It's still dark - the sky just barely lightening with the first rays of dawn - when Karen slips into Ellison's office and carefully sets the small USB drive on his desk.
She blinks at the device - so much of her life over the past six months is on the drive. It almost hurts her to be done with it. But then her wrist twinges - rain is coming - and she remembers the crowbar coming down on her arm and she's more than happy to be done with this story.
Quickly, looking over her shoulder to confirm she's still the only one in the Bulletin's office, Karen scribbles the encryption key on a Post-it and tucks it under the USB drive. The encryption had been necessary, what with all the sensitive information she had gathered. Karen says a silent thanks to David Lieberman for teaching her the absolute basics of encryption and not asking a single question when she had asked.
Note written, Karen sneaks out of the office and picks up her bag before heading home. It's so early even the bodegas are closed, but Karen doesn't mind. All she wants is about 72 hours of sleep and the biggest black and white cookie she can find – her usual treat after submitting an article.
She reaches her apartment without finding a bakery for her cookie, but it's fine. She'll get one later. For now, she drops her bag to the floor by her front door, kicks off her shoes and falls into bed - fully dressed in slacks and a blouse. Her eyes are shut before her head hits the pillow.
Karen sleeps for fourteen hours - waking up as the sun is low in the sky, bathing her apartment in that magic hour glow that photographers love.
She squints, groans, and rolls into a sitting position. "Shit," she mumbles to herself upon seeing the wrinkled state of her shirt. There's a pillow crease on her cheek that she won't see until she goes to the bathroom and her hair, despite it's previously braided arrangement, is knotted and messy around her face.
With a disgruntled groan, Karen wiggles her way out of bed and stumbles to the closet, searching for a pair of sweats. After changing, she feels more awake, even though it's nearly 7:30 at night.
Running a hand through her knotted hair, she pads into the kitchen for some dinner. She's been through this cycle before - sleeps all day, