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Karen's car, the silver hued model she had inherited from Ben, glided out of the garage and onto the street.
Within a few seconds the motel disappeared from their view. None of the cops had noticed anything. Looking out of the passenger side window, Karen tried to relax. Tried to remember what she felt the first time she drove through these streets. This city was nothing like her home town – she was sure all of Vermont couldn't light up the night sky the way New York City could.
Taking a deep breathe to calm her nerves, she leaned her head back to rest against the seat and tilted her gaze upwards. In the distance, a bright green light clicked into yellow, signaling Frank to begin rolling the car to a stop. Far above the light Karen caught glimpse of few pigeons fluttering against the night sky. Slowly they made their way to join the rest of their flock; currently resting along the top a billboard advertising 'Trish Talk'.
Frank followed Karen's gaze and peered up at the small cluster of birds.
He broke the silence with a mumbled, “Rats with wings.”
Still being dragged down by the nerves, the fear, the exhaustion - Karen said nothing. She could feel Frank's eyes on her again. She didn't want to hear what he had to say. She turned back to look out the side window, cursing the stoplight for taking so long.
There was a beat.
And then Frank cleared his voice.
Karen caved. Fine, maybe she did want to hear what he had to say. She flickered her eyes his way in anticipation and waited for him to speak.
“One year, uh, Lisa had to memorize a poem, you know, for her English class,” Frank stuttered. Even without looking directly at him, Karen could hear in his voice how vulnerable his eyes must look.
“Yeah,” she agreed, now realizing how she had brushed off his earlier mention of singing. He wants to talk about his kids. She turned to face him, “I remember those assignments.”
“Yeah? Well, she picked out this poem. First time I read the damn thing I busted up laughing. I mean, talk about a load of bull. But every time she would recite it, man. My girl, my girl had the biggest heart. Kids, they got this way of melting your heart. Even without trying to they do it.”
Now it was Karen's turn to follow Frank's eyes.
She watched the red light bounce off his face as he moved his head along with his words, it was somehow warm and comforting to see the amber glow reflected in his brown eyes. In those eyes she didn't see a dangerous fire you run from. In those eyes she saw a steady fire, one that got you through long and cold winters. She studied how the mere thought of these memories changed every feature on his face. Softening them. The rare but familiar happy crinkles around his eyes. The slight upturn in the corner of his mouth. The way is voice became almost a melody, rising and falling as he told his story.
“I think I even remember some of it.” He confessed, grinning to himself, stealing only a momentary glance at Karen.
“Let's hear it then.” Karen said, the hint of amusement that Frank spoke with now mirrored in her own voice.
Frank muttered under his breath for a few moments, letting out a word here and there, tapping his finger against the wheel in time with his whispers.
“Some people see a pigeon,” he began, “as a nuisance and a pest.”
“But I know they are,” he paused for a moment, taking a breath, “urban doves whom God has blest.”
Frank finished the poem blinking rapidly, trying to keep the tears in his eyes from falling down his face.
“Urban doves?” said Karen, trying to give a small smile of reassurance, “Huh. I've never heard that one before.”
“Yeah, her teacher was the real bleeding-heart touchy-feely hippy type. And Lisa,” his eye sparkled with hidden laughter as he spoke, “got all riled up on the 'unfairness' of it all. She thought it was mean to call pigeons names, you know. Ugly, dirty, rats. Didn't think it was right. She'd talk and talk about it and then turn to Frank Jr, and he would, he would nod along. He'd follow whatever his big sis said.”
Caught up in the moment, Karen let herself smile widely. “My brother Kevin was like that when we were really little. He'd follow me around. Sometimes I think he thought it annoyed me.” The words were out of her mouth before she had time to realize it. Biting her tongue, she turned the conversation back to Frank. “It sounds very sweet of them. They must have picked up that from you.”
The light turned green as a big toothy grin slipped out of Frank. He settled back into his seat laughing, moving the car forward, he let out a disbelieving, “What?”
“You've got a strong sense of duty when it comes to fairness,” she teased, “I can see a seven year old Frank Castle fighting for justice. Fighting with the neighbor kids over being mean and name-calling the pigeons.”
“Hell no,” Frank said, rolling his eyes and shaking his head back in forth. He licked his lips and began to reply when suddenly his face faltered as he glared into the rear view mirror.
“We're gonna stop at the next diner we can find.” Frank said matter-of-factly.
“What? Why? Frank? I thought we were not supposed to stop until we got to--”
“Change of plans,” Frank cut in. “In case someone is following us, we can lay low. Throw them off our tail.” It dawned on Frank that this was first time he wasn't straight with Karen. The first time he hadn't come completely clean. They were being followed. Well, he wasn't sure yet but, it felt like they were. Might as well make the most of it. "Besides, it's late. We can grab something to eat."
Karen found herself breathing rapidly again, feeling the flutter of her heartbeat in her chest, watching Frank rise up in his seat, his shoulders stiffening, his eyes darting around – becoming the hyperaware militarized version of himself. A sinking feeling of dread dropped into the pit of Karen's stomach.
They sat in silence until they arrived at the diner.
Somewhere in Hell's Kitchen, a flock of grey birds slept soundly.