I haven't written stories in years, so I needed something short to kickstart writing again. I love the Kastle dynamic, how it is on the cusp of being romantic but not quite there yet, so I thought I'd take a quick look into it. I appreciate feedback, hope you enjoy!
Frank Castle sat on the cold rooftop, hand comfortably resting on the gun at his side while he scanned the dark windows - there, he saw a flash of golden hair as a door opened and an apartment light came on. She took off her coat and hung it up, then headed into the kitchen. Frank moved slightly to the right, to keep her in sight and scan the street and places in nearby buildings where someone could, like him, watch her.
She was a goddamn angel. She was a beacon of light in this dark and dirty city. Hell, if you were to look through a telescope on the goddamn moon, you could probably see the glow from there coming off of Karen Page. Sometimes she shined so bright with goodness Frank had trouble looking directly at her. Always, there were the memories, waiting to drag his mind through images of blood and slaughter, but when he was around her, some of her light filtered down through his murky thoughts and just for a little while, he could bask in her glow. He could remember the good moments with his family - his kids playing, his wife laughing - without seeing bullets flying into them. He could even blast music and sing along, like any asshole millennial on the street might. Frank didn't know the words for what that meant to him, so he didn't use any.
It wasn't any sort of magic or superpower - no serum made Karen into this champion of the helpless… no, it was her ability to listen. And boy, when Karen Page was listening to you, you knew her whole being was focused on what you had to say. Didn't matter if you were a police officer, the mayor, or living by a trash can, she cared. Not many people could have worked at an office job, then to a legal office, now writing at a newspaper, but Karen did and she excelled at all of them because she fought - maybe not as much with fists or bullets the way Red or he did, but with words and actions. She fought for the truth and she fought the corruption that infected this city like cancer. She'd fought for him, when he was only full of mindless rage - she'd even fought for those he punished. She would look at him with those shining blue eyes and he felt, for a blink, like a man instead of the avenging shade he'd become.
Of course, she would hate being called an angel. Karen was no stranger to darkness, but the thing that amazed Frank about her was her ability to stay above it, no matter how much shit the world threw at her, and despite (he suspected) her own thoughts about herself. Of course - Frank snorted and took a swig from the canteen full of coffee at his side - some would say he wasn't the best judge of morality, but somehow Karen never stopped shining. He had seen her with a goddamn gun being held to her head and she hadn't stopped fighting. He had looked into her eyes and seen her strength push past her fear. That was true courage, and not something even the best drill sergeant could teach. The world could live or die with or without the Punisher - sure, with more evil - and it would survive even without Red, altar boy that he thought he had been - but the world needed good, beautiful people like Karen Page. No vigilante or superhero, but someone normal - even fragile - who would not stay quiet when they saw an injustice. She was the type of person he had always wanted his children to grow into.
So how, meeting and helping as many people as she did on a daily basis, did she feel lonely? Frank took another sip of coffee and adjusted his position. Karen's words spoken to him by the river had come back to bother him in the strangest of moments. She had called bullshit on him being alone - which he could take or leave, but then the tough exterior she cultivated slipped and he saw in her expression what doing what she did really cost her. She worked long hours, researching tips and following up on new stories. Karen didn't take a day off - some days she'd meet her friend Nelson at a nearby bar for a drink or two in the evening, but most days she'd head straight to her dark apartment, heat a frozen meal like she was doing right now, and work at her computer for several more hours. Frank knew now, because he'd made it his duty to check up on her after he had taken care of Agent Orange and Billy Russo. With Red gone, and Karen exposing more and more of the dark underbelly of Hell's Kitchen with each article she wrote, it helped lend credibility to her name, but it also made her a target. Friends of those she had helped send to jail weren't too happy with her exposes, and Frank had already headed off several attacks and a clumsy kidnapping attempt. He'd left those bodies in the alleys and places where the deals had been made - so far it was desperate men with no real plans, but he had no doubt the price on her head would continue to rise.
Karen Page might not know exactly how much danger she was in on a daily basis, but as long as he was around she never would have to find out. She could keep up her work writing and speaking about those taken advantage of, those never given an equal chance, those left and neglected, and he would stay in the shadows with his coffee and his guns and keep watch over the angel of Hell's Kitchen.