” He glances back to where Yaire is standing, who just shakes her head at him and rolls her eyes. He looks back at Frank and chews on the corner of his lip. “I didn’t even really notice until Yaire pointed it out, but then, yeah. You know? You know.”
He blinks rapidly, and there’s a long-forgotten sensation in his cheeks that he thinks might be a blush.
“Ah, jeez.” He clears his throat, glances over to where Karen’s sitting, then back at Allen. “It wasn’t – we weren’t – it’s not.” He shakes his head and sighs heavily. “Don’t worry about it, Allen.”
Allen leans back, nods earnestly.
“So, it’s cool? You’re cool? We’re cool? Everything’s – .”
Frank holds a hand out, palm flat, makes a slicing motion.
“Everything’s cool, Allen.”
Allen breathes a sigh of relief just as Yaire comes up behind him.
“Here, Pete,” she says, thrusting a dish with a large pastry on it at him.
He squints at it, then looks up at her.
“This is…what, exactly?”
“This,” she says, flourishing her hand around it, “is a fresh out of the oven maple butter coffee cake.”
He tilts his head, brows furrowed.
“And I want this why?”
She pushes it aggressively towards him.
"Because it’s awesome, it’s hot and it’s free.” He gives her a flat look and raises a brow. She rolls her eyes. “And because it happens to be Karen’s favorite.”
He purses his lips, files that fact away for himself.
“She already has a pastry, though.”
Yaire shakes her head at him.
“She’ll just throw that in her purse, forget that she has it, not eat all day, then take it out and eat it sometime tonight when she comes in here to do work.” Yaire shakes her head, lets out a long suffering sigh. “Like she always does.”
He frowns at that.
Yaire nods, then waves the coffee cake around in front of him, wiggles her fingers above her head.
“But this is hot and it’s her favorite and it’s big enough for the two of you to share.” She glares at Allen, who shrinks back under the force of it. “Think of it as an apology for this asshole ruining your moment.”
He drops his head, rests his chin on his chest and sighs. He thinks about protesting, but then just ends up looking back up and nodding wearily, shifting both drinks to one hand and grabbing the plate with his now freed hand. Because apparently this is his life now – a bunch of college-aged kids giving him free pastries in some well-meaning attempt to help him with Karen.
He blinks as that thought crosses his mind, feels a tug at the corner of his mouth. Because, yeah, this is his life now – and he thinks it’s not a bad one, all things considered.
Thinks it’s actually a pretty fucking good one.
So he smooths out the furrow between his brows and gives the two kids behind the counter a real smile, teeth and all. Considers maybe smiling at them more often since they both seem confused – Allen actually looks borderline worried – at the gesture.
“Nothing was ruined.” He clears his throat, glances back over at Karen. She tilts her head when she sees the dish in his hand, then perks up immediately when she sees what it is, a grin on her face that seems almost gleeful.
“See?” Yaire says smugly behind him. “I told you, Pete. That’s gonna score you major points.”
He huffs a laugh.
“I think I’m doing alright.”
“Absolutely!” Allen says with a thumbs up while Yaire just looks at him with a deeply skeptical look that makes him both want laugh out loud and – very briefly and with more than a little embarrassment – want to ask why she seems so doubtful.
He does neither, just nods at her and lifts the plate slightly up.
“I appreciate the coffee cake, Yaire. Thank you.”
She nods.
“You’re welcome. Now, go make good use of it, Pete!” She says with a ferocious whisper before turning back around and heading back to the front counter. Allen just looks at him with a look that’s halfway between apologetic and encouraging before he turns and follows Yaire.
Frank looks at them both for a moment longer and chuckles inwardly to himself before turning back to his shared table with Karen.
“Everything alright?” She asks, gesturing to the empty space where Yaire and Allen just stood.
He sets down their drinks and the coffee cake before taking a seat.
“Yeah, they’re just – ah, you know.” He licks his lips, lifts one shoulder up in a half-shrug. “They’re good kids.”
It’s not really any answer – not any sort of explanatory one, anyway – but Karen just takes it and nods.
“Yeah. Yeah, they are. I come here after work a lot to – .” She gives a small laugh and shakes her head. “Well, to work more, I guess. If Yaire’s working, she always brings me a sandwich, or a tart – whatever they have that’s actually food and not just a pastry.” She looks down at the coffee cake between them and smiles. “Though speaking of pastries, this is my absolute favorite thing they make here.”
He smiles at her smiling down at the pastry.
“Yeah, Yaire mentioned it.” He gestures to it. “Said it was hot – right of the oven, too.”
Her smile widens as she tears off a piece of the cake and pops it into her mouth, grins delightedly at him once she’s finished it.
“In college, I used to go and study all the time at this little cafe that was right next to the art building. The coffee was pretty crappy but they had the best maple butter coffee cake. And, I mean, this was Vermont, so nearly every coffee shop had some kind of maple butter pastry.” She breaks off another piece of the cake and eats it. “But I have to say this is now the best maple butter coffee cake I’ve ever had,” she says, her mouth still half full.
He grins, then reaches over at takes a piece of it, pops it in his mouth and chews thoughtfully, thinks about how much more he now knows about Karen even in just this small amount of time, about all the thousands of things he still wants to know about her.
Karen raises an eyebrow at him when he’s done, and he just grins wider and extends a flattened palm out in front of him.
“It’s pretty good.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “Then again, I don’t really have much to compare it to – never been to Vermont.”
Karen clears her throat and looks away from him, though he doesn’t miss the way her smile tightens at the edges as she does.
“You’re not missing much. Or – or anything, really.”
He takes another drink and shifts in his chair, takes the opportunity to study her expression a little closer.
“But it’s home to you, right?”
Karen chews on her top lip and shrugs, looks down at the coffee cake as she takes another piece.
“It used to be.” She glances up at him, brushes the hair back from her face and looks back down at the remaining coffee cake. “There’s not really anything there for me anymore.”
He nods slowly, makes note of the flicker of sadness he saw in her eyes, takes care to back slowly away from the topic even as he files it away to think about later. He tilts his head down, waits for her to meet his eyes.
“Well, I’m glad you’re here,” he says, the words quiet, the tone steady.
She smiles at him, soft and warm and equally steady.
“Me too.”