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Karen doesn't bother calling her father this year.
Even when her life was in danger, he'd made it perfectly clear she was not welcome home; she has no reason to think that Christmas will be any different. Besides, she's almost looking forward to it – spending the whole weekend alone.
Well, not entirely alone. She has wine to keep her company, and more holiday movies than she can count. Certainly more than she's willing to admit to later.
She works hard at her job, and she's proud of what they've accomplished this year; she deserves a little respite, some time to let her brain turn off. And maybe indulge in a few ever afters, since that's never going to be how her own story ends.
So she hunkers down, resurfacing mostly for takeout and for other small necessities, stocking up on spiked eggnog, and then a flashlight and candles when the forecast mentions an upcoming snowstorm. Otherwise, she tries avoiding the news, and puts on a podcast or audiobook in between her Hallmark movies.
"Anything good?" asks Foggy on Christmas.
"Nothing, really," Karen tells him. She decides not to mention that she'd been listening to yet another true crime podcast when he called. "How's Paris? How's Marci?"
"Amazing," says Foggy, with a blissful kind of sigh. "We should get married more often. This honeymoon deal is pretty damn sweet."
She can practically feel his beaming response through her phone, and she gets a sudden rush of affection for them. "Congrats again, Foggy," she says with feeling. "Give my love to Marci for me."
"Will do. Thanks, Kare."
Later, she gets a voice note from Matt, wishing her a merry Christmas. He'd invited her to dinner at Saint Agnes that night, but Sister Maggie would be there, and Karen hadn't wished to intrude. Maybe her own family wants nothing to do with her, but she hopes Matt is able to spend every second he can with his.
His message ends with a Stay out of trouble, in a tone that's probably not altogether joking with her. She sends him one back saying not to worry, and in actuality the rest of the holiday doesn't get much more eventful than that.
But Karen's not one to sit still for long.
The turn of the new year has her thoughts start to wander, a little too closely to things she would've preferred not dwell on. Moments she doesn't want to relive. Things she regrets, people who have let her down. One person – one man – in particular. Swaying in an elevator, head and heart bleeding, the breath held between them. Crossing that line to his hospital bed, one last time.
More than anything, though, maybe she's the one who should've known better. Maybe the one person she's actually disappointed in is herself.
By the time she gets the call, she's almost grateful for the distraction.
It's her first break in a case she's been looking into since Thanksgiving. Technically, it's not in her purview as partner at Nelson, Murdock and Page; they serve the underserved, and a pro athlete turned drug trafficker for the Italian mob hardly fits the bill. Matt's already warned her to stay away from the guy more than once. But Matt should've known that telling her no is about as good as a "go for it" in her book.
So really, in retrospect, this one's on him.
…
Two days after the holiday finds Karen at an old gym that the wrestler had used as a cover. It's well past dark when she gets there, providing some much welcome cover as she parks on an old side road off the pier.
She debates for a moment, then leaves her coat in the passenger's seat. It's the thick, puffy kind, but the cold is manageable without it for now; besides, she doesn't need it restricting her movements in the event of unwanted company, or having to make a quick getaway to her car.
Her source had said the building was vacated, but one can never be too sure.
Karen lets herself in through a side entrance, and she's instantly engulfed in the dark. She pulls a flashlight from her bag, then feels around for her gun for good measure, keeping it just within reach. The heat's been turned low, just enough to keep pipes from freezing, and she tries not to shiver as she makes her way toward the front of the building.
The gym itself is sprawling, old bags casting shadows from chains on the ceiling. Beyond the main wrestling platform, where the ring posts have been stripped, there's a long hallway leading to multiple back rooms. She starts at one end and keeps going, opening closets, feeling around corners and shelves for any hidden mechanisms or doors. She shines her flashlight top to bottom and back, but the rooms betray none of their secrets to her.
A thick layer of dust covers everything; the place looks like it's long been cleared out. Karen swallows a sigh, trying not to feel too discouraged. She does a second sweep with her light, still hoping to find some clue, some something like maybe a floorboard that's not quite so dusty as the others, or perhaps a hollow sound in the wall when she raps her knuckles against it.
