Archive of Our Own

A/N: I'm not even sure what this is, really, and I know the Olympics are long gone from everyone's mind, but it got so far away from me that I just had to post. It's either one of my favorite things I've ever written or I hate it with my entire being.

Also, I really agonized about the formatting for the switching back and forth between days. I didn't want to italicize the flashbacks like I normally do, because they're really long, so I crowd-sourced ideas and went with line breaks and headers. To clarify: Day 3 is "present day," where the story starts (present tense sections), and then we flash back to the two days prior (past tense sections). Please let me know if you find it confusing or if you have any suggestions.

Title from "I Wanna Get Better" by Bleachers.

I Didn’t Know I Was Lonely ‘Til I Saw Your Face

“Oh my god, he’s here.”

Foggy’s voice breaks through her pre-routine focus, a cloud of concentration that their coach, Ellison, sometimes refers to as “the fierce fog.”

“Who?” Karen turns to see who her partner is gawking at, likely some skating legend or another. Foggy knows literally everyone, even the minor stars of the sport she’s barely heard of. Coming to the Olympics with him has been like chaperoning the most talkative kid on the field trip, and it’s only day three.

But when he points up in the stands, gawking, Karen follows his embarrassingly obvious pointer finger until her ears turn red with recognition. “The freakin’ Punisher is at a figure skating event.”

She snaps her eyes back to the ice before he, or anyone else, has a chance to gauge the look on her face, but she can feel her traitorous cheeks heating up and says a quick, silent prayer that Foggy doesn’t drop her during their routine later. She might melt right through the ice.

“He’s probably here with Billy Russo,” Trish points out, eavesdropping because the bleacher seating for the team competition is so tight they’re all practically in each other’s laps. “Russo’s girlfriend skates for Great Britain.”

“Or maybe they just came to root us on,” Sarah chimes in from the ground next to them. She and David are already stretching out, which Karen thinks is a little crazy, because they have like, two hours until the ice dancing warm-ups. “You know, show some Team USA spirit?”

“You really think The Punisher tags along on team cheerleading outings?” Foggy muses incredulously, and Karen smacks at his leg.

“Stop calling him that,” she snarks, thankful that her partner knows better than to take her sour moods too seriously when they’ve got to skate together in less than an hour. “You sound like a fanboy. He’s not a superhero.”

“He might as well be,” David notes, with enough reverence that she shoots him a look as well. “He’s like, the last great enforcer of the modern NHL era. He’s a legend.”

“Yeah, but you probably just call him Frank, huh, Kar?” Foggy’s teasing, but the second the words leave his mouth, it’s like he knows he’s said too much. He freezes, ready for a death stare, but Karen only winces to match, mind flashing through a dozen different ways to play it off -- all the while silently cursing her loose lips at this morning’s early practice session.

“Wait a minute,” David stands suddenly, a little lopsided because he’s only managed to get one skate on thus far, “you know him?”

She just blushes harder.

Day 1 - Opening Ceremony

The first time they met was nothing at all. Really.

It had been less than five minutes before all 200-some of them were supposed to start marching into Pyeongchang Stadium in some semblance of opening ceremony order, and Karen was hunched over, trying to retie the red laces on the Team USA-issued boots she had vowed to burn as soon as she set foot back on American soil. She had been standing next to Foggy and the Liebermans nearly all night, but the crowd started closing in the second she knelt down, and moments later, she was on the ground, arms flailing to avoid the stampede of a few hundred identical pairs of footwear.

Suddenly, two hands had gripped her sides, hoisting her back to her feet almost effortlessly. She turned around, expecting a member of the skating team or one of their coaches, but instead was met with a pair of soulful, unfamiliar eyes.

His navy blue beanie was pulled down low over his curly hair, but there wasn't any hiding how handsome he was. Strong jaw, a dark, well-kept beard surrounding a trace of a smile. And those eyes , warm and almost sparkling, crinkling just a little at the corners.

“ Wow .” She actually said it out loud, thankful that the chill in the air would hide her embarrassed flush. Finally, her fumbling brain came up with the right words. “I mean, thank you.”

“No problem, ma’am. Sorry about the boys.” The man mercifully ignored her slip, motioning to the rowdy group that had started bustling around them. “They’re a bunch of hooligans.”

“It’s okay.” She stood frozen then, just kind of staring at him, before realizing how strange that was and sticking her hand out on instinct

“Karen Page. Pairs figure skating.” The intro had become second nature since she got to the Olympic Village a few days earlier, even if it still felt like a summer camp ice breaker.

“Frank Castle.” That’s why he looked familiar, Karen thought, before musing on how warm his hands were. “I uh, I play hockey.”

“Yes,” she admitted, a little sheepish, sliding her gloves back on even though her right hand felt on fire from his grasp. “I know.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, you guys get televised a little more often than the rest of us.”

He had grinned at that, a crooked, but genuine, twist of the lips beneath a nose that looked like it had been broken a few times too many. “I guess that’s true.” It was like she didn’t have a choice but to smile back.

“So pairs, that’s the twirly one, right?” he had asked after another beat, as the madness of the crowd around them seemed to dim for just a moment. She might have snorted in response. “With the spinning, and the sequins, and the Coldplay?”

“You might be thinking of ice dancing,” she replied, maybe a little too frosty. It tended to happen when you’ve explained the same thing a thousand times over. “We’re the ones who do actual jumps.”

He seemed a little chastened by that, so she added, “But yes, there are still sequins. And some Coldplay.”

Another hint of a smile had twitched at the corner of his mouth then, still so incongruous with his image that it made her stomach flip-flop. She knew there wasn’t time to examine what was happening, why she felt her reaction to the mere twist of his expression all the way down to her toes. But it was there all the same.

“I didn’t mean to offend, ma’am. Best I know of skating, really, is to go fast and knock the guys in the other jerseys into the boards.”

