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She didn't intend for this to happen. That is to say, she didn't think this through thoroughly. She blames Frank for it. She wouldn't have done it if he hadn't gotten the harebrained idea to try to break into her apartment to test her locks.
But there he was, scouring her place to make it the safest place possible and she felt she just couldn't resist.
It started like this:
She was released from the hospital in the late afternoon. She was quite sore, so the three flights up were a bit of a struggle (she definitely did not cry a little in relief when she was finally able to put her feet up). But she made it, alone, as intended.
When she managed to catch her breath (or when it stopped hurting to breathe), she made her way to her bedroom first, to store the bulletproof vest Frank gave her while in the hospital. She was reluctant to store it out of sight, but she had no reason to continue to hold onto it while at home.
She then headed into her tiny kitchen, thinking she would make a small sandwich, followed by a nap. She planned on going into The Bulletin tomorrow, so rest and relaxation (and pain killers) was the best plan for the day.
It was when she sat on her couch, absentmindedly chewing while channel surfing that she heard a noise. It was light, sounded like a tapping on her window and she hurriedly dropped her plate on her coffee table.
With some difficulty, because of the wound on her side, she bent to drag out the bat she kept under the table. The tapping then sounded like scratching. Her heart felt like it was going to burst out of her chest.
She hesitated when she stood in front of the window the noise came from before she slowly grabbed the edge of her curtains and yanked them to the side. She let out a choked scream when she saw a man sitting on the fire escape. She took the opportunity to see who it was when they had frozen in place at getting caught.
It was him, because of course it was. Anger filled her after relief had flooded her body. She threw her bat to the floor before knocking on the window, getting Frank to look at her with what was probably the closest to a sheepish expression he ever had.
Without opening the window she told him to come inside. “Why don’t you knock on my door though?” She let the curtains fall back in place and took her place back on the couch.
A part of her had thought he was just going to take off and that was it, she wouldn’t hear from him again or at least not for another six months. But five minutes after she caught him, there was a firm knock. She took her time letting him in.
She looked at him standing in her foyer, getting to see him in a better light than she did when in the hospital. She hated to admit to herself that he cleaned up pretty nice without the bruises and cuts. Without the blood on his hands. But she didn’t let that deter her from her vexed attitude at him trying to break through her window.
“What made you think it’d be a good idea to scare the hell out of me?”
“I didn’t think you’d be home this soon.” He adjusted his shoulders, letting her snappish tone roll off him.
“What are you doing here at all?” She took a softer tone, not completely by accident. She was reluctant to let him think he wasn’t wanted. Regardless of their last conversation before last night.
“Your address is public, and after what happened yesterday, I just,” he shook his head, “I don’t know, I thought I’d check out some of your locks. Your security system.”
She stared at him blankly, not wanting to admit she didn’t have a security system. She decided against saying anything and bit her tongue. She nodded her assent to him.
She didn't question him as he headed straight for the window she had caught him on the other side of. She didn't ask why this was important to him. She didn't bring up his visit to her hospital room the previous day.
She just watched him check and reinforce windows, watched him make notes in weaknesses, and avoided his judgmental stare when he figured out she had no security system.
It hadn’t been long after that that it hit her how safe she felt with him in her home, as she watched him go room to room checking locks and door jambs. She stood still in her living room, let that feeling wash over her, a feeling she hadn’t experienced in a long time.
He moved past her on the way to her front door again, to check the locks to her main entrance but she darted her hand out, placed it on his forearm. He looked back at her, a question on his face.
Her answer was to kiss him.
And so:
She kisses him, a press of her lips to his, hardly any pressure. It’s not a well-thought out action nor does she try to push it. But she catches him off guard and he quickly pulls away. She just barely manages to keep from flinching when his hand reaches out to grip her arm, his fingers digging into her elbow.
He stares at her and she doesn’t move, caught in his gaze and grip. His hold on her softens but his other hand comes up to her face, gently pushing hair from her face, behind her ear. And seemingly before he can talk himself out of it, he cups her neck and brings her to him, leading them into another kiss.
His tongue soon darts out and her mouth opens under his. She fists his shirt in her hands, almost forgetting how to breathe. It's intense but gentle, slow and all too short. He pulls back and her hands scramble for purchase on the back of his head, trying to pull him back.
But he resists her efforts, instead only letting his lips touch hers once again with the softest of caresses.
Her eyes stay shut as his hands come to her cheeks, his thumbs rubbing at the dark circles under her eyes. Their noses are brushing together, lips barely an inch apart. He lowers his head to place his forehead on her shoulder and she brushes her hand through his hair.
She knows before he whispers her name that this will be labeled a mistake. She won't regret this.
She lets him put some space between them but she brings her hands to his face now. She knows the line that's about to follow, so she savors the momentary connection before the silence is broken.
He doesn't disappoint when in a quiet voice, he tells her: “I've got nothing to give. And I shouldn't - I'm sorry.”
She laughs, a brittle thing, and tells him, “I know.” She can’t look him in the eye as she steps out of his embrace and turns from him. “I'm not looking for anything from you.”
She hears him sigh but keeps herself from looking at him. She brings her hand to her cheek, the back of her fingers feeling where his hand was, the heat from it lingering.
Her voice breaks when she asks, “Would you believe that was just a thank you?” She turns her face to him now, her hand dropping, to see him smirk.
“Sure.” He takes the false out and her eyes sting.
He's going to leave, he's going to walk out that door and she doesn't know if she'll be able to hold herself back from trying to stop him.
So she doesn't.
“Stay, Frank. Please.”
His brows crinkle, “Karen -”
“It's my first night home after getting stabbed.” She's being unfair but shrugs her shoulders. “You're not finished checking the place out and I'd feel safer if you could stay. Just ‘till I fall asleep.”
He's tense, more than he has been the entire night. She can tell his instincts want him to run, put himself back together, their kiss exposing him to her in a way that had him off center.
He feels vulnerable to her right now and she doesn't care. She's felt flayed open to him from the moment they met.
He agrees, saying he’ll take the couch.
“Thank you.” His look is severe and she thinks he’s not a little angry at her but she quickly makes her way to the linen closet to grab some blankets anyway. She takes a second longer to collect herself, feeling somewhat giddy that she was able to have the upper hand in this meeting of theirs, even if it was a little underhanded.
At least she didn’t use him for bait.
He doesn’t seem in the mood to talk to her much more after that, so she lets him settle on the couch after he double checks the locks around her apartment one last time. He makes another small note on a pad he pulls from his back pocket but doesn’t seem inclined to share anymore with her.
It’s later, after she’s showered and dressed herself for bed that she leaves her room and finds him lying down. His body looks uncomfortable how he’s all fold up but he keeps his eyes shut when he’s sure to have heard her. She brushes off the hurt from his behavior and lays down a spare key on the kitchen counter-top nearest the door.
She’s positive he won’t be there come morning and this probably isn't one of her better ideas, but there’s a comfort in him being around that she’s never wanted to explain and still doesn’t. She’s leaving the key as both an apology and an invitation.
She hovers in the kitchen though, part of her second guessing the action (what are you inviting him to, Karen?) before deciding to leave it.
She tells herself it won’t be the worst thing to happen to her if it’s still there in the morning.
It’s not.