Work Text:
Karen’s in the kitchen, making one of Frank’s favorite meals for no reason other than she wants to.
Six pounds of orange fluff is asleep on the sofa.
Music floats softly through the golden-hour-drenched apartment.
And Frank is at the kitchen table cleaning his Kimber Custom II.
He thinks he could get used to this.
His brain does a stutter step at the notion, and he waits for the panic to set in. But it doesn’t. He’s perfectly calm, and he realizes that he really could get used to this. Maybe he already has.
He smiles to himself and drops his attention back to the gun in his hand, disassembling it with practiced ease and laying the pieces out in front of him. Cleaning his weapons is as close to meditation as Frank usually gets, but he’s on autopilot now, more aware of the woman across the room than anything else.
As Frank works, he tracks the way her body moves while she stirs the sauce on the stove, the slight sway of her hips, the way her throat bobs when she sips her wine, the soft tone of her voice as she sings along with the Bon Iver songs Frank only knows because she plays them for him.
Karen pauses mid-stir to look over her shoulder at him and smiles. It’s bright and a little bashful, and the pink tinge creeping up her neck and into her cheeks makes him feel flush all of a sudden.
Fuck, he’ll never get over how goddamn beautiful she is.
Frank smiles back as he starts to reassemble the gun, sliding the barrel back in, pressing the recoil spring into place and snapping the slide on. He racks it and dry fires once, feeling the trigger reset with a click .
Gun’s clean. Hands are steady. Heart? Not so much. But it feels right — his weapon, her, everything.
Dolly, who’s woken from her nap, chooses that moment to jump onto the table. She settles into standard loaf position next to an open box of .45 rounds and blinks up at Frank. He exhales a deep sigh and leans in close enough to bump his nose against her much smaller one.
“Don’t even think about it,” he says, watching her eyes dart from his face to the shiny bullets.
She glances back at him then reaches a paw into the box, popping one bullet up and onto the table. It lands next to her front paws and she looks back at Frank again like she’s waiting for him to make a move. He sits back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest, the unloaded Kimber still gripped in his right hand. He taps the barrel against the table. “Hey, don't you do it.”
Karen chuckles from the kitchen. “Frank Castle, Are you threatening the cat with a gun?”
“It’s not loaded,” he says, shrugging.
She just rolls her eyes playfully and turns back to the stove. Dolly takes the momentary distraction for the opportunity that it is, crouching low and wiggling her backside before pouncing on the bullet. The impact sends it skittering across the table and the kitten scurrying to the floor.
Frank catches the round before it rolls off the edge and turns toward where she's now perched at his feet. “You know how many of these things I’ve found around this apartment 'cause of you?” he asks, holding the bullet up in front of her.
Dolly meows and leaps from the floor into Frank’s lap, standing on her hind legs and trying to reach the ammo he’s still holding between his fingers.
“Not a toy,” he grumbles, tossing it back into the box.
“How’s it going over there?”
Karen’s voice is soft and teasing, and Frank’s attention shifts to her like some kind of gravitational pull. She’s layering shredded mozzarella onto stuffed manicotti, and he chokes down a groan because she looks so goddamn incredible that it’s everything he can do not to toss her over his shoulder and take her to bed.
His eyes track up the length of her body, and Christ, how does this woman make purple fuzzy socks look sexy? It’s the shirt that really does it though. His old Marine Corp. T-shirt that’s soft with wear and hangs off one shoulder where it’s stretched at the collar. The hem brushes her mid-thigh, just high enough to reveal the frayed edge of a pair of jean shorts hiding underneath.
“You keep looking at me like that, I might start to get the wrong idea,” Karen says, dropping the wooden spoon she's holding into the pan with a soft clatter. She crosses the kitchen and gently lifts Dolly from Frank’s knee, setting her on the floor.
The kitten mews in protest, but Karen’s already slipping into her place, settling into Frank’s lap and looping one arm around his neck. He lets out a low sound as he wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her in closer, and buries his face in the curve of her neck. He murmurs something unintelligible, letting his day-old stubble scrape lightly against her skin before his mouth finds the sharp line of her collarbone.
He leaves soft kisses there before trailing his nose along her jaw, nuzzling just under her ear. “And what idea would that be?”
Karen groans, her breath hitching, and turns just enough to catch his mouth in a kiss. She nips at his bottom lip and he opens to her, one hand pushing into his hair as her tongue sweeps inside. The kiss is slow and deep and a little bit desperate, like she’s been waiting all day for an excuse to put her hands on him.