She laughed at that, “Fair enough,” but a loudspeaker announcement drowned her out, and then the crowd had started to move with purpose. When she finally spotted Foggy up ahead, chatting up some of the women’s hockey team, she knew it was time to leave this moment, whatever it was, behind -- even if a voice in the back of her mind was screaming at her to do the opposite.

She turned back to Frank to say goodbye and he was watching her, an indecipherable expression scrawled across his face that made her catch her breath. Then, suddenly, she was saying something other than goodbye.

“You know, if you have some time, you should come and see what the rest of us can do with a toe pick.” It was blatantly flirty, and so unlike her that she clenched her fists on reflex, momentarily frustrated that the gloves wouldn’t let her dig her nails into her palms.

But he had smiled fully, teeth and everything, and a giddy kind of energy had bubbled up inside her. It felt a little like an unexpected victory. “Maybe I will.”

She fought through the crowd to catch up with Foggy, but when he asked her where she had disappeared to, she shrugged it off, fighting the urge to look behind her. It was their night to celebrate, and Karen was proud to hold his hand and walk into the stadium together, proud to wave to a crowd of thousands, proud to celebrate the feat she could still hardly believe they had accomplished. It was a spectacular night, and she drank it all in, knowing it was one of those moments you always hear people talk about -- something to remember forever.

And when she searched for Frank in the crowd, more than once finding his eyes already on her, it was nice to have something else to blame for the way her heart was thudding in her chest.

 Day 3 - Team Competition, Free Skate

“We met at the opening ceremony,” she tells her teammates simply, hoping the uninteresting tip of the iceberg is enough to tide them over. But before they can ask any more questions, Foggy’s standing up and Karen realizes, stomach dropping, that it’s time for them to warm up.

Saved by the bell. But not really.

She’s lost her focus, so shaken by Frank’s presence -- and the resurgent adrenaline that hasn't really left her veins for two days straight -- that she feels almost unsteady, even on her lucky skate guards. She knows their free skate program so well that she’d probably be able to run it with her eyes closed, but it’s been years since she felt this unprepared for a performance.

“You good?” When she looks up at her partner as they take the ice, she recognizes the look on his face. It's the same one he had before their first skate at Junior Worlds all those years ago. Whatever Foggy had seen back then had him grabbing a nearby trash can in the nick of time, but they had still walked away with silver.

Karen's not sure any of them will be so lucky this time.

“I'm good.”

She know he can tell she's lying, but there's not much to be done about it now. Karen finds herself impressed that her mouth was able to form any words over the din of her brain clanging a repetitive reminder: he's here, he's here, he's here.

“Listen, I’m sorry I said anything.” Foggy’s watching his skates cut rivulets in the ice, unable to meet her eyes. “I didn’t realize…”

“There’s nothing to realize.” She interrupts him firmly, like it might make it true. Like she's got a handle on any of this. “Don’t worry about it.”

Their warm-up goes smoothly enough, but it doesn’t calm her nerves like it usually does. Karen’s not even surprised by that, she hadn't really expected it to. She’s a live wire when they step off the ice to wait their turn, and they both know why.

“Kar--”

“Foggy, don’t.” She’ll hate herself forever if she blows this for them, and she can’t listen to the anxiousness in his voice anymore. She just needs to skate. “Really, I swear. I’m good.”

 Day 2 - Team Competition, Short Program

The second time she met Frank, it hadn’t been nothing. Not even close.

It was just a night later, but Karen was learning that time moved differently at the Olympics. Days seem closer to decades when two weeks of competition meant the difference between success and failure -- the culmination of a career, or the disappointment of a lifetime.

That night, she felt like she was hovering somewhere in between.

She had been sitting at a table in the team lounge, watching their short skate again on Ellison’s laptop. She could hear her coach’s voice in the back of her head, telling her there wouldn’t be anything on the video that wasn’t there the first twenty or so times she had scrubbed through it, but still, she dragged the cursor back to the beginning, pressed the headphones to her temples and started again. It was something to do, something to distract her from the limbo in between performances and the nervous energy that threatened to consume her.

They had to do better in the free skate and everyone knew it -- she and Foggy most of all. Her partner had agreed to watch the short program through a few times, but left her on her own when she hit about a half dozen, uninterested in scrutinizing every bobble and misstep in a routine that was already in their rearview mirror. Still, Karen pressed on, knowing they’d need to be as close to perfect as they’ve ever come to earn a medal. Maybe the answer was somewhere in those few minutes.

She hadn’t even heard him approach, and for a second, when she saw Frank’s face just beyond the computer screen, she thought she might be imagining it. It wouldn’t have been the first time that day.

But then he spoke. “Hi again.”

“Hi,” she breathed, lowering her headphones, cheeks already reddening. It was better than “Wow,” at least.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

“Fancy meeting you when I’m not about to be crushed beneath a Team USA stampede.” She grinned at her own retort, and felt her heart start to roll like a snare drum in her chest when he smiled back.

“Movie night.” Frank crooked a thumb over his shoulder, and Karen noticed for the first time the cluster of young men lounging on the couches and armchairs facing the room’s largest TV. “Sorry if we’re bothering you.”

“No, not at all.” She couldn’t come up with a polite way to tell him that she’d been too lost in her head to even notice their arrival. “I’m just killing time until my roommate and her uh, friends are done in our room.”

His brow furrowed -- adorably, she couldn’t help but notice -- until she raised her eyes pointedly, trying in vain not to blush harder, and everything clicked.

“Ah,” he said with a little laugh. “Yeah, that's the exact kind of trouble I’m trying to keep the college boys out of, you know? I mean, it’s only day two.”

“Yeah.” She exhaled her response without thinking, because the distracting powers of his scruffy good looks seemed to be even more concentrated without a bustling crowd of opening ceremony revelers around them. “I mean... no, actually, not personally. But that's pretty noble of you.”

Frank shook his head at that, but leaned in a little closer, resting his arms on the table beside her laptop -- like he was brushing off the compliment but looking for where it had come from at the same time.