She's in an old locker room, tapping her way back toward the door, when she hears it.
It's faint, and she thinks she might have imagined it at first. She taps again, and the sound seems to echo back to her in answer. With a rush of satisfaction, Karen runs her palm across the wall, feeling for any raised edges of plaster or an extra coating of paint.
She's readjusting her flashlight when she hears it again. Frowning, she presses her ear back to the wall, her hands going utterly still. Silence. Maybe she had imagined it this time. She's about to release the breath she's been holding, but then, but there, on the other side of the wall—
Tap, tap. Tap, tap.
Karen jumps back, clamping a hand over her mouth before she can cry out. She wills her breathing to slow, then turns out the light and carefully positions her ear to the wall one more time. Her pulse is hammering, and it's the only thing she can hear for a moment.
Finally, the whoosh of her heartbeat subsides, and the world narrows back into focus. The tapping sound is growing fainter, like it's traveling further down the wall. Away from her. And toward the door back into the hallway, mere feet from the room she's standing in now.
Karen takes an involuntary step back.
She contemplates reaching into her bag for her gun, but she doesn't want to risk the noise just yet. She leans her back to the wall instead, sliding as close as she dares to the corner nearest the door. At least she's wearing good shoes to run in. Hopefully she can get the upper hand on the guy, if she sneaks up on him from behind.
She decides to chance it now, slipping a hand into her bag. Feeling around for her .380. Which is when she hears the soft tread of footsteps come closer, and closer, then still.
She thinks her breathing might have stopped too.
The silence is palpable, so thick that Karen doesn't think she could move if she tried.
Then a voice is breaking through, and it's low, and rough, and so achingly familiar to her she wonders if she's dreamt it into existence.
"Karen?"
She releases her breath in a rush. "Frank?"
The adrenaline takes a nosedive, then spikes back up with a vengeance. She honestly can't tell if she's more upset or relieved. It's complicated, whatever she's feeling.
His figure alights in the doorway. She would recognize it even in total darkness, his body no more than a shadow of another shadow. The silhouette of him – the slope of his shoulders, the sway to his steps, the way he's tilted his gaze slightly sideways at her – is so Frank that it's almost physically painful to see.
A surge of warmth and something like longing threatens to overwhelm her, and she knows what this feeling is. She's always known, even if he doesn't want to.
She wants to say, It's good to see you. What she says instead is: "What are you doing here, Frank?"
His mouth has the nerve to quirk up for a moment. "Was going to ask you the same thing, but I think I got a pretty good guess."
Karen crosses her arms, wrapping her hands over her elbows. She tells herself that it's to keep warm more than anything else. "How did you already know it was me?"
Her eyes have adjusted enough to the dim street light from the window, and for a second, Frank looks almost sheepish to her.
"Ah," he says gruffly. "I, uh. Recognized your perfume."
Her heart gives a traitorous knock to her rib cage. "Oh," she says faintly. She should have been more careful about that.
And she should also care less about the fact that he can know her by her scent alone. It feels strangely intimate. Not to mention completely one-sided, when he's never offered a trace of himself in return.
She holds her elbows a little tighter. Frank shifts his weight, his features thrown into half-shadow again. Karen pictures the look he must have on his face, trying to get a read on her silence.
He says, finally, "You look good, by the way."
She almost smiles at that. "We can barely see each other."
"Yeah," he says. "But it's not hard to imagine."
He clears his throat, looking away before she can pin him down with her stare. Hold him to the words he's just spoken. He takes a step back, something deliberate in the movement. Like he's already said far more than he should. Karen feels the distance between them stretch wider, in ways that are more than just physical.
Frank says, "I can tell you got shoes on this time, at least."
I gave up my favorite heels for you, you ass.
But there's no heat to the thought – only a sudden kind of weariness, sinking deep into her bones. Nothing has changed. Nothing's going to change.
"Well," she says, and her voice has gone a little tight. "I better get going. This guy's not going to incriminate himself, so—"
"I can help," says Frank, as she's about to brush past him. He's still standing in the doorway. "If you want."
