Work Text:
Her apartment was easier to live in when she wasn’t alone.
That was what she told herself, anyway, the excuse she kept in her pocket, because without a reason always there to fall back on, she’d have to face a much more uncomfortable truth - that she just liked having him around.
Frank grunted in discomfort as he undressed, pulling off his vest and shirt and the tight, white undershirt he wore beneath that. He didn’t try to stay neat, not anymore, and he threw his clothes on the floor next to his boots as he took them off. She knew from experience he’d remember to pick them up later. “Shit,” he said, rubbing his neck and rolling his shoulders. “I feel like a goddamn punching bag.” He let out a long breath. “Coffee ready yet?”
“Here,” she said, handing him the plain blue mug she’d bought for him, filled nearly to the brim with a rich, dark roast.
He took a sip and his eyes closed in pleasure. “Thank you ma’am.”
“Want an aspirin or anything?” Her hands were clasped together behind her back as she watched him. His chest was mottled, a mess of nasty looking bruises, but she supposed it could have been worse. He could be bleeding. He could have cracked a rib.
“Nah, no pills,” he said. “I’m not planning on staying the night and I need to be alert.”
“I doubt it would really make a difference.”
He grunted and said “Just ice, please, if you got it.”
“Sure.” She took what little ice was left in her freezer and fixed up an ice pack for him, wrapped in a soft washcloth. He watched, silently, nodding in acknowledgement when she handed it to him.
He pressed it carefully against an ugly bloom of purple under his left pectoral.
Karen made it a rule, on the rare occasions she saw him - although less rare as of late - not to ask Frank what he had been doing, or how he had gotten hurt. He wouldn’t tell her anyway, and the vague answers he tended to give to any questions she bothered asking just made her worry more.
“You look like you got hit by a truck,” she said, instead of asking what happened or why.
He blew out air in a half-amused snort. “Yeah,” he said. “It feels like it.” He closed his eyes and tipped his head back. Comfortable. “Ice is helping, though.”
“Good.” She tucked her hair behind her ears. He took up so much space on her couch, sunk down into the cushions with his knees apart. It was a little disconcerting to see him so apparently at ease. When had that happened, she wondered, and how much of that relaxations was real, how much was feigned? She trusted him, but she couldn’t imagine being that at ease around him. “Mind if I sit down?”
“Your couch,” he said. “Your apartment.” He didn’t look at her, but he scooted to his right and she sat down, making herself as small as possible beside him.
Then there was a knock on the door.
Karen sat up, eyes going from the door to Frank. He was alert, suddenly, tranquility replaced with the graceful readiness of a predator.
“Hey,” a voice said, before they had a chance to react. “Karen, it’s me. I brought dinner!”
“Foggy?” she asked, eyes wide. “What are you doing here?”
“Uh, dinner, like I said,” he told her through the door. “Can I come in?”
She grabbed Frank’s boots and his shirt and shoved them at him, pulling him up with her other hand. “Yeah, just a second,” she called. “Go,” she hissed at Frank. “Hide in the bathroom.”
“For how long?” he whispered, brows drawn low. “Give me a second to dress and I can - “
“Just hide!” She pushed him through the door and grabbed his empty mug of coffee. No, there was only one, that wouldn’t look suspicious. She set it back down on the table and smoothed her hair down. She opened the door with a smile.
“Hey,” Foggy said, stepping inside. He was wearing a gray suit and carried a pizza box on top of the palm of one hand. “I know we were supposed to meet up next week, but you said you weren’t busy tonight and I won my case - for a client that is not terrible, despite my firm’s reputation - so I wanted to celebrate!”
She smiled as she leaned against the door, watching Foggy set the pizza down and grab two plates from the kitchen. “Matt and Marci both busy?”
“Matt is busy, yes,” he said, “but Marci is a man-eating witch bent on nothing less than complete ownership of my immortal soul, no doubt for something creepy and nefarious.”