“Wanna join us?” It was a friendly offer, but when her eyes turned back to meet his, she saw the flare of something in his pupils that seemed to ratchet everything up a few degrees. She very nearly pulled at the collar of her t-shirt like a flustered cartoon character, but the nervous energy fermented to wariness almost immediately.

Karen had realized last night how dangerous this could be -- when she couldn’t stop thinking about him long after the fraught festivities of the opening ceremony had ended -- and even more so when her preoccupation had carried over to the morning. Now, Frank was back in front of her, and half-smiling in her direction like he’d been thinking about her too. The swell in the pit of her stomach felt vaguely like she was sticking her tongue out towards a nine-volt battery. Dangerous .

“I shouldn’t.” She turned back to the screen momentarily in an attempt to collect her defenses. She and Foggy had underperformed today, she reminded herself, and there wasn’t anything she could see to blame for it but her own distraction. She felt like a child, stumbling over her heart and losing her head -- and at the damn Olympics, no less. “I've gotta… watch this again, study up for the individual competition. I’m uh, I’m freaking out a little.”

“Okay.” Frank had nodded, but didn’t stand to leave, in the same way that she made no move to restart the video.

So she kept talking. “We’ve got to do better in the free skate. For the team,” she told him, with a conviction she felt more deeply than she had expected. “We’re not supposed to medal, Foggy and I, but the team has a pretty good shot, and we just can’t be the weak link -- especially when we weren’t even supposed to be here in the first place.”

Frank looked confused again, and Karen realized belatedly that she’d been spilling out her anxious inner monologue to a man she’d literally met yesterday. The most he knew about her, really, was that she had trouble keeping her boots tied, and yet here she was, affixing her heart to the sleeve of her Team USA zip-up -- like one of those trading pins -- right in front of him. These were the things she was supposed to say to Foggy, or Ellison, but hadn’t been able to.

So why him? She wondered how many wholly out-of-character moments could be blamed on the massive, intimidating scale of the Games, how much denial it would take to ice over her reaction to Frank Castle and his deep, understanding eyes.

“We’re the alternates.” She’ll never forget the morning they got the call, the news that someone else’s heartbreak and pain was to be her and Foggy’s ticket to everything they’ve ever dreamed of. “We're only here because of Misty Knight’s broken arm.”

“Ah,” Frank had nodded, looking like he was turning something over in his mind. “Well, you’re here all the same, right? That means you’re supposed to be here.”

A dozen or so people had said some variation of the same thing to her over the last few weeks, whenever she let her guilty conscience slip. But Frank's assurance actually landed, thanks in part to his heartfelt follow-up.

“Trust me,” he told her softly, “I know something about that feeling.”

Karen just nodded back, half speechless and half hesitant to let on that she had spent part of her restless night on research, opening up an incognito browsing tab to Google his name like it was some kind of dirty little secret.

Released by his seventh NHL team shortly before the league announced they wouldn’t be sending any players to the 2018 Winter Olympics, the profile she had read said the odds of Frank getting signed by any of the European leagues were a longshot. The concussions were starting to add up, and he had barely passed his physical the last time around. The irony, the writer had noted, was that any team would be lucky to have him -- the “Punisher,” the leader of men, the prodigal enforcer who had channeled tragedy off the ice into every hit he laid out -- but none would be able to take the risk. A source close to his agent added that, after months of resistance, they thought he was finally starting to come around to the idea of hanging up his skates for good. These Olympics would likely be Frank Castle’s last good shot at glory.

“I know that all I should feel is honored to be here,” Karen admitted, mostly to herself, as she thought about glory, and pride, and all the other gilded nouns people like to hang around Olympians’ necks. “But every time I have to talk to a reporter, they remind me of that, and I just feel like I can’t breathe. Do you feel honored to be here?”

Only after asking the question did Karen realize that Frank was the first person she’d spoken to since landing in Korea that didn’t make her feel like she was being crushed beneath the weight of their expectations.

“Mostly I feel like a grumpy old man,” he answered, casting a quick glance around the lounge. “Or a glorified babysitter.”

“Hey, I’ve been a babysitter,” she mused with a grin, thankful that the conversation seemed to be taking a turn for the light side. “Let me tell you, an Olympic medal is pretty good payment.”

He smiled. She realized that she loved it when he smiled. When did that have time to happen? “Well, a medal for us might take an actual miracle, but don’t tell the boys that, okay?”

Karen nodded, sworn to secrecy. “Besides,” Frank added, “it saved me from having to knock on every door in the Village to try and find you.”

It was such a line, but it had flowed so easily and earnestly from his lips that she froze, stuck without a retort. Somehow, all she came up with is his name. “Frank…”

He just blinked slowly and sighed, and she was in no state to try and parse the meaning behind any of it.  “Listen, I'm not trying to ruin your study session or anything.” She wasn’t surprised that he tried to walk it back, but she honestly didn't know if she wanted him to or not. “I just -- it's good to see you again. Maybe you want to take a quick break and finish the movie with us?”

He was playing at casual now, even though Karen was almost certain they both had the same powerful anticipation coursing through their veins. She could see it on his face. She wondered if it showed on her own.

“Besides, you already know what went wrong,” Frank added, pointing to her screen, eyes crinkling at the corners. “You under-rotated the first double axel, just slightly, and your boy was a beat early on the toe loop combo. He was waiting for you, that's why he stumbled.”

Karen stared dumbly for another beat, mouth popping open and shut like a goldfish, until his playful smile turned a little sheepish. “I did some research.”

Her life had been turned upside down in the last weeks, but perhaps nothing surprised her more than those words. “ You did some research. On me?”

Frank shrugged, as if he hadn't gone from mixing up skating and ice dancing to identifying a toe loop in less than 24 hours. “Mostly just wanted to find out if you and your uh, partner--”

“Foggy.” She wasn't sure why she filled in the blank, but her mind had still been whirling and she was surprised her lips could form any words at all.