Karen pauses.
She keeps her gaze trained firmly ahead, even though it's so dark in the hall that she can barely see more than a foot in front of her. Her other senses are hyper-aware in comparison, and she tries not to notice the subtle hint of Frank's aftershave; it's new to her, and she tries not to think about what that means either. How little she knows of the life he lives now.
He has a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, and it clinks ominously as he makes room for her to pass. She wonders what he'd thought he would find here.
"You're not going to try to talk me out of it?" she asks, guardedly. She knows it couldn't be this easy, Frank setting aside his one-man mission for her. Conceding to how she wants to do things for a change. A this – a them – a we.
Frank breathes out a laugh. "Nah. Wouldn't dream of trying to stop you. 'Sides, might beat the snowstorm if we work together on this."
Right. The storm. Any hope she'd had of this offer really meaning something to him – meaning something to them – is sapped out of her as quickly as it had dared to appear.
"Sure." Karen moves past him, not looking back. "As long as you don't slow me down."
…
And this is how she ends up spending the rest of the night with Frank Castle.
It's quiet for a while, as they make their way through each of the rooms. He doesn't seem to mind it when she looks in on the ones he's already checked over; he only offers to hold the light as she goes, standing guard at the door until she's ready to move on to the next.
It's not that she doesn't trust him; she would trust Frank with just about anything. Probably beyond what's entirely rational, considering all the ways he's let her down in the past. Call her a masochist, or maybe she really is all heart, but if Frank were to ask her for a second chance, right here, in this moment, she knows what her answer would be.
But he's not doing that, and Karen's not holding her breath either.
She can sense his amusement, though, when she strides into the fourth or fifth room he's been in. This time she does say something, telling him somewhat tersely that she would just rather see it all for herself.
"I know," he says, simply, and follows her inside.
Some rooms still have a lingering smell, of sweat and must and old gym clothes. Others look like they could've been office spaces, nondescript with plain wood flooring, windows with a view down to the pier. It's the rooms without windows that give Karen more pause – the ones that smell like industrial cleaner. The ones that had something worth covering up.
She shivers, and tries rubbing some warmth into her arms. She wishes she'd brought her coat with her after all.
"You all right?" he asks quietly.
"Fine," she replies, maybe a little too quickly. She gives him a smile that's hopefully just tight enough for him to not see through right away, and moves on.
Still, she can't help the relief that she feels when he follows her.
As vulnerable as it makes her feel to admit it, Frank's presence behind her is a comforting one. Just knowing he's there, silent and steady and impenetrable, is enough to ease out the knots in her breathing. It's not just a matter of personal safety; it's also knowing he's all right too, that he's solid, and real. That he's just within reach. Even if this is something she can't afford to get used to.
As soon as they're done here, they'll both go their separate ways. It could be months before she sees him again. Longer, even. Either way, when she does, she knows it won't be up to her. It will be nothing short of some threat on her life that forces him back to her, or a strange twist of fate like today. Never when she just wants to see him. Never because he wants to see her.
"Karen." His voice pulls her from her downward spiral. "Take a look at this."
She shakes herself out of it, goes to the window where he's been standing. "You find something?" Then she looks outside and says, "Oh."
That would explain why she's been so cold.
The building's blocked out most of the sound, but the air must be thick with it, the snow so dense with movement that it's impossible to tell which direction it's falling. In the distance, a dock light gives a brief flicker.
"We should head back before it gets bad." Frank hefts his duffel bag, already turning to go.
Back to that treacherous we again. Karen wants to grit her teeth at how easily he can throw that word around as if it means something real. "And where is that for you these days, Frank?" she asks him, the words tired but hard at the edges. "Since we're apparently heading 'back' there together."
"Karen…"
"You can go if you want," she tells him shortly. "But I'm not done looking around yet."
There's a shuffling sound. "Will you at least put this on, then?"