She pulls back just enough to look at him, eyes half-lidded, lips a little swollen, and Frank has to kiss her again. “What was that for?” he asks, his voice low and rough.
Karen runs her fingers through the short hair at the nape of his neck. “Do I need a reason?”
“No,” he rasps, pressing his lips to hers again. “No, you do not.”
“Good,” she says, pausing then smiling against his mouth. “Though I do have one.”
Frank huffs out a laugh and eases her back a little. She’s fully smirking now. “Let me guess, I gotta go get more wine?”
“God, you know me so well,” Karen says, dropping a soft kiss to the bridge of his nose before climbing out of his lap. “Yes, please. If you don’t mind?”
“Course I don’t mind,” he says, gathering his cleaning kit and stashing it in his backpack. “Red or white?”
“Red, please. The bodega on the corner should have the pinot we had with Matt last week.”
“You got it.” Frank holsters the gun at his hip and grabs his jacket, wallet and keys, stepping back into the kitchen to brush a kiss to Karen’s forehead. “I’ll be right back.”
“Be careful,” she says, leaning into the feel of his lips on her skin.
“Always.”
Frank tries to be careful. He tries to stay out of trouble. Really, he does.
But trouble always seems to find him.
He hesitates outside the apartment — the bottle of wine gripped in one hand, the key Karen gave him weeks ago in the other — and reaches up to swipe blood from his mouth. He doesn't even realize how much he's bleeding until he's halfway back to the apartment. The split along his bottom lip won't seem to clot, and he can feel a thin line of blood dripping down his chin. It's the kind of thing Frank hardly notices anymore.
Karen will, though.
The scent of garlic and herbs and marinara wafting through the door is what makes him finally slide the key into the lock. He toes off his boots, drops his keys and wallet into the bowl on the hallway table and shrugs out of his jacket, the way he’s done dozens of times now. But he’s in no hurry to turn around, to let her see how he left unblemished and returned 40 minutes later with blood on his face.
“There you are,” Karen says, not looking up. She’s busy pulling the tray of manicotti from the oven. “Was the bodega closed or something?”
Frank rubs a hand over the back of his neck and sighs, walking into the kitchen and setting the wine down on the counter. He steps behind her and wraps his arms around her waist, resting his palms flat against her stomach. She tosses the oven mitt onto the counter and folds her hands over his, sinking into him until her back is flush against his chest.
“Uh, no,” he says, finally, propping his chin on her shoulder. She turns her face into him, pressing a kiss into his hair, and he closes his eyes and lives in the stillness of the moment for just a second. “Can you hand me that towel?”
Karen grabs the hand towel hanging on the stove handle and turns in Frank’s arms, the soft smile faltering immediately when her eyes land on his lip.
“Oh my god, Frank. What the hell happened?”
He takes the towel from her and wets it, dabbing at the cut. It’s tender, and he can tell that it’ll be swollen for a few days. Fucking great.
“Some idiot causin' trouble where he shouldn't."
That earns him a look. "And what, you couldn't help yourself?"
He sighs. Of course she's mad. He doesn't blame her.
"I had the wine in my hand. Was about to check out, when this guy comes in, all jittery and shit,” Frank says with another sigh, deeper this time. He glances at the blood on the towel then finds a clean spot and dabs at his lip again. “He had his hand in his coat, started yelling about money.”
She softens a little but doesn’t say anything.
“He jumped the counter and clocked Mr. Delgado. Old man didn’t even see it coming. Hell, I barely did,” he says, his jaw ticking at the thought of the elderly shop owner’s bloodied, broken nose. “I didn’t think, just put him down.”
Karen stiffens, no doubt assuming the worst, and Frank realizes how that must sound. He reaches for her, lacing their fingers together. “I hit him, Karen,” he says. “I just hit him.”
She nods, blinking back tears, and Frank’s chest tightens. “Hey, hey. Look at me, please.” His voice is soft and he ducks his head to meet her eyes. “It’s fine. I promise.”
“And Mr. Delgado?” she asks, taking the towel from Frank and rewetting it.
“Shook up, but ok,” he says. “I stayed ‘til the cops came. Gave a statement. Told ‘em what happened.”
“You gave a statement ?”
He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “Well, not me. Pete Castiglioni gave a statement.”
“Frank.”
“I couldn’t leave him on the floor like that, Karen.”
“I know,” she says, stepping into his space and gently wiping away the dried blood from his chin. Once his skin is clean, she tosses the soiled towel into the sink and turns back to Frank, tracing her fingers lightly over the cut on his lip. He can’t even feel the pain, just sparks from her touch.