“Right, Foggy,” he chuckled. “Anyway, just wanted to make sure you two weren't one of those real-life pairs. Married, or in love or something, you know?”

She snorted for real this time. “No way. Foggy’s my brother in every sense but the biological. Thank god we’re not ice dancers, we’d never pull off that sappy stuff.”

“Maybe with enough Coldplay.”

Karen chuckled at the callback, but it wasn't enough to distract her, not with all the implications of his not-so-casual admission starting to sink in. “So uh, why did you want to know?”

She's been warned before, about asking questions she knew the answer to. But that wasn't the only thing Frank had made her forget in the short time she’d know him.

“I just… If I saw you again, I wanted to...” He was the one sputtering then, and she swore there was a tinge of pink on his cheeks, but she didn't dare look too close. “I’m sorry if that's too forward…. I just--”

“No, it’s okay.” It was too much, she wanted to tell him. But not for the reason he thought. “I’m just, uh... I’m just not that kind of girl, you know? Not really looking for an Olympics hookup.”

Frank blinked once, looking almost… hurt? But Karen knew that couldn't be right. They both understood the drill. There was a supply of condoms in every bathroom in the Village, and the media prided itself on constantly doing the math per athlete, painting the Games as some kind of lecherous feeding frenzy. Based on whatever was currently happening in her room upstairs -- god, she hoped they weren't on her bed -- that estimation wasn't entirely wrong.

That's all this was, Karen had been so certain. She had some kind of crazy, breakneck crush, but he just had an itch that needed scratching. He was hitting on her, he wasn’t twisted up inside the same way she was. Right?

“I’m sure there are plenty of those girls around, you know,” she added, trying to lighten the mood, “if that’s what you’re looking for. My roommate’s a snowboarder, her friends are--”

“It’s not.” Frank's eyes hadn’t left hers for what felt like a very long time, and her breath caught in her throat when he cut her off.

Still, she tried to keep her voice light and teasing. “No?”

Frank didn’t backtrack, didn’t even drop his gaze, and Karen wondered how many more things she'd been wrong about. “That’s not what I’m looking for,” he said again, with a little shake of his head. “I wasn’t even looking, I just… found you, remember?”

As if she could forget. “Twice now.”

“Yeah.” He smiled softly and it made her gulp for another breath. “Twice. And I--”

“Hey Castle, you watching or what?” A voice from across the room broke through their bubble, and Karen was almost grateful for the respite from the rapidly-increasing intensity. Almost. “Comin’ up on the best part!”

Karen glanced over his shoulder at the interruption, sighing a little at the screen. “Oh, I do love Kurt Russell's big speech.”

There was that smile again, and it made her wonder how long Frank had been sitting there, just waiting to talk her into taking a break. “C’mon,” he urged. “It's the best part.”

This time, she didn’t even try to protest.

She shut the laptop and took his hand to stand from the table. Later, she'd find herself wondering if this was when it happened -- if the moment, as she remembered it, had even happened at all. Had they actually held a beat there, hands clasped, identical grins twitching at the corners of their mouths? Had they made some kind of decision, crossed some invisible threshold? Was it the moment, or was it just another one between them?

Two of the young men scooted off the couch to make room without Frank even having to ask, and Karen’s chest had tightened a little with something that felt like pride when she watched him pat them gratefully on the back as they settled into the vacated spot.

She’d seen the movie a few times -- there were only so many Winter Olympics-themed films for skating team sleepovers and long bus rides to competitions -- but for all she knew, the Russians pulled it out this time. The space on the couch was smaller than it had seemed at first, and it was hard to focus with Frank’s thigh pressed up against hers, his arm casually draped across the back. If she shifted, she could just feel it against her shoulders, brushing against back of her neck. When the clock ticked down in the final seconds of the movie’s climactic game, Karen swore she could feel his heart beating through his ribcage. Or maybe that was her own.

The door to the lounge opened just as Team USA was celebrating the miraculous victory, and most of the hockey boys whooped in recognition, mirroring their on-screen counterparts. “Hey, Russo!”

Billy Russo swaggered into the room like he’d been expecting an ovation, and not just because he came bearing gifts from the Olympic Village McDonald’s -- handing out wax paper-wrapped cheeseburgers and greasy bags of fries to his teammates like some kind of benevolent Santa Claus. The smell made Karen’s nose wrinkle, but her stomach growled all the same after months of a carefully restricted diet.

Only Frank didn’t seem happy to see him, sitting up a little straighter in a way that seemed almost defensive. When Billy’s gaze zeroed in on the two of them on the couch, Karen thought she might understand why. The other captain gently pushed a kid off the couch to take the seat next to Frank, and affixed them with an intrigued look that shifted to a greasy grin in the span of a few seconds. It made Karen want to squirm, but she refused to give him the satisfaction.

“French fry, Frankie?” He held out a bag in their direction, but seemed to use the moment of offering as a chance to study them. Frank just grunted, and held a hand up in dismissal. When Billy turned to her, Karen wasn’t sure if she actually tucked further under Frank’s extended arm, or if it was him that pulled her tighter.

“Hi there. Billy Russo.”

“Karen Page.”

She didn’t offer her hand to shake. Billy didn’t seem to mind, plucking a single fry from the bag, and looking nonplussed when he held it out to her. “You want one?”

“No thanks.” She really did. “Not until after I compete.”

He smiled, still smug. “Figure skater, right?”

“Good guess,” she answered, pointing to her team gear.

“No, I’m pretty sure I’ve heard of you,” he insisted. He seemed to Karen like the type of guy who enjoyed being right a little too much. “You guys did well today.”

“Then you probably haven’t heard of me.” It was her usual brand of self-deprecating, but aimed more at taking him down a peg.