She turns, and it takes her a second to realize what he's holding. There's a thick flannel coat in his hands; it looks even warmer than the one she'd left in her car. She stares at it for another long moment, then eyes his bag with a new, sinking suspicion. He wouldn't have brought a second coat for himself.
"Frank," she says, with something like quiet fury. "Did you plan this?" When he doesn't reply, she snaps her gaze up, more demanding this time. "Did you follow me here?"
He shakes his head. "Not exactly," he says. "Your, uh. Source." Frank at least has the grace to look somewhat chagrined as he's telling her this. "He's kinda my source too."
So he has been keeping tabs on her, then. She's not sure which part stings more: that he's been aware of her movements without her ever knowing, or how easy it's apparently been to keep his distance from her all this time. At least until her safety came into question.
It's so predictable of him that it almost makes her want to laugh.
"Figured you weren't gonna let a storm stop you." He scrubs at his nape. "Thought I might provide some backup." For the first time, his words sound just a touch uncertain. "I wanted to keep you safe, Karen."
"If that's what you want, to protect me so badly," she says, and she hates how her voice is starting to shake – not with anger this time, but with something else entirely – "If you're trying not to see me get hurt, then you really shouldn't have come here. Those two things tend to be counterproductive."
Frank gets a stricken look in his eye, swaying back like she's just slapped him. Good. "Okay," he says quietly, nodding after a moment. His voice is all ragged, like it's been ground down into the dirt. "I deserve that."
Karen crosses her arms. "That's one thing we can agree on."
"I do want you safe," says Frank. "More'n anything. But being here was selfish on my part, and I admit that."
Karen lets his admission hang between them, growing heavier in the silence that follows. She waits for him to back down from his words again, for him to look away, but the expression on his face is almost painfully earnest. He's still holding out his coat to her.
"Please," he says.
She breathes out, then gives him a small nod. She's not ready to forgive him, but she'd rather not freeze just to get her point across either.
She lets him ease the coat over her shoulders, and the instant layer of warmth, of Frank's scent, of his everything surrounding her all of a sudden, has her closing her eyes for just a moment.
"Thanks," she says.
It's big on her, folding easily over the front of her body. She wraps herself tight and starts walking, pausing to look back when Frank doesn't follow her.
"Karen…"
She waits for him to continue.
"If you want me to go, I—" He stops, reconsidering. Before he catches himself in a lie.
"You'll what?" Karen asks, raising an eyebrow before she can help it. "You'll actually go?"
"No," he admits. "That's the last thing I'd do, if you're staying." Then his mouth quirks sideways at her. "Maybe one rooftop over, at least."
"Sounds like someone else I know," Karen remarks. Frank's expression turns dour, then grows serious again.
"I deserved that, too," he says. And it feels like another step forward for him, easier though it may be in a darkened hallway like this one, when the words are half in shadow too.
Karen breathes out, then says to him, softly, "I don't. Want you to go, I mean." She gives him a smile that feels both wistful and resigned. "I never do, Frank."
She turns away, because it's easier not to let him respond. After a moment, he falls back into step behind her.
There's one last room at the end of the hall. It's different from the others; the door's made of metal rather than wood, and when she tries the handle, it's locked. Frank shines a small circle of light onto a numbered keypad built into the door, and Karen has to refrain from a sigh. At least it's not biometric.
The wrestler's a textbook narcissist, so she tries his birthday first. A red light flashes up at them, and she pauses, considering. She doesn't want to risk it fully locking them out, or triggering some kind of alarm.
"When did he set his first record?" she asks Frank, then enters in the date that he gives her. The light blinks green, and there's a click from within as she swings the door open.
There are no windows in this room. Karen flicks on the overhead light, taking a quick look around as Frank slips in behind her. There's a keypad on the door's other side too, and she tests out the same code, letting it close when it turns green again.
"Should've started with this one," Frank observes, and Karen has to agree.
The walls are bare, but when they open the closet, there's a safe built into one of the shelves. She's sure it's been cleared of anything valuable, but it's more than they've found in the rest of this place combined. Maybe she can sweet-talk Mahoney into bringing one of his safecrackers. Running forensics on whatever's inside, leftover fibers, other debris. Dusting for prints, at the very least. If she can nail down one of his mob associates…
It's a long shot, but Karen's had less to work with before. Careful not to touch anything, she pulls out her phone and starts snapping some photos.