“Can I tell you something?” he asks, letting his eyes flutter closed for a second.
“Of course,” she says. “You can tell me anything.”
“There was a moment after I knocked him out… I knew he was done, wasn’t getting back up, but I wanted to keep hitting him. Almost did.”
Karen doesn’t even flinch. Her expression doesn't shift, and voice doesn’t change when she asks, “What stopped you?”
Frank exhales a long, relieved breath, like a part of him is expecting this to be the time she finally sees the monster and decides it's all too much. “I saw the wine bottle sitting on the counter, and I remembered you at home waiting for me. I wanted to be here with you more than I wanted to leave that asshole in a pile of his own bones.”
This time Karen’s the one who’s relieved. She sags into him, pressing her face to the center of his chest for a long moment. “You chose me,” her voice is quiet, almost disbelieving.
“I’m always gonna choose you, Karen,” he says, bracing his hands along the sides of her face and tilting it up toward his. “I’ve actually been thinking about hangin’ it up.”
Karen’s eyes widen. “For good?”
“Look, if Murdock needs my help again, which he will, I won’t say no,” Frank says, dryly. “But I’m done lookin’ for trouble.”
Her eyes search his face, cataloging everything, and he sees the moment she understands that this is for real. Her expression softens, and her gaze shifts from searching to seeing.
She’s seeing him, in real time, decide to walk away from the violence and darkness that he's allowed to consume him for years. She’s seeing him choose her, choose them. The emotion in her eyes is almost overwhelming, and Frank can’t help it — he leans in and kisses her, long and slow, winding his hand into her hair. She sighs into his mouth and he forces himself to pull away because it would be far too easy to get carried away, and he still has things to say.
“You’ve pretty much done that already,” she says, eyes still on his lips. “When’s the last time you turned on that police scanner or spent the night on the streets looking for a fight?”
When Frank opens his mouth to answer, he realizes it’s been long enough that he can’t really remember. “Been a while,” he says, shrugging.
“Not that I’m complaining. I’m definitely not. But why now?”
Why now? That’s what all of this comes down to, isn’t it?
He knows the answer. He’s known the answer. And he’s finally ready to say it out loud to himself, but more importantly, to Karen. He talks a deep breath and blows it out slowly, pushing a few loose strands of hair from her face, letting his fingertips linger on the shell of her ear.
“Because I love you, Karen,” he says, looking her right in the eyes so there’s no question about whether he means it. “It took me a long goddamn time to get there and even longer to admit it once I knew, but I do. I love you.”
“Frank…” his name is a whisper on her lips, and tears fill her eyes again. He brushes the pad of his thumb across her cheek, swiping them away, then gently taps a finger against her lips. She wants to say more, he knows, but he’s not finished yet.
“The last time I fought a war it cost me everything. That’s not a risk I’m willing to take anymore, not when it could cost me you,” Frank says. “But my ghosts are still my ghosts, Karen. That’ll never change. You good with that?”
Karen swallows and exhales a shaky breath, running her hands up his arms and around to the back of his neck. “Frank, I’ve never been under any illusions about who you are. Your family, what happened to them, what happened to you, that’s what made you, you,” she pauses and presses a kiss against his jaw. “That’s the man I fell for. I wouldn’t change any of it.”
Frank’s breath catches. She’s told him before that who he is and what he’s done doesn’t change how she feels, but hearing it now, after he’s laid himself bare, nearly undoes him.
“You sure?” he asks, not because he doesn’t believe her, but because he has to give her one last chance to change her mind. He has to do that because once she’s in, so is he. Once she’s in, Frank never plans on letting go.
“Of course I’m sure,” Karen says, laughing a little like it’s the craziest question she’s ever been asked. “I love you, too.”
Frank’s eyes fall shut, and he rests his forehead against hers, letting the contact ground him. He needs a second to feel this. To let it settle. In a hundred little ways, Karen has already shown him that she loves him, but to hear her say those words out loud is everything.
“That right?” he breathes, his voice barely audible.
She just smiles. “Yeah.”
Frank straightens and looks at her, staring for a long moment at this woman who walked into his hospital room when he was at his lowest and slowly righted his entire world. She slipped through the cracks in his fractured heart and made herself at home a long time ago, so long ago that he can’t remember the last time he didn’t feel her there.
And then, because there aren’t any words left, and he’s overwhelmed by the sudden need to kiss her, Frank tilts Karen’s face up and captures her mouth with his. Her lips are warm and she tastes like red wine, and Frank thinks that this right here, this is worth living for.