“So, what are you doing here with the benders, anyway?” Russo asked, still studying the both of them. He seemed to linger on the corner of the couch, where Frank's fingers were just barely grazing the top of Karen’s shoulder, or maybe that was just her heightened awareness. “Don’t the skating snobs have the rest of their big, fancy team competition tomorrow?”

“Be nice, Russo.” Frank’s voice sounded different than she’d heard it yet, and when he tightened his arm again, Karen chose to think of it as protective rather than territorial. The distinction was tenuous, but she found that she didn’t mind.

“We do, but my roommate has me sexiled at the moment,” she answered, enjoying the beat when Billy’s face dropped in surprise just slightly. “Frank was nice enough to let me join in on movie night.”

She was defensive too, Karen realized. She could handle the snide comments, the lecherous looks, but some primal part of her took great offense at Billy’s attitude towards Frank. They were supposed to be teammates, and she knew there must be some kind of history between them, but the competitive posturing she saw in the other man's eyes was dark and almost sinister.

“Is that so?” He was practically sneering. “You and Frankie gonna get her back afterwards, with a little action of your own? Or are you an ice queen outside the rink, too?”

“That’s enough , Russo.” That time there was no mistaking the emotion in Frank’s tone. “Now, get outta here, we're trying to watch a movie.”

“Suit yourself.” Billy stood to leave and motioned to the TV, where the credits were starting to roll, though his eyes stayed fixed on Karen. “But date night’s over, Frankie. Better get her home before curfew.”

Frank didn’t take the bait. “Take your food with you, too.” With his free hand, he balled up the top of the McDonald’s bag and tossed it at his teammate’s chest. “We haven’t even played a game yet, nobody needs that crap.”

Most of the boys in the lounge had been surreptitiously watching their exchange instead of the screen, and Karen noticed a few of them set their food down with a guilty look as Billy slammed the door behind him. One got up to grab the remote, flipping back to the TV’s home screen, but all she could focus on was Frank, coiled like a spring beside her.

“Sorry about that,” he gritted out after a deep breath in and out.

“It’s okay,” she assured. Her hand reached out, as if on auto-pilot, and came to rest on his knee, giving a pat she hoped was assuring. “Not my first encounter with a hockey jerk.”

Several of the players protested aloud at her assessment, but Karen barely heard them, focused entirely on the way Frank seemed to relax under her touch.

“Hey, there’s an I, Tonya screener up here,” the boy who was fiddling with the remote announced to the room, holding up a DVD. “Castle, you think we got time for one more?”

“What is he, your dad?” another player had groused from the floor, but most of the team looked back in deference anyway.

Frank, though, was still looking at Karen. She knew before she even turned to look, could feel it on her cheek like the softest touch. When she turned to see for herself, he was looking at her like it all came down to her, like the request was his next best way of asking her to stay.

Part of her was still turned upside down at Billy’s cold read, which had been too close for comfort, and she didn’t want any of this to be about proving him wrong. But still, she leaned in a little closer, giving Frank the smallest nod. Whether that was his answer, or simply enough to break his reverie, he had turned back to the room with a grin. “Long as you punks make it to warm-ups tomorrow, I’m cool.”

“I've heard it's really good.” Karen added, as casually as she could possibly muster.

As boys clamored around and shifted seats, Frank leaned in to whisper in her ear. “Sure you don’t need to watch your short program a few more times?”

“Nah,” she countered, pursing her lips and biting down on the bottom one when goosebumps erupted down her neck. “I wanna see what happens.”

She nodded at the TV, and tried in vain to swallow a smile when Frank’s hand finally dropped fully to her shoulder, pulling her even closer. Out of the corner of her eye she could see a grin on his face he didn't even bother to hide.

This movie was her discipline, not his, but to Karen’s dismay, that proved to be the opposite of calming. She flinched at the violence, and even more so at the skating, grimacing every other minute as the most embattled figure in the history of her sport worked her way towards the wrong kind of legacy. The movie was, by Karen’s anxiety-riddled read, a cautionary tale about letting the wrong people in.

But Frank seemed to love every minute. “How do you learn that stuff?’” he marveled under his breath when Margot Robbie’s character hit the triple axel for the first time. “How do you even start?”

“You fall. A lot,” she answered wryly. It was her canned press answer, and usually sufficed for non-reporters as well, but after a moment she had realized Frank was still looking at her expectantly.

“But you keep trying, over and over again,” she explained, keeping her voice low so as not to disrupt the others who were still watching. “You do it so many times that eventually, your muscles know what to do without you having to tell them, and your brain forgets to be afraid.”

He nodded thoughtfully, like she had made any kind of sense, and turned back towards the screen. For a moment, she watched him instead of the movie, studying the crease at the corner of his eye, the streaks of silver in his beard.

Her eyes felt heavy then, and Frank’s arm was warm around her. Whether it was exhaustion or the reluctance to keep fighting her attraction to him, Karen felt a part of herself give in, even if she wasn’t sure to what, dipping her head to rest on his shoulder, taking a deep breath in that smelled like pine and leather and comfort.

The last thing she remembered was Frank turning his head towards her, so close that his lips just barely brushed her forehead.

Day 3, cont.

She and Foggy are set to go second in the team free skate, so there isn't much time after warm-ups to pull herself together. But she watches him flinch out of the corner of her eye when the French pair both drop to the ice on their first combination and somehow, that’s what brings her back to herself enough to remember her role in this partnership.

“Hey, no thinking about yesterday,” she warns. Just because she’s falling to pieces doesn’t mean she can’t hold him together. “You got this. We got this.”

After another moment of silence, she turns to gauge his reaction, and his eyebrows are practically in his hairline.

“What?” She rolls her eyes. “You literally never shut up about how much you like this skate better, anyway.”

Foggy barks out a relieved laugh that echoes so loudly, other teams turn to scald them with disapproving frowns.

“Thank God,” he sighs. “I thought I was gonna have to call the medic over for smelling salts just because you made eye contact with Frank Castle.”