"I could just kill the guy, in case this doesn't pan out," Frank says conversationally. "It's like you said. He's not gonna go around incriminating himself."
Karen sighs, not looking up as she swipes through the photos she's taken. "That isn't what you were planning to do to him anyway?"
"It was," says Frank.
She does look at him this time. "What changed?"
"Found out you'd been poking around, and I—" He shifts around as if testing his weight, like the floor might give way with his next words. "I wanted to see you."
I wanted to.
I wanted to.
As if it's always been that simple, just to say these words to her. To mean them, beyond just wanting to keep her safe. I wanted to see you. Frank clears his throat. "I always do. Karen."
She says, very carefully, "You never let that stop you before." All the times he could've seen her. All the times he could've stayed. The times he could've not killed someone, for her.
Frank looks chastened. "You're right. I didn't. But I'm trying to change that. I'm trying not to fuck things up, for once." His voice drops down to something low and entreating. His gaze on her is heavy. Intent. "I want to get it right this time."
There's an ache in her chest that's been growing, and Karen realizes she's been holding her breath all along.
"Okay," she says finally.
His brow draws up in the middle, the corners of his eyes slightly downturned. There's a pained kind of hope in the look that he's giving her. "Okay?" he asks.
She nods. "Okay."
His smile spreads slow, all crooked and soft, and far deadlier to Karen than any casual mention of murdering someone on her account. "Let me know if you change your mind about him, though. Might save you some paperwork at least."
She shakes her head, lips pressed together with disapproval and not because she's trying to fight back a smile. Not at all. "It is a tempting offer," she says.
Or starts to say, anyway, before the light gives off a fizzling sound, and goes out.
…
Karen stands still, trying to breathe through the instinct to panic as Frank keys in the code to the door. Once. Twice. And then a third time.
"Shit," she hears him mutter after the fourth attempt. "System must've got knocked out with the rest of the power."
"Great," says Karen. "That's good to hear." Why hadn't she thought to prop the door open instead? She pulls out her phone and feels her pulse jump; the signal bars have faded to grey. "Storm took out the cell towers too."
Even with the backlight of her screen, and the flashlight Frank's still carrying around, the darkness in this particular room feels thicker now, more impenetrable. A thin sheen of sweat starts to form at her temples; she feels both cold and flushed all at once. It doesn't help knowing that she's the reason they're trapped inside.
"Hey."
She can't see him that well anymore, but the sound of Frank's voice gives her something else to hold on to.
"You okay?" he asks.
She feels his hand on the small of her back. The world starts to spin a little bit less, gravitating toward that single point of contact with him.
"Hey." He waits until he's looking at him. "Wouldn't've been safe to drive in that anyway."
"Yeah. Yeah, you're right." She tries for a smile. "Got anything else in that bag for the occasion?"
"This wasn't exactly what I'd planned for," Frank admits. "But I got a few things, yeah."
She hears a zipper, followed by a loud clunk as he sets something hard on the floor. The bag goes down with it, and then she feels him crouch next to her. He stays close, his movements solid and reassuring. There's a click, and a white column of light streams up toward the ceiling, momentarily blinding her.
She shields her gaze, squinting away from the light as Frank pulls something else out of the bag. The beam is so dramatically bright that Karen can't help it. She finds herself starting to laugh.
"What?" Frank straightens. His expression is one of total bemusement, and that only makes Karen laugh harder.
"What were you going to do," she asks, wiping a few tears from her eyes, "send me a bat signal with that thing?"
"Yeah, yeah." He hands her what appears to be a metal thermos. The source of the clinking his bag had made earlier. "Guess I found you all right after all."
She uncaps the lid, and smiles at him through the steam of fresh coffee. "You did." She takes a single, indulgent sip, then says, regretfully, "We should probably save this for later." She doesn't think she could survive the indignity of any unwanted bathroom breaks.
