It had been months. Six, to be exact, since the incident at the hotel. Since Frank saved Karen's life for the umpteenth time… Since the elevator.
It had been six months, and for all Karen knew, Frank was dead or dying somewhere in a ditch. She hadn't heard a word from him since he'd fled the hotel with barely one good arm and a fresh gunshot wound to the side of the head. To be completely honest, she was pissed.
At first, she had been riddled with worry. Had he survived? What had happened to him after that mess with Lewis? Too many questions, and too few answers. She did the only thing she could think of and that was throwing herself into her work. Chasing story after story, putting herself into unnecessarily dangerous situations, a small part of her hoping that Frank would show up and save the day. He never did.
After a few months, the anger started to bubble up. Karen was still worried, of course. But the longer she waited, the more irritated she became. She reached out to sources, homeland, anyone she could think of, really. But if anyone knew anything, they weren't telling.
Karen kept those flowers Frank had given her to contact him in the window for five months. Five long, aggravating, anxiety ridden months. Now they were in the trash. She hadn't emptied that particular trash can in a month. It was a process, she would tell herself. She'd get around to it eventually. In the meantime, she threw her waste into one of the other trash bins in her apartment and pretended, for the most part, that that one didn't exist.
It had been a long day. Karen had been chasing a lead about a possible human trafficking ring near the boroughs. She was right, of course, and it nearly got her killed. Again.
She stayed in the shower longer than necessary, letting the scalding hot water wash away the carnage left behind from her tirades earlier that night. The memory made her shutter. Sure, she'd seen enough violence in her time. Blood and gore were common place in her line of work, especially when you were close to vigilantes. She had a strong constitution, especially given her past, but none of this made it any easier. After all this time, it still managed to get under her skin.
A loud crash shocked her out of her daze. Karen shut off the now cold stream of water and hastily toweled off, wrapping her robe around her body and grabbing her .380 off the counter next to the sink. You could never be too careful. She'd found that lesson out the hard way more than once.
Gun cocked, she slowly, silently opened her bathroom door, peeking around the corner. Clear. Another loud noise made her jump. It had come from the living room. Karen eased open the bedroom door. A shape moved in the darkened space. Karen threw the door open and pointed her gun at the intruder, flipping a switch on the wall beside her.
Light flooded the small apartment, illuminating the intruder.
"Frank!" Karen gasped, quickly setting the gun aside and rushing towards him.
To say he looked bad was an understatement. Frank was on the floor, leaning against the bar of the small kitchen. Blood painted the right side of his face, presumably from the large gash above his eyebrow. His body armor was riddled with bullets, one of which had clearly caught his left shoulder. His black undershirt was soaked through and there was a steady stream of blood dripping down his left arm and onto the floor beside him.
Frank had gotten in Via the fire escape, only bothering to jimmy the window open enough for him to slide his bulky frame through. He'd knocked over a lamp on the way. The first crash, presumably. Several of Karen's kitchen cabinets were open, dishes strewn about, a wine glass shattered on the floor a few feet from where Frank lay. He'd taken it with him on the way down. He was unconscious.
"Frank?" Karen questioned as she knelt beside him. "Frank, can you hear me?"
She jostled his frame a bit, but he didn't respond.
"Shit."
Karen ran back towards the bathroom, grabbing the first aid kit she kept there. Though, to be fair, it could hardly be called a 'first aid' kit anymore. With the kind of situations she found herself in on a fairly regular basis, the supplies in this kit went far beyond simple first aid. Fortunate, considering Frank's condition.
She knelt beside him again, depositing the kit on the floor beside her while she looked him over. Karen removed his body armor as delicately as she could manage, tossing the heavy-duty vest aside. The amount of blood soaked through his clothes made her want to gag. But she steeled herself. This was no time to be throwing up. She could do that later, once she was sure Frank was going to live through the night.
Next to go was the shirt. Getting it over his head wasn't an option. She grabbed the scissors from a nearby drawer and cut the shirt up the middle, dragging the now useless article down his arms and off him altogether.
The sight was awful. He had indeed been shot in the left shoulder, as she'd thought. Another bullet had grazed his arm further down, and the gash above his eye was still actively bleeding. His torso was littered with bruises, and it looked like he'd cracked - if not broken - a couple of ribs. She hoped for the former.
She set to work. His breathing was labored, but even, so she wasn't worried about anything having punctured his lungs. His pulse fluttered steadily under her fingertips, and his pupils dilated normally. No brain damage. More than likely he'd passed out from the blood loss.
She tended to the wound above his eye first. Karen was no nurse. Frank would definitely have a scar. But she'd stitched him up the best she could and cleaned up most of the blood around his eye.
His arm was a bit more intensive. She stitched up the gash on his bicep quickly enough, but the bullet wound on his shoulder didn't have an exit mark. The bullet was still lodged in there somewhere. She'd never had to extract a bullet before. Somehow in all her escapades she'd avoided ever actually being shot.
She managed it, through gritted teeth and sheer determination. She could only hope she hadn't done more harm than good. Karen stitched up the wound and dressed all his injuries. By the time she was done it was well past midnight.