She laughs and elbows him lightly, even as she realizes that he’s wrong. She’s barely even looked in Frank’s direction since Foggy pointed him out in the stands, too nervous at the thought of meeting his eyes and seeing something that would break her focus even further.

But maybe, some part of her brain nags at her, maybe that’s the problem.

So she takes a deep breath and turns to look up where Foggy had been pointing earlier. And there he is. The rest of the world falls away -- or maybe it all comes back. Frank’s here, and he’s looking right at her. Just like he was last night, just like he was the night before last, at the opening ceremony. He’s looking at her like he’s known her forever, like he’s been waiting patiently for something she didn’t even know he wanted.

He's looking at her like they’ve already won something.

When their eyes meet, he smiles, and the lead weight in the pit of her stomach dissipates into something light, the familiar rush of adrenaline mixed with a new emotion entirely.

Her heart's been stuck in her throat since she and Foggy got the call about a month ago. Only in the last few days, it seems, has she remembered how to breathe the right way. So she takes a deep one, smiles back at Frank, and takes her partner’s hand with more confidence than she’s felt since their plane touched down in Korea. Maybe more than she’s ever felt.

“We got this,” she tells Foggy again, and this time she means it, butterflies dancing in her chest and memories tugging at the corners of her lips. “We’re here, you know? That means we’re supposed to be.”

 Day 2, cont.

Next thing she had realized, someone was kicking at her foot.

“Wake up, twinkle toes!”

Karen lifted her head from Frank’s shoulder, blinking sleep and confusion from her eyes until she realized where she was, and with whom. Her movement shifted him as well, and she watched for a second as he woke, tired eyes squinting at her, lips turning upward on a raspy “Hey.”

Before she could get carried away, however -- with thoughts of Frank waking up and the many contexts in which that situation could present itself -- an exaggerated throat clearing had their eyes snapping fully open and turning back toward their human alarm clock.

“Hey, Jess,” Karen yawned, studiously ignoring the knowing smirk on her roommate’s face.

“Sorry for monopolizing the room.” Her friend didn’t look contrite in a least, but Karen knew better than to judge, at least out loud, and when she checked her phone, she was relieved to see that it was still a semi-reasonable hour at least. “We're gonna go keep the Canadian delegation up for a while, so it’s all yours.”

“Thanks.”

“I mean, you look pretty comfortable here, but--”

“No!” Karen replied fast on instinct, and felt Frank tense just slightly beside her. “I mean, Foggy signed us up for the early practice session tomorrow. I’ve got to get to bed.”

“That’s because Foggy is a dimwit,” Jess replied, matter of fact. “You need to smack some sense into that boy.”

“Not until after we compete,” Karen echoed again, and Jess just rolled her eyes.

“You sure you’re good with the goon?”

Karen threw her friend a reproachful look, but Frank answered before she could snark back.

“Yeah, I can walk her up.” His sleep-soaked voice sounded like honey on gravel, and Karen fought a sudden urge to press her lips to his throat. But Jess was unimpressed, looking to her pointedly, waiting for her to answer for herself.

“Yes, I’m good, thank you, Jessica ,” she said with an exaggerated eye roll of her own. “Have a great night.”

“Oh, I plan on it.” Her roommate left with another smirk, oblivious to the reverent stares from the few stragglers in the lounge who had recognized the presence of a four-time gold medalist. Karen’s eyes followed her out the door, and then there was nothing to do but turn and deal with the way her heart was practically beating out of her chest at the warm nearness of Frank.

He was all business, though, shifting his arm up from around her shoulder and reaching down to slip his boots back on. “Ready to go?”

“Sure.” She shook off the whiplash and crossed the room to pack up Ellison’s laptop, studiously ignoring the catcalls from the remaining hockey boys when they realized Frank was leaving with her.

When they reached the hallway, the quiet of the night descended on them, even though there were sounds of early celebrations off in the distance. Frank took her laptop bag to sling over his shoulder, and she was too tired to protest out loud, half-heartedly reached out for it and catching his fingers resting on the top instead.

Holding his hand gave her a juvenile kind of thrill, and Karen did some mental gymnastics to convince herself that tangling their fingers together in a dark, empty hallway didn’t count, especially with no one there to see it. Besides, she thought, she had just fallen asleep on his shoulder. This was barely anything compared to that.

Frank spoke first, softly, like he understood that this moment was delicate somehow. “Sorry again about the boys. And Billy.”

“No, it’s fine. I had fun.” She wasn’t lying. Despite their awkward napping position, there was a looseness in her shoulders that she hadn’t felt in what might be years. “Sorry about Jess.”

“Eh, she’s not wrong.” He chuckled. “I kind of am a goon.”

“That’s a terrible word.” Karen’s hand squeezed his reflexively, and her breath caught when he tightened his grip.

“That’s what it’s called."

She pressed the button for the elevator and silently willed it to be a slow one. Suddenly there was a ticking clock on their time together, and she wasn’t ready for it to run out. “So what, you just fight guys?”

“I mean, it’s not like it was back in the ‘80s,” he answered, seemingly oblivious to her inner turmoil. “I still have to skate and score.”

“Of course.”

“But yeah, pretty much. Billy riles ‘em up, and I knock ‘em down.”

Of course Billy does, Karen thought with a frown, as she pressed the button for her floor. “No big deal.”

“Unless you hit the helmet wrong.” He dropped her hand then and raised his own, sort of grinning and grimacing in the same expression, to show off four mottled knuckles. One of them definitely looked crooked, even to her untrained eye, like it had maybe healed wrong years ago.

Karen sucked in a pained breath through her teeth, shooting Frank a brief, sympathetic look. And then, something happened. She’ll look for blame later -- in the late hour, the small space, the heightened adrenaline of the Games -- but really, it was just another breaking point, the next step she couldn’t stop herself from taking. She grasped his bruised hand in her own and raised it to her lips, pressing the lightest kiss to the rocky ridge of bone he used to dole out justice, and watching his face as he sucked in a shocked breath and held it.