"Something to keep your hands warm, then." He smirks sidelong at her. "Didn't anticipate you locking us in for the night."
Karen shoots him a warning kind of look, but he only takes a step closer to her.
"Here," he says. His voice has gone slightly hoarse.
He picks up the hood of the coat that she's wearing, tucking it carefully over her head. His fingers catch in her hair, lingering there long enough for her to feel the hitch in her breath. Before she really knows what she's doing, she touches the back of his hand.
"You're cold," she says, almost startled by it. He's always felt so relentlessly alive to her that this small thing makes her chest ache with how very human he is to her, too.
"I think you might need this more than I do," she says, and tries handing the thermos back to him.
"Nah, I'll be fine." He gently resists her, pressing it back. Their fingers brush together again. "I've been through worse than this. Trust me."
Karen thinks of home, of Vermont and every harsh winter she spent there after losing her mom. She thinks of Kevin, and her dad, and how the warmth had never returned after that. How some losses are still living; how the cold will always, always follow her, no matter where she goes.
And how maybe – just maybe – she doesn't have to be alone with it anymore. Not with Frank standing here, looking at her the way he is now.
"I guess I have too," she says.
She reaches up, pressing her palm to the side of his face. His cheek is cold beneath his beard. Her gaze moves down his bare neck, and she frowns. He'd definitely chosen the lighter coat for himself.
She moves to shrug hers off, but he stops her. His hand travels down one side of the coat. He tugs it toward him, the movement so slight that it's almost a question.
"You want to keep me warm, Karen?" His brows draw close, his gaze fiercely intent when he looks back up at her.
"Yeah," she says softly. "I do."
He lets out a shuddering breath, then nods. "C'mon," he says gruffly. "We should get some rest while we're here, anyway."
He nudges her toward him, then puts his back to the wall and slides down. His arms go around her as she folds herself next to him, and it feels strange yet familiar all at once. Tentative, like learning for the first time how they fit together, yet also somehow like there's never been a time when they didn't.
Her head winds up tucked under his chin, the heat of his body warming her cheek. She feels the rise and fall of his chest with each breath; and it's so simple, and yet so vitally Frank, that she's overcome with its nearness, the feeling of it in the palm of her hand.
Karen moves closer, pressing out the rest of the cold between them. His arms tighten their hold, and she reaches around to pull his hand into her coat pocket. He laughs quietly into her hair, letting their fingers weave together when she reaches for his other hand.
She breathes in the scent of him, not even caring to do it discreetly. She hopes he's aware that he's never getting his coat back from her now.
Time seems to stretch and stretch out into the half-darkness around them. The seconds could be minutes could be back to seconds again, but Karen thinks she could spend them all just like this, simply tucked into this new kind of warmth that's between them. Lost to the pulse of it, how it breathes and breathes on.
"Frank," she says, after one of those longer moments.
"Mm." He sounds half-asleep already. He's eased his full weight into the wall, tracing small patterns into her side. The fact that he's relaxed like this with her warms Karen in other ways too.
"You knew I'd be here."
"Yeah," he says. She can almost feel more than hear it, the way the word reverberates in his chest. He shifts around until he's almost fully onto his side, pulling her down next to him. "Had a strong feeling, at least."
Karen rests her head on his arm, her back all snug against his chest. "So, that line about my perfume. It wasn't…"
"No."
She tries not to register her disappointment. "It wasn't the perfume?"
"Wasn't a line," he says.
He gathers her closer. Buries his face in the curve of her neck, and breathes.
"Try to get some rest," he murmurs.
She closes her eyes, clutching him just a little bit tighter. She feels too alive to try sleeping right now, like every last nerve is being spent wanting him closer, closer, closer to her. Wondering how much to let herself hope for this – for them – after all.
But he doesn't let go, even after the cold has gone from his hands, and it's that warmth that pulls her under.
…
She wakes several times in the night, her body unused to hard surfaces. Every once in a while there's a draft, and she rearranges her coat, or folds her legs up toward her chest.