Karen cleaned up the place as best she could. She was exhausted and wired all at the same time. She doubted she could sleep now even if she wanted to. Besides, she still had to figure out what to do with Frank. She could hardly leave him on the floor all night, but he was far too heavy for her to carry all the way to her bed.
She settled for the couch a few feet from where Frank had passed out. Getting him there was quite the ordeal, but she managed, depositing him on the sofa as gently as she could. She plopped down next to him, placing his head in her lap.
For the first time since Frank had unceremoniously crashed into her apartment, Karen took a deep, calming breath. It looked like Frank was going to survive, and for now that was enough. His breathing had calmed down and his face looked - despite the severe bruising - peaceful.
Karen leaned heavily on the arm of the sofa, staring off into nothing. She hadn't had much time to actually think while she was patching Frank up. Now that she did, her mind was racing. Where had he been all this time? Why hadn't he contacted her? She was miffed, to say the least, but far too tired to manage actual anger.
Karen yawned, leaning her head against the back of the sofa. She was out before she could form her next thought.
Karen woke with a start, jumping up from where she was curled up on the couch. Wait, she thought, how did I end up here? The events from last night came flooding back to her. Karen jumped up from the couch, immediately regretting the decision when the world around her spun, her head pounding. She sat back down.
"Mornin'," came a rough voice from the kitchen. Karen spun around, her vision going blurry for a second, then clearing to reveal Frank. Standing in her kitchen. Shirtless. Making pancakes. I must be dreaming.
She rubbed her eyes and look back at the kitchen. Nope.
"Morning," was all she could manage to mutter in response. This whole situation was very confusing. If it weren't for the half-hazard patch job she'd done on his injuries, and the way he was obviously favoring his right side, this would have all been very… domestic. It still was, in a way. Then she remembered her anger.
Karen shot up from her spot on the couch, ignoring the pounding in her skull, and stalked towards where Frank was depositing pancakes onto plates in the kitchen.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" She questioned angrily.
"Making breakfast," Frank responded casually, not looking her in the eye. He knew she wasn't referring to the pancakes, but he was hoping he could stave off the coming storm for a little while longer.
Karen gaped, unsure how to respond, her anger fueled brain stuttering. How could he be so casual after all of this? Not just the events of last night, but the last six months?
"W-where have you been?" She hated the stutter in her words. She wanted to show him how angry she was, how hurt. She wanted to slap him. Or kiss him. Maybe kick him. Mostly, though, she wanted answers.
Frank stopped what he was doing, placing the empty frying pan back on the stove with a sigh. He turned to face her, looking her in the eyes for the first time since he'd come crashing into her apartment, broken and bloody. Frank Castle sure did know how to make an entrance.
For a long moment they just stared at one another, the tension palpable in the air around them. Frank's face was an unreadable mask, while Karen was, as she always had been, an open book. Rage, hurt, relief, all swirling within the depths of those icy blue eyes. She stood, stiff as a board, breath held as Frank raked his eyes over her. The motion sent a shiver up her spine that she refused to acknowledge.
"You, uh, you look well…" he trailed off. Karen resisted the urge to slap him then and there.
"Ya, as well as can be expected, I guess."
Frank scratched the back of his neck, wincing at the strain on his left arm as he moved.
"Look, I uh - "
"Frank, I swear to Christ, if I hear one more pleasantry out of you I'm going to lose it. Just tell me…" She paused, unsure. "Why didn't you come back?" She said, finally. It was barely a whisper, but Frank heard her loud and clear.
Karen had averted her eyes, looking for purchase anywhere but his face. Those eyes, they bored into her soul, like he could see into the heart of her very being. Any fight she'd had in her, all that anger, was lost now. She'd thought for sure that if she ever saw Frank Castle again, the first thing she'd do was slap him across the face and demand answers. But here, in the moment, faced with the man himself, she faltered. She could face down mobsters and criminals with barely a tremble in her hands, but around this one man - this one, stupid, pigheaded, brute of a man - she melted.
She felt warm fingertips press gently against her cheek. Frank's palm came to rest on her chin, tilting her head up to look at him once more. There was something in the way he was looking at her. Something she'd only seen once before - in that elevator, surrounded by police, heads still spinning from nearly being blown up. In that moment he had looked at her with the same… something as he was now.
"Karen," he started, his voice a gentle rumble. "After everything, I had, uh - I had a lot of stuff I needed to work through. Had to get my shit together, yeah? I was pretty messed up - I'm still pretty messed up. I didn't -" Frank paused, stuck on how to word it.
"Didn't what, Frank" Karen added. "Didn't think I could handle it? Didn't... Didn't want me to be a part of your life?" Tears were threatening to fall, her throat tight. She pushed it down. No way in hell was she going to cry now. She already hated how weak she was acting right now. This wasn't how this conversation was supposed to go.
"No!" His volume shocked her. It seemed to shock him equally. He shook his head, calming himself back down. "No, Karen. I didn't -" he looked at the floor. "I didn't want to come back into your life until I was… better." Karen's gaze jumped immediately back to Frank. "Until I wasn't such a burden. I hated you being in danger because of me. I couldn't stand -" He didn't get to finish that sentence.
