(Notes: kinda sad that Frank isn't listed as a character for Daredevil yet... I'll update the listing as soon as that's fixed. This is a slow burn, b/c I'm all about their relationship being intense and building up because Frank has to get past his past...)

It had been two months since she'd seen him last, standing on the rooftop, so far up, with the feeling that he had been staring back at her with his soul-searching eyes. She'd told him, that night in the woods, that he was dead to her. Since then, she hadn't really been sure what to think of him. When she'd realized that he was still alive… her heart had stopped for a moment, and she felt a piece of her soul shift back into place. But then he'd killed the Colonel… the Blacksmith. Part of her knew that was what he'd had to do, that he'd been the last piece of the horrific puzzle of his past, but it hadn't felt right. Not because he didn't deserve it—the bastard definitely deserved it—but because she didn't think she could handle another death in her life, and she didn't want Frank to have to live with the fact that he had killed the last link to his family, the last person who could tell him what really happened, why they were dead.

The look in his eyes when he'd said "I'm already dead"… it haunted her, his words echoing through her dreams. Sometimes she too felt that she was already dead, that she was beyond saving, every day a chance to get further away from the night she'd sat across the table from someone who wanted her dead. The weight of that night, the blood on her hands, was like a shard of glass stuck in her foot, slicing and sending a jolt of pain with every step. Not telling anyone about it… that's what hurt the most. She had all this pain, this guilt, and she couldn't share it with anyone. Couldn't be comforted, couldn't tell anyone about the nightmares, the shock in Wesley's eyes before she'd shot him. Seven times.

But now, two months after the night Frank had killed the Blacksmith, Karen had been keeping up on Frank's—the Punisher's—activity. She'd only found seven small hits that fit his profile, only three of which had left the perpetrator dead. The other four had been muggers, beaten badly and left in allies. She assumed he was gathering intel on local criminals and gangs, and working on building a hideout somewhere in the city.

Today, she was headed to the center of Hell's Kitchen to interview an elderly woman whose apartment had been broken into, along with six other people in the building. The thieves had beaten her and her son, and though so far no one had been killed, Karen wanted to bring awareness to the suffering in this area, one of the poorer buildings in Hell's Kitchen, one often forgotten by those in safer areas. At first look, the apartment doesn't strike her as somewhere she'd want to live. Bricks are falling out of the building and trash litters the side of the road from an open dumpster. The buzzer system and locks by the front door are broken, so it isn't difficult to figure out how the burglars got into the building. The stairs are in similar shape, with paint peeling off the walls and leaving white flecks on the steps.

When Ell, the woman who'd been robbed and beaten only a couple nights before, opens the door, Karen can't help but gasp. There are bruises on her arms and face, and her split lip is almost too much.

"I'm sorry," Karen gasps, and the woman smiles, as she must know that her state comes as a bit of a fright. "I just—wasn't expecting it to be this bad. I'm sorry this happened to you. I'm um… I'm with the newspaper. I'd like to ask you a couple questions about what happened, if that's ok?"

"That's fine honey. But don't y'all have everything you need? A detective was just here asking me questions. He only left a minute ago."

Karen's stomach knots. The police already had all their statements, something she knows thanks to Brett. "This detective, what did he look like?"

Ell frowns. "He showed me his badge. Said his name was Ander. Big guy, your height. Dark hair… big black leather coat…"

Karen felt the tug of a smile and bit her lip. Frank.

"I'll be right back."

She runs to the window at the end of the hallway and looks down at the street, and sure enough, there he is. He's walking across the street, his coat crowding his figure. She has to fight the urge to run down the stairs after him, to ask him if killing the Blacksmith had healed or broken him. It's strange to see him walking in the daylight, his identity barely masked by a detective's badge and a baseball cap. He's almost to the other side of the street when he sees her car.

Her heart skips a beat.

He pauses, then turns around and looks up at her standing in the window. Their eyes meet, and she pushes down the urge to say his name, to raise a hand in greeting. Karen doesn't allow herself to move an inch. He nods, pulls the brim of his hat lower, and disappears behind a building.

She realizes she'd been holding her breath, and lets it out in one slow, shaky exhale. Maybe she should go after him, talk to him, get him to answer her questions- why did he help the Devil on the roof? Why did he stay in New York, where people knew what he looked like? Why not find another city to save?

She's shaking now, but it's too late to go after him. He's been swallowed by the city, and she would never be able to find him, no matter how hard she looked.

Keep it together, Karen.

She turns and heads back to the apartment, all smiles and charm for Ell. "Sorry about that, just wanted to make sure it wasn't another reporter."

Ell welcomes her into her home with a cup of coffee and a stale chocolate-chip cookie.

Karen's heart is still beating too fast.

(Notes: Thanks for reading! I'll try to update every few days! It's amazing how much this ship has absolutely consumed me)