She wasn’t certain how much time passed before the ding of the elevator threw ice-cold water on the moment, but she’ll think later about what a cliche she must have looked like, wide-eyed and bolting when she realized what she’d done.

“I really have to go.” It was short dash from the elevator to her door, and Frank followed, carrying her bag along with all of her screaming insecurities.

“Karen!”

She didn’t have any idea how to do this, she thought, mind racing, and never has. She’d been sleepwalking through this side of life since she was eight years old, skipping dates and school dances in favor of skating competitions. She missed out on whatever day it was that they handed out the rule book, the one that tells you what you're supposed to do when you like someone so much that you feel like the world could end right then and it would be okay, as long as their arms were around you.

“Karen, wait!” But the world wasn't ending. And she had the culmination of lifetime’s worth of work waiting for her on the other side of tonight. This was the opposite of serendipity.

Frank grabbed for her hand anyway, and she let her fingers flex around his for another brief second. She whirled around with the momentum, but couldn’t bring herself to face him.

“I’m sorry,” she lied, looking at her shoes.

“I’m not,” he said in reply, and Karen breathed a sigh of something that wasn’t allowed to be relief. “I’ve been trying to stop myself from kissing you all night.”

“You have?”

He crowded her against the door with a look in his eyes so deep it was almost ravenous. “Yeah.” It took her almost a full minute to remember how to breathe.

It’s a long time since she wanted something this badly -- and even longer since it was something unrelated to skating. The nature of pairs sometimes meant you forgot what it was to want things just for yourself.

And Karen was certain she’s never had this kind of want, the visceral desire for a man like Frank, who would kiss her like she was a woman.

He was inches from her lips, waiting on her cue, and god, did she want to kiss him too, fully and for real. But--  “Still, I can’t...I’m sorry.”

He smiled at her like he hadn't heard her correctly, but stepped back, just enough that she couldn't feel his breath synced with hers. “Not until after you compete, right?”

Karen’s face caught fire for maybe the hundredth time since she'd laid eyes on him, and she couldn’t help but smile back, a little sadly.

“Yeah, something like that.” Frank caught the melancholy in her tone almost better than she did, and that furrow in his brow returned.

There wasn't a way to explain all the things that were holding her back: the mess in this that she felt certain was somehow inevitable, her fears that the sport had stunted her personal life in a way that was becoming permanent. And even if there was, Karen didn't know if she had to heart to tell it to him, in particular.

But she at least owed him some kind of explanation. “I wasn't lying when I told you I'm not that girl, Frank. It wasn't like, a line, you know? I’m really not. I’ve barely ever done this and I can't give you...”

She stopped short, shaking her head in embarrassment. He hadn't even asked her for anything, really, and here came all of her anxious assumptions again. But then Frank’s hand was on her cheek, gently turning her to face him.

“Hey.” It was a breath more than a word, and she squeezed her eyes shut tight so none of her disappointment could turn to tears.  

“Have you ever taken a hard fall on the ice? You know, really get your bell rung?” It was so far from what she had expected him to say that it actually loosened the knot of stress just behind her lungs.

“Yeah.” Karen remembered the first time she and Foggy had tried the daring throw that was currently the centerpiece of their free skate. Well, more accurately, she remembered the hospital visit afterwards.

“You remember that moment, when your vision refocuses and your ears stop ringing and the world comes back?” Frank’s voice was soothing, and when she felt like she might be able to meet his eyes again without crumbling to pieces in front of him, he was the most earnest person she’d ever seen, right there in front of her.

“Your head hurts like hell, and your eyes feel like they're about to explode, but at least everything's still there, you know?”

Karen nodded silently this time, unsure of where he was going but flooded with anticipation all the same, waiting on something she wasn’t even sure she was ready for.

“These past few months have been… I was so lost, Karen, I didn't even know how lost I was.”

She thought then, of the article on his impending retirement, how it had speculated on the emotional toll that a career cut short could take on a player, especially one as gifted -- and troubled -- as Frank “The Punisher” Castle. When she emboldened herself to look closer, she could almost read the quotes about restless purpose and thwarted ambition in the creases around his eyes.

“I barely even remember the plane ride over here, checking in, any of it,” Frank admitted, looking past her for a beat before meeting her gaze again. “But then, there you were in front of me.”

“Frank…” His eyes snapped closed for just a second when she said his name, and she wondered if it was possible for a heart to swell and shatter at the same time. In the space between, she watched him take a breath, like he was steeling himself for something.

“I'm not asking you for anything, Karen. I don't need you to promise me tonight, or tomorrow, or the rest of our lives or any of it.” Just the words off his lips made her knees wobble and for a second, all of that flashed before her eyes. “If this is goodbye, I understand. I don't want it to be, but I know what this life is like, and it's okay.”

At some point, she must have reached out for his hands and she held them tighter as he continued, trying to press her unspoken emotions into his palms and the pads of his fingers.

“I just need you to know what you did for me. I need you to know that my ears were ringing, they have been for a long time. And you… you brought the world back.”

She didn’t know what to say. What can you possibly say, to something like that? It felt like her heart was a matchstick, that any words from her lips might send the spark that burned the whole thing down. This thing between them was impossible and somehow also inevitable. The contradiction was sure to be combustible.

And Frank, sweet and kind and smiling at her still, was ready to walk away with his heart in his hands because she said she wasn’t ready to hold it.

“Thank you, Karen.” He handed over her bag and leaned in to kiss her cheek. It was soft, but she felt it like a brand. “Good luck tomorrow.”

It was the sight of him walking away that did it. Your muscles know what to do without you having to tell them. She recalled her earlier words as her feet carried her down the hallway after him. And your brain forgets to be afraid .

“Hey, Frank?”

He turned back just as she reached him, but caught her like he was waiting for it, wrapping his arms tight around her waist. Karen's hands went to his cheeks and their lips met in the middle.