Frank's hand fell from Karen's shoulder where it had found purchase during their conversation as Karen threw her arms around his neck, burying her face in the crook of his neck. He grunted at the contact, his left shoulder throbbing. He ignored it. After a moment of shock, his arms slowly wound themselves around Karen's small frame, clutching her to his chest like a lifeline.
They stayed like that for a long while, just holding each other, neither willing to let go. It was Karen who pulled back first, but not far. She touched her forehead to Franks, just like that day in the elevator. Several more moments passed in silence, the two of them content to simply breath each other in.
It was Frank's turn to move. One hand slid from Karen's back, her skin cold where it had been. She didn't mourn the loss of that touch for long as his hand slid back up onto her cheek. Frank moved closer, rubbing their noses together lightly, testing the waters. She responded in kind, following his movements. Her skin was on fire everywhere he touched, however light. His breath ghosted across her lips, and she shivered.
The whole world faded away as their lips met. The kiss was light, chaste even, but it held so much power, so much emotion. It was like lightning running through her veins and she melted into him. Her hands found their way into his hair, longer now, though not quite as long as it had been that day on the street, when he'd fallen back into her life the first time.
Karen was the one to deepen the kiss, sliding her mouth firmly against his, parting her lips just enough to gain purchase on his upper lip. Frank responded instantly, large hands finding their way to her hips, pulling her closer still. She poked her tongue out, running a line along his lower lip. The shudder it elicited from the man before her pleased Karen to no end. He opened his mouth against hers, their tongues sliding together, exploring.
Frank turned the two of them slightly, pinning Karen between the counter and his firm body. The small gasp that escaped from her lips only spurred him on further. One hand found its way to the counter behind them, giving Frank some much-needed stability. His other hand wove its way into Karen's soft blonde hair, tugging lightly. She arched beneath him, head falling back, giving him a world of new territory to explore. His lips trailed from her mouth to her cheek, then her jaw. He kissed a steaming trail down her long neck before leaving an open-mouthed kiss on the pulse point where her neck met her shoulder. She could hardly help the moan that escaped. A sweet spot for her, clearly.
Karen raked her fingers down Frank's back, brain thoroughly lost in the haze that Frank had put her in with his mouth on her skin, hands pressing into her hip harder than he probably realized. There'd be bruises for sure. She welcomed them.
A grunt of the decidedly non-sexy variety brought Karen back to reality, though her brain was still a bit foggy, endorphins still flooding her system. Frank had taken a step back. Not far, Karen was still trapped between him and the counter, but he was no longer pressed against her. His head fell onto her shoulder and his right arm went up to grasp his left shoulder. She realized her mistake, then. In her haze, she'd grazed over the bandage on his bicep. A small spot of red started to seep through the white fabric of the dressing.
"Shit," she breathed out, cursing herself for being so stupid, so careless. She pushed Frank back another step, moving to examine his arm. "I'm so sorry, Frank."
A deep chuckle vibrated through his chest. Frank grasped her probing hand in his, pulling it away from his injured arm and up to his lips, placing a kiss on her knuckles. "Don't worry about it." He said softly.
"I wasn't thinking, I just -" he shut her up with a quick kiss, firm but fleeting, leaving her a little dizzy.
"I said, don't worry about it. I'm fine." He gazed heavily into her eyes, willing her to calm down, grasping her face meekly in both hands.
Karen breathed deeply, bringing her forehead back to his again. A lazy smile formed on her lips.
"So," she started, loud enough for only him to hear. "That happened."
Frank chuckled again, the sound like music to Karen's ears. It wasn't something she was accustomed to, hearing Frank laugh. She never wanted it to stop.
"Yeah," was his only response. The same lazy smile rested on his lips.
They stood like that for another few minutes, basking in the glow of whatever this was. Frank pulled away, arms around her hips as he leaned back to look at her.
"So, I made these pancakes for you - worked real hard on 'em." The lazy smile turned into a smirk. "We gonna eat 'em, or what?"
Karen couldn't help the laugh that escaped. A full, hardy laugh that she felt in her bones. She hadn't laughed like that in a long, long time. It was a good feeling.
She rushed forward, placing a quick, chaste kiss to his lips before retreating, pulling herself - albeit somewhat begrudgingly - from his arms. For a moment, Frank looked confused. This only caused her to laugh more. She opened a cupboard on the far side of the kitchen, disappearing briefly behind the shuttered door. She re-appeared, a bottle of syrup in hand.
"Gonna need this," she said as she joined him back at the counter, taking a seat at one of the barstools on the opposite side.
Frank recovered quickly, the smile quickly returning to his face. He shook his head slightly, then moved to join her on the other side. He poured a generous amount of syrup on his own pancakes and dug in, wolfing them down like he hadn't eaten in weeks. Karen could only watch in amused bliss, her own food forgotten as she gazed at the man before her.
They'd take things slow. Do this the right way. She'd ask him later about the injuries. About what kind of trouble he'd gotten himself into this time. And they'd deal with it together, because there was no way in hell she was letting him get away from her this time. Not on his life.