“So things… aren’t going well.”
“No. But kind of yes.” He sat down on her couch and gestured for her to join him. She glanced over at the bathroom door. “Things are actually things, so that’s good. I guess. But no, you couldn’t actually say they were going well.” He cleared his throat. “Hey, mind if I grab some water?”
“Oh no problem. Let me.” She stepped into the kitchen and pulled a glass out of the cabinet. “I don’t have any ice,” she told him, pulling the pitcher out of her fridge, “but it’s cold. That okay?” He didn’t answer. “Foggy?”
“Karen, what the…” Foggy sucked in a breath through his teeth. “What the hell is this?”
“What’s what?” She asked with a frown, setting the glass on the counter and turning to see why he suddenly sounded so distraught. And then she froze. Because Foggy was holding Frank’s vest up and away from his body, staring at it like it was going to attack him. Her eyes went wide. She hadn’t grabbed it. She’d gotten his shirts and his shoes but she hadn’t grabbed his goddamn vest with the skull on it, the one thing that would immediately be recognizable.
“This is the Punisher’s,” Foggy said, his voice going high and tight. He dropped it and kicked it away from the couch. “Why do you… Is this an extra one, does he have a closet full of these or something? And why is it - “
“Foggy,” she interrupted. “It’s um. It’s a funny story.” She laughed and thought, desperately, what excuse she could possibly give. “You wouldn’t believe it.”
His eyes said No, I wouldn't and she laughed again, weakly, nerves lighting up like firecrackers under her skin. “It’s not real. It’s not… Not actually the Punisher’s.” She wondered if it would be suspicious if she called him Frank, or more suspicious if she didn’t.
“Okay,” Foggy said, after an awkward moment of silence. “But why do you have it?”
“It belonged to… To this guy I met. And he left it here.” She bit her lip and ran a hand through the length of her hair. “Um. After our date.”
“After your date?”
There was no way out of this that wasn’t terrible for Frank or humiliating for her, was there. She hoped she got credit later for being a martyr. “As you know, Matt and I… Aren’t really a Matt and I anymore. I don’t know that we will be again. I don’t know what he’s told you about how he feels, but I’m not. I’m not ready to trust him. Not with my heart.” She blinked a few times to steady herself. She was good at bullshit, she reminded herself. And she wasn’t lying to hurt Foggy, it was to protect Frank. “So I’ve. I’ve been kind of lonely, you know? I didn’t mean to pick anyone up, I didn't even really want to at first, pbut he was cute and he seemed sweet.”
Foggy stared at her, obviously incredulous and she kept her hands clasped around her biceps to keep from fidgeting. “Is there another but attached to that?”
She nodded. “The vest was. It was, uh.” She tilted her head and squeezed her eyes shut. Better just to get it over with. “It was kind of a role play thing?”
Foggy made a strangled sound and when she opened her eyes he had an expression of horror on his face. “Role play? As in sexy role play? He wanted to be the Punisher? He wanted to punish you?”
“No,” she said quickly, not actually having anticipated that line of inquiry. “No, I don’t think he wanted that. I think it was more about, uh, who Frank was? You know. A marine. Tough. A vigilante taking the law into his own hands. I got the impression he, um - the-the guy I mean - admired that.”
“The guy? Just the guy? Karen, you slept with a possibly unstable Punisher fanboy and didn’t even get his name?”
She winced. She had not thought of a name for this fake Punisher-obsessed man she was claiming to have slept with, no. “He wasn’t unstable, Foggy, and the…” She paused, unable to actually describe the sex she hadn’t had, both for Foggy’s sake and her own. “Everything was fine. He was very respectful, he just had a very specific kink. And, I… I was lonely and I agreed to indulge him.”