And Frank—
Frank sleeps like a rock behind her, his back to the wall, both arms still tight around her underneath the coat. His breathing remains deep and even, no matter how often she's shifting around in order to get comfortable again. If he moves at all, it's to tug her even more firmly against him, his legs leveled up under hers, until Karen, half-drowsing, can no longer tell whether it's her center of gravity pulling them closer, or his.
It's not the most restful sleep she's ever gotten. But every time she wakes up, she has to pinch herself to make sure it hasn't all been a dream.
…
The building's heat kicks back in with a slow but steady rattle. Karen's not sure what she's hearing at first, and she's too distracted for a moment to care.
At some point in the night, Frank had tucked her half-under his body, one arm banded over her side with the other loosely cocooning her head. It's a heavy thing, both the weight and the wondering how long this will last with the power up and running again. Without the excuse of shared heat between them.
But for now, Karen drifts in and out, content to let it envelop her for just a while longer.
…
She knows the exact moment he wakes up. The way his body starts a little, the subtle shift in his breathing, the pause that comes after like he's gathering his bearings again.
She feels him slowly inch back, transferring some of that weight onto his elbow. He carefully untangles their hands. Karen, on instinct, starts to ease away from him too.
But then his hand is on her again, carding his fingers through her hair. Sweeping it back as he presses his face into her bare skin. She can feel the hard ridge of his nose, the barest impression of warmth from his mouth. It makes her feel like her whole body's on fire.
"Morning," he rasps. "Think it's morning, anyway."
His voice is pure smoke, and she can't resist the sound of it, turning over to face him. He adjusts his hold on her, arms wrapping around her shoulders as she folds herself into his chest. So this is what he looks like, all rested and sleep-rumpled. This is what it's like to wake up in Frank's arms.
"Morning," she smiles. Then hesitates, not wanting to break whatever spell this moment might be under. "Power's back."
"Yeah?" The light above them seems to emit a buzz of confirmation, but Frank doesn't look up. He's still gazing down at her, cradling her head in the crook of his elbow. Trailing his hand over her forehead, smoothing it over her hair.
"Maybe about half an hour ago," she tells him. She tries not to close her eyes as he threads his fingers through her hair, grazing gently over her scalp. "Checked the weather – looks like it's mostly flurries now."
"All right," says Frank.
He's still stroking his fingers into her hair, and it's so distractingly good that she can't seem to stop talking, why the hell is she still talking right now? "We got about three inches last night. Nothing by New York standards." She pauses. "I – didn't want to wake you just yet." There's more of a confession there than she'd been meaning to give, but there it is.
"'M glad you didn't." Frank's mouth turns up, the look that he gives her all languid, unhurried. He's so close to her she could count the smile lines by his eyes if she wanted. She does. She wants, so badly. "Haven't slept like that in a while."
She thinks of how safe she had felt, how very warm despite both of them nearly freezing. "I haven't either," she says, truthfully.
"Mm." He keeps finding small ways to touch her, lifting his other hand to her face, brushing a lock of hair back with his knuckles. With the power back on and the storm dialed down, there's no playing this off as a need to keep warm any longer. Only the soft ache of what wanting feels like. "What now?"
Karen presses a palm to his chest, fingers curling over his neckline. The air between them has gone shallow.
She says, with studied nonchalance, "We could try the door again."
"We could," says Frank. His tone has gone a touch too low to be mistaken as strictly casual now.
He pulls on her coat a little, rolling her more snugly against him. The contact is dizzying, but the hand he still has at the back of her head keeps her steady.
She touches his chin through his beard, lightly teasing. "Aren't you warm enough yet?"
"Will be in a minute."
She lifts her gaze to his, slowly, like this moment is something delicate. Like it's something that could still break too easily if she's not being careful.
But the look that Frank gives her is all liquid heat. And when he lowers his mouth to hers, kissing her in that same intense way he's always looked at her, and fought with her, and thrown his body in front of bullets for her, she knows. This moment is not going anywhere, and neither, finally, is he.
She makes a mental note to thank Matt for this later.
Much, much later.