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Rough hands, crooked nose, and tensed posture even while laying in bed. Still, him sleeping underneath the white comforter of her bed was more gentle than what people could even fathom from Frank Castle.
And for her, in a white tank top and some plain underwear, in the middle of her living room with her blonde hair a tangled mess and days old makeup still around her eyes wasn't the type of lack of put togetherness people expected of Karen Page.
She was no stranger to death. Seems ever since she stepped foot into Hell's Kitchen, even before that with the death of her brother, it followed her everywhere. After a while she had become numb to the sight of dead bodies full of bullet holes and stab wounds, and the disgustingly thick copper smell of blood. But the smell, feel, and sight of Foggy's blood seemed to have desensitized her once again. Now, for the past two days it was the only thing Karen could see each time she blinked or closed her eyes.
News spread fast amongst the city. It always did and somehow Frank had a habit of showing up whenever she needed it most. She didn't even need to call him when he showed up at her apartment the very night Foggy had died. Karen was still covered in blood, her eyes swollen from crying, when she opened her door. All Frank had to do was press his forehead against hers and she allowed herself to break down fully.
That night she cried for more than just Foggy. She cried for everyone she had lost. Ben, her brother, everyone. She cried for Matt, knowing that whatever would follow next would ruin him again too. Karen cried for herself as well, all of the pieces of herself that she had lost along the way and the next piece of her heart that would be buried with Foggy.
That night was blur. Bits and pieces she remember. Frank held her close. He cradled her head, whispered to her, "Let it out." She did, never once feelings judged by Frank or restrained. Once Karen released all of her tears, he walked her over to bathroom so she could finally get Foggy’s blood off of her. She knew her shower was a freezing cold, the water sending an icy numbness through her bones as she worked extra hard to scrub the blood out from under her finger nails.
Foggy’s blood.
Frank grabbed her some clothes and once she was showered and dressed he walked her over to bed and tucked her in.
There she slept for a whole day. She drifted in and out every once and awhile. She woke up to the sound of Frank brewing a pot. He offered her some. She shook her head and drifted off once again. Then there was a second time she woke up.
She woke up late in the middle of the night. Frank was lying on her couch, some corny medical drama was playing quietly on the tv while Frank struggled to fight off sleep. Weakly, Karen sat up and stated, "You can sleep in my bed."
"I'm fine right here, Ma'am. You get your rest."
"Please, Frank."
He didn't say anything. He stood up and walked over to her bed. She scooted to the side to make him room and he laid down beside her.
Frank's presence at times brought danger, more drama than what it was probably worth. It was her own fault really for breaking into his house and trying to find out the truth behind Frank Castle all those years ago. But more often than not, Frank's presence brought a sensation of safety. The veteran had spoken to her in a tone gentler than any man. He had held her gentler than any man ever had. He had saved her plenty of times and had killed for her plenty of times. And just for now, Frank could save her from her thoughts.
Karen drifted off once more but eventually her body had gotten enough sleep. She dragged herself out of bed around twelve in the afternoon. She brushed her teeth and turned on a fresh kettle of coffee before plopping on the couch. Frank was still asleep. She wasn't going to wake him, not after he had allowed her to sleep off the last few days.
So the blonde sipped on her mug of black coffee as she allowed her thoughts to wonder. She probably had missed messages from Matt and others. She was sure the police would want to interview her. There would be an investigation, a trial, worst of all a funeral. Foggy would have to be buried.
Yes, Foggy was dead. The reminder slapped into her like a ton of bricks.
Karen sucked in a deep breath just as she heard the squeaking of her mattress. She had been too lost in her head to hear Frank wake up. The large man groaned and stretched before turning to look at Karen, "You sure got one firm ass mattress, Karen. It's gonna give you a bad fucking back."
The blonde shrugged, "I like my bed."
"Mm," Was all he remarked as he stood up and stretched even more. A series of pops and cracks echoed throughout the studio apartment, undoubtedly due to his plenty of breaks and sprains and other traumatic injuries that left him with achy bones.
"Fresh pot on the counter," Karen eyes followed Frank as he walked over into her kitchen. She had left a mug by the pot, just in case. And as the sound of coffee pouring into the mug echoed into her ears, she asked, "Why'd you come?" It was the question that linger in the back of her mind. Undeniably, part of her wished he had shown up as selfish as that sounded.
"You don't want me here?"
"No," Her breath hitched, "I would ask you how'd you find out Foggy but I know you're connected. But I haven't seen you since that hospital room, Frank. We haven't talked since half of the world's population suddenly vanished. So why'd you come?" She watched as Frank's body tensed. He was so good at hiding things away but Karen was always able to read him like an open book.
"You were there, Karen," Frank turned to face her, "Even if I didn't know I needed you, you were there. And I know I push you away, but you need someone now. And we both know Red is too wrapped up in his own head, his own guilt, to be here for you."
"Foggy was his friend first."
"Sure, but you know Murdock. Always runs away," Frank shook his head, "Listen, I'm here. I get it. I know death. I know it rips you apart, eats at you. And you, Karen, you got a damn good heart."
Tears bubbled up in her eyes. She sucked in a deep breath and nodded before turning around to sip on her coffee. Frank walked over, his footsteps heavy, and took a seat beside her.
Maybe under different circumstances she would care that there was a man beside her and she was in nothing but a tank top and underwear. Or that her usually perfectly curled blonde locks were in a ratty bun and there were days old makeup still lingering in the waterline of her eyes. She looked rough for sure, but with Frank none of that mattered.
She could feel Frank's gaze on her. It wasn't lustful. It was of concern. The way his brow were furrowed inwards and his eyes looked lost. Karen was always able to read him well. She could tell when he wanted her, when he wanted to hold her but was too afraid too, and when he was protective of her. She could tell when his gaze grew lustful and his eyes grew darker with desire. That wasn't often because usually the two of them always found each other in life or death situations. Instead they were passing glances when Frank thought she wasn't looking at him or when she turned around after saying goodbye.
Frank wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her in against his chest. She wondered, just for a second, when was the last time he had held someone. The two of them were so different on paper but Frank and Karen had always mirrored each other in loneliness. When they were together, tiny forehead presses or a kiss on the cheek carried them. She could never forget the feeling of his large, rough hands cradling her head and how gentle his touch could be.
There were times Karen had wanted to kiss him. She knew there were moments Frank had wanted to kiss her and those dark brown eyes lingered on her pale lips. They had never brought themselves to do it. Frank didn’t want her to be twisted into his dangerous life. It protected her but it protected him. The death of his family had been used as a way to torture him. People would use Karen, hurt her, to get to him. Frank couldn’t let that happen to her but most importantly he couldn’t have a weakness.
Karen couldn’t let him into her life, even if she had told Frank differently. Their past was too complicated. She couldn’t be with the Punisher. Not with his criminal record and his enemies, especially when she worked beside Matt Murdock and with Daredevil so intertwined in her life.
If her and Matt and their relationship could survive this.
She doubted it. Frank was right. Matt ran and hid. Right now, that didn’t sound like such a bad idea.
“Stay for a few more days, Frank,” The blonde grabbed his hand into hers. Immediately he laced their fingers together as if it was instinct. His callouses pressed against the soft pads of her palm. Every inch of his skin reminded her of how rough the Punisher could be, but Frank was so tender with her.
Her Frank.
“How long?”
“Until they bury him.”
“Okay,” He nodded before giving her hand a gentle squeeze, “Okay.”