Foggy sighed. “Sure. That. That happens. And I mean, no judgement for the hook up. But, Karen, there’s…” He sighed again, looking miserable. “Okay, you’re going to be mad. This is definitely going to make you mad. I have to ask, though. Maybe this is just about loneliness, or a weird thing because of what happened with Matt, or hell, just something you’re into. The vigilante thing. But Karen, are you sure this was his fantasy and not yours?”
The silence from the bathroom suddenly seemed much, much louder.
“What?” She sat down on the couch beside him and hissed, trying to keep her voice down. “Foggy, what the hell do you mean, my fantasy?”
Unaware they were not alone in the apartment, he did not take the hint to be quiet. “Well, you were there at the trial. You saw you. You got… Really invested in him. In Frank Castle. And part of that was curiosity, maybe, you wanting to know the truth. But I think there was something else there, too. Something you saw in him, or thought you saw in him. It’s not unreasonable to think maybe there was attraction there. In the curiosity. Maybe.” He shrugged and then laughed, sounding a little manic. “Or maybe it’s just really simple and you thought he was hot. I saw him in a suit, okay, that’s valid.”
“No! Jesus, Foggy, why would you possibly think - “
“Because.” His eyes looked concerned and his voice was gentle. “A guy whose name you didn’t get, who probably doesn’t have a way to contact you, just left his extremely accurate replica Punisher vest here? Really? If it was yours, if you needed the guy to wear it - “
Her ears turned red. “Foggy, I swear it’s not mine.”
“Sure, but.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “It would be okay if it was.”
Karen was far past the point of wanting to protect Frank and now just wanted for this horrible conversation to end. “Look. I appreciate that you’re trying to be supportive, and that you pass no judgement on what is apparently a friend’s worrying fetish.”
“Very worrying,” Foggy muttered.
“But.” She put a hand in his shoulder and looked him in the eye. “I promise you. Really. It’s not mine.”
“Okay, Karen.” She couldn’t tell if he believed her - probably not, if the note of sympathy on his face wasn’t her imagination - but he wouldn’t push her further about how the vest got into her apartment. “Do you… want to talk about it?”
She groaned and leaned forward, her face in her hands.
He patted her awkwardly on the back. “I really don’t want any details about the sex part of it - I literally can’t believe I even said that - but if you… Need to talk about it, about how weird or not weird enough the guy was, or about Matt even, or your hypothetical attraction to escaped ex-client vigilante murderers. I’m here for you. You know that, right?”
She looked up at him. “I know, Foggy. But I really don’t want to talk about it. And I’m okay, I promise.” She smiled and something in his face loosened.
“Oh thank God,” he said. He wiped his forehead in obvious relief. “I meant it, Karen, every word, I’m always here for you, but I think any of those conversations would be the friendship-altering, lots of alcohol required kind.”
“Yes. Yes, definitely.”
Foggy opened the box sitting on the table grabbed a slice of pizza. He took a bite and chewed contentedly.
Karen cleared her throat. “Uh, Foggy?”
“Yeah, what is it?” He asked, swallowing down the food in his mouth. He took another bite, waiting for her to respond.
“Speaking of… Avoiding those friendship-altering conversations. Please don’t take this the wrong way, I’m not trying to be rude, but do you think we could postpone dinner? I’m… Well, i’m embarrassed, honestly, and I just want to spend a quiet night alone trying to not think about this.”
“Right. Totally understandable.” He stands up and pulls off a paper towel from the roll to wipe his hands. “We can do this next week like we planned, if that still works for you. I know I kind of made everything awkward, finding your sex vest.”
She groaned and covered her eyes with a hand. “Not helping, Foggy. And again: not mine.”
“Sorry.” He smiled, apologetically. “Keep the pizza as penance for - “ She winced again and he moved his hands in a big circle. “For everything. Right. Goodnight!”
“Goodnight,” she replied, sinking into her couch. As soon as the door shut she heard a cough, and a moment later Frank came out of the bathroom. Mortified, she put her elbows on her knees and pressed her face into her palms. He sat down beside her. “Is there any chance, any chance at all, that we don’t have to talk about this?”
