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The kickback from the shotgun knocks Karen on her ass. It’s as unexpected as the attack in her apartment. She’d come home to strange sounds coming from behind her front door, which was slightly ajar. Standing in front of it, she had recognized the sound of fists hitting flesh. Phone in hand, she’d slowly pushed the door open, wildly thinking she was going to find Matt (Daredevil, Matt is Daredevil) battling some foe. It was a shock then to see that it was Frank. The man who disappeared for months from Hell’s Kitchen, who turned himself into a ghost that she had been unable to find (or forget).
She had noticed too late that Frank was actually on the losing side at that moment and that there were two assailants. It all became a blur as there was a blow to the back of her head and the next thing she becomes aware of is pulling the trigger and falling back.
It’s blessed silence now, faint sounds of cars and sirens, but there’re ignored and forgotten as Karen takes in the damage. She’s facing her door now, while on the floor, the wall of windows in her living room to her back. She stares now at the body of the man she shot, half his head blown off, her other would be attacker finished off, she assumes, by Frank in the kitchen.
There’s a noise now making its way to her ears, a shrill shrieking that she doesn’t realize is coming from her until she feels hands on her shoulders. She tries to use the shotgun (why is this in her hands, why did she pick it up, why, why, why) to bat away these hands, before she hears his voice. She slumps, falls against him, sobs now wrecking her body. He’s stiff, but takes her in his arms all the same, a hand on her head, a hand smoothing her hair, a hand rubbing her arm, any movement he thinks might bring comfort.
She can’t breathe, her heart beats out of her chest, her mind is racing, her head aches. She’s not hearing anything he’s saying, his voice quiet, what she thinks is soothing, but it’s not getting through to her. His grip on her relaxes and she claws at him, babbling incoherently now, not wanting him to let go.
She begs him, “Please, please, get me out, get me out of here. I can’t, I can’t –“ her words are swallowed, her throat closing. She pleads with him silently to take her away from here.
He hesitates a moment before his arms tighten around her and he pulls them both up. He grabs a blanket she has over the back of her couch, tossing it around her. He wipes at his face with the sleeve of his jacket, she thinks to wipe blood off, and he gathers a bag not far from her feet.
“We’re gonna take your car, alright?” She nods, uncaring of anything but the need to get out. So he bends to pick up the keys she had dropped on the ground when she got hit and he hurries her out of the building.
He deposits her in the back seat while he gets in the front, putting his bag (of guns, it’s probably guns) in the passenger’s seat. It’s cramped, but she curls herself in a ball, pillowing her head with her arms. She feels herself shaking, from shock no doubt, but she’s exhausted nonetheless. She drifts off but stays aware enough to feel every bump in the road, her body swaying forward with every stop of the vehicle. He doesn’t say anything to her for the duration of the ride.
When they get to whatever destination he took her to, he leaves the car with his bag first, coming back two minutes later. She’s sitting up when he opens the back door and she doesn’t wait for him before climbing out on her own. She shudders when she realizes he brought her to a cabin, a small cabin, like the one in the woods that night. He must notice her reaction as he’s careful not to touch her as he leads her up the stairs.
She doesn’t bother to check the place out, finding the nearest chair and to put herself in, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around her legs. He stays by the door, closing it slowly, so as not to spook her. She keeps her thoughts about that to herself. He moves away, stashing the bag he had previously just dropped inside the doorway in a nearby cabinet.
“What happened?” She surprises herself by speaking up. He faces her, running his hand over his head. She notes that his hair looks freshly trimmed. It’s not his worst look, even though she already sees the fresh cuts and bruises on his face from the fight.
“I’m not really sure, to be honest,” his voice is softer than anything she’s ever heard before, “there were some guys I’ve been tailing for a couple weeks. Ended up following them to Hell’s Kitchen and then right to your place.” He pauses. “I didn’t know it was your place.”
She sniffs, “I’ve only been there for a few months.”
“Do you know why they were there?” She looks at him, his face worried and she wonders at that.
She shrugs, “Probably some piece I was working on. I was getting some details on a new syndicate in town. People like them don’t like that, I guess.”
He rolls his eyes at her, “Yeah, I guess so.”
She somehow manages a small smile at that but winces when her head throbs in pain. Frank turns to the small freezer he has, opening it and grabbing something out of it. He walks over to her and crouches down beside her. She can’t help but realize that he’s trying to be as non-threatening as possible and she doesn’t wonder how she separates this man from the killer. But she pushes that out of her mind when he holds out an ice pack.
She takes it from him, her fingers brushing with his and places it against the back of her head. He stays there, staring at her, quickly trying to glance her over for other injuries, settling on her busted lip that she’s just now remembering. She had gotten back up after the blow to her head, when she had shaken off the jolt, only to get knocked back down by a backhand.
His hand comes up, to hover by her face for a second, before quickly going back to his side. She watches him, seeing his fists clench, before he’s up and across the room again, taking glasses out of a cabinet. He never touched her, but her cut lip and cheek tingle as if he had. She wishes he had.
He’s pouring them both a glass of some liquor, handing one tumbler to her before he settles in the chair across from her. She stares into her drink, listening to him sip his before she downs the liquid in one gulp. She shuffles her weight and sets the glass on the ground before curling back up in her seat.
“First time, yeah?” She shakes her head at him, brows furrowed, not understanding the question. She looks at him only to see him staring right back. She knows, she knows what he’s talking about, what he’s asking.
She shakes her head again.
He blinks at her, the only surprise he lets show at her mute confession. He leans forward, forearms on his knees. His stare is intense, she finds it hard to hold, but after today, she owes it to him. She sees him making connections in his head, as to why she fought so hard for him before. There’s questions too, but she knows he won’t ask.
She doesn’t realize that she’s biting her lip until she tastes copper on her tongue, she’s opened the wound on her lip. She wipes at it with her hand but Frank moves suddenly, pulling out a kit from under his sink.
He crouches in front of her his time, opening the kit and handing her what he thinks she may need to clean up her cut. He makes no move to do it himself and she holds gauze to her lip. His head is down, he’s rifling through the kit, looking for something, she doesn’t know what. And she wonders again.
She puts her legs down, causing him to stop his actions and freeze in place. He’s close enough to the chair that her legs end up on either side of him. With the back of her fingers, she touches his cheek. He breathes out and watches as she brings her face closer to his.
And she kisses him. She kisses him and he lets her. His lips press back with a gentle pressure, letting himself have this selfish moment. She ends it soon after, leaning her forehead against his. He brings his hand up to cup the back of her neck, both of them lingering for a second longer. Then he lets go.
He lets go and he’s putting the kit away before she opens her eyes. She leans her head back, watching him walk about the one room cabin, searching for something he won’t find before his gaze settles back on her.
“Take the bed.” He gestures at what looks like a cot. She’s skeptical, but she moves towards it anyway. He fishes out another blanket, to go along with the one she still has wrapped around her.
The pillow is flat and uncomfortable but she doesn’t pay it any mind. Frank places the extra blanket on her and she reaches out to grab his hand before he moves away. He doesn’t look down at her, but when she doesn’t let go, he sighs before sitting on the floor. He faces her so she doesn’t have to stretch to keep ahold of his hand. She smiles at him tightly, thankful that he’s willing to go along with it. She laces her fingers with his.
She falls asleep soon after he gives her hand a gentle squeeze. He’s not going anywhere and she won’t get a lot of sleep but the few short hours she gets will be safe.