It was chaste in theory, that had been her plan, but after just a few seconds, Frank made a sound in the back of his throat that had her threading her fingers through his hair and licking into his mouth greedily. He responded in kind, spinning her up against a wall as they tangled themselves together in the middle of the hallway. She'd been thinking about kissing him for nearly 24 hours straight, Karen realized, and still she hadn't expected this, the way his hand clutched at the back of her jacket, the way her joints went molten at the twist of his tongue around her own.

When they pulled back for air, breathing heavy, Frank's eyes were darker than she’d seen them yet, and understandably, full of questions.

“What about—”

“I know. I just -- I just wanted to.” She was weak, a hypocrite, and she didn’t give a good damn about any it. “Call it one for good luck?”

“Yeah, okay.” He smiled again, this one wide and toothy, and she felt his thumb rub a pattern on the small of her back. “You need any more? Luck, I mean.”

Karen rolled her eyes, but he was too close for her to resist another moment of weakness. She pressed her lips to his once more, savoring every second before turning back towards her room.

“Good night, Frank.” She made a point not to say goodbye, as she picked up her discarded bag and fumbled with the keys on her lanyard. He'd said he would be fine with it, but after that kiss, she didn't want to make liars out of the both of them.

It was another moment before she heard his choked voice behind her, smile still audible though she didn't dare look back, for the sake of her own self control. “‘Night, Karen.”

 Day 3, cont.

Karen’s heard other skaters talk about a “once in a lifetime” program, but she’s never understood it until the moment they finish their free skate. It’s very nearly flawless. Foggy hits his transitions, she sticks her landings, and when they strike their last pose on the perfectly-timed final note of the music, they take a beat for showmanship -- and then promptly lose their minds. She leaps into his arms, tears springing to her eyes as she hears their teammates whooping from their rink-side seats.

“We did it!” She pulls Foggy back at arm’s length, and lets her jaw drop when he repeats it back to her. Bless him, she thinks, for not looking surprised in the slightest.

Their first bow is towards to judges’ side, and her eyes glance to the stands above the officiating table for just a split-second, but it’s enough to see Frank on his feet, clapping and pulling a hand to his mouth to make a whistle she swears reaches her ears.

They turn and bow once, twice, three more times -- each time squeezing each other’s hands in a silent affirmation -- before returning to face front and wave excitedly to the cheering crowd. That’s when it truly sets in, and a full smile stretches wide across her face, a real one. Karen thinks it might be the first in a while, but then she looks back up in the stands to catch Frank’s eyes again, and realizes that’s not quite true.

David and Sarah follow them with a brilliant skate of their own and the team ends up with silver, truly the best they could have hoped for, given the field and the Canadian team’s historic lineup. The night becomes a whirlwind after that, as they snap selfies and send the happy news to friends and family back home, watching their social media accounts blow up as the results hit the internet.

The medal ceremony is even more incredible, full of tears and hugs and interviews in a few different languages. Everyone was right about the feeling of an Olympic medal around your neck, Karen and her teammates agree, heavy with the weight of the work it took to earn, but brilliant like the unflagging smiles that start to strain at their cheeks.

The stadium’s pretty much empty by the time the medal-winners finally pile out out as a group, ready to celebrate, walking on air, and just as Karen takes a moment to think about the handful of things that could make this night even better, one of them appears behind her.

“Hey, Kar.” Foggy points past her, and she turns to see Frank, leaning up against a stadium wall, looking far too content for a man who must have been waiting for hours.

She walks toward him slowly at first, hesitant, but builds speed until she’s almost jogging into his arms. The glint in his eyes reminds her of her medal, and it reminds her that she still hasn't remembered to be afraid of this. Maybe, Karen thinks for the first time, maybe it’s because there isn’t anything to be afraid of.

“Congratulations.” Frank bands one arm around her waist and uses the other to cup the back of her head, muffling the word into her hair. It sounds different than it had from her teammates and the throng of rink-side reporters. “That was incredible.”

“Thank you,” she whispers back, heart beating so loud she’s sure he can hear it. They stand there for a long moment, wrapped around each other but frozen in time. “Thanks for coming.”

She hadn't had much time to notice last night, how right it feels in Frank’s arms, like she’s been here forever. It’s almost like being on the ice, that steady sense of belonging she's rarely found elsewhere. Of all the heavy things this is -- new, unknown, unexpected -- it’s also familiar and comforting in a way Karen never expected. She lets go of a relieved breath and pulls back to see him staring at her dreamily.

“So listen,” Frank starts, looking almost nervous, “I know you’ve still got the individual competition, but I was wondering…”

Karen cuts him off with her lips, standing on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him deep. He doesn’t waste a second -- again, it’s like he was ready for her -- before responding, and she sighs again at the way his lips seem to remember hers.

After a second though, Frank pulls back with a start and an audible smack that would be embarrassing if Karen could remember there was anyone else in the whole arena. “Y’know, I was just gonna ask if you maybe wanted to get dinner or something.” His grin is too wide for the fib, though, and he doesn’t fool her for a second.

“Oh my god,” Karen moans, rolling her eyes to Frank’s amusement. He kisses her dimples, and for a moment she forgets that her cheeks are now full-on aching from smiling so much.

“But listen, now that we’re here,” he continues, “we’ve got our first elimination game tomorrow. So, maybe one more for good luck?”

Karen slaps his arm in playful punishment, but moves in all the same, knowing that she’ll do it as many times as he asked.

This kiss lasts long enough that her teammates start to whoop and protest playfully, but when she finally pulls back, she can’t find it in herself to be embarrassed. For the moment, she can barely pull her attention from Frank in front of her, warm and solid and still smiling at her incredulously from between slightly-swollen lips.

Karen revels in the dazed look on his face, the triumphant weight of her accomplishment pressed between them. She was right, she realizes, two nights ago, when it felt like her whole world was opening up for the first time. This is what victory feels like.