Instead of answering, he grunted, and rapped on her shoulder with a knuckle. She looked up at him through her fingers and he nodded at the pizza. “You planning on sharing that?”
“Go right ahead,” she said. She scrubbed at her eyes and sat up, glancing at Frank. He grabbed a piece of pizza and folded it in half, shoving nearly half of it in his mouth and ignoring the plates Foggy had gotten out. He was still shirtless, which normally she thought nothing of, especially considering she only saw him injured, but suddenly she was very, very aware of how much of him was uncovered. She felt her face heat, red blooming in her cheeks, and of course - of course - he noticed.
“Yeah, I’m the real deal, honey,” he said, gesturing down the length of his body. “Take a long look.” He was attractive, she had to admit, though the effect was somewhat tempered by his teasing. His cheek bulged with the last bite of his pizza and he grinned and then swallowed. “In case you need a visual aid for, uh. Next time.”
“Oh Christ,” she muttered into her hands, not sure if she wanted to laugh or cry.
But Frank wasn’t done.
“Y’know I can leave that here for you if you want. If you need an extra ‘sex vest.’ Apparently I have a closet full of them.”
“I don’t want to hear it. I had to say something,” she said irritably, straightening up. She crossed her arms over her chest and shot him a dark, flinty-eyed glare. “I couldn’t tell Foggy you were here and that was the first excuse that popped in my head. If i’d had more time to prepare I would have. Well… Probably. I probably would have been able to think of a better explanation.”
“Like what?” He looked amused, damn him.
She ignored his question and the unfamiliar look of playfulness in his eye. “Where’s your ice? You’re going to start swelling.”
His face split with the force of his grin. “Well if you mean my ego, ma’am - “
“Did you leave it in the bathroom?” Her voice was high-pitched and she knew it, the tips of her ears burning. “Go get your ice, Frank.”
He stood, still smirking, and walked slowly to the bathroom, his eyes stuck to hers. This, she decided, had to be one of the most humiliating nights of her life. Frank got his ice pack from the bathroom and sat back down beside her. He was not as careful as he usually was to keep as much distance between them and his leg brushed against hers.
“Aren’t you going to put a shirt on?” she asked, before she could help herself.
“Why?” he asked, not looking at her. Heat rolled from his body and she felt electrified, sitting so close to him. Frank being attractive had always been in a separate box from her actively being attracted to him, and when she’d noticed him - the strength of him, the compact firmness of muscle, the masculine construction and the breadth of his body - it had been no more than passive observation. Now suddenly she noticed and appreciated. “You uncomfortable?”
“Yes, of course I’m uncomfortable,” she said. “Can you blame me? Foggy thinks I want to have sex with you, and that apparently I invite men home and ask them to dress up like you.” She rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “And by the way, I don’t.”
“You don’t what?” he asked. “Invite men over and ask them to dress up like me? Hell, of course you don’t - you got me here dressing up like myself instead.”
That wasn’t what she had meant and she was pretty sure he knew it.
They sat there in uncomfortable silence for another minute or so. Then Frank got up and refilled his mug with the coffee she’d kept warm on the percolator. He took a sip and wrinkled his nose, staring at her from the kitchen. “You should eat,” he said. He set his mug down by the pizza box and took out a piece. It was greasy and loaded with peppers and sausage and gooey cheese. He put it on a plate and leaned over and set the plate on her lap. “Here,” he said. He grabbed his coffee and came back around, sitting even closer to her on the couch than he’d been before. His arm stretched out behind her along the back of the couch - not touching her, but close. Close enough it made her shoulders prickle and feel warm.
“You sure you want to get this close to me?” she asked. “I might be unable to control myself. Or, if you tease me again, I could elbow you in one of your bruises.”
He laughed and said “Might make the swelling worse.” Karen sighed and pressed her thigh against his, taking what small victory she could at the twitch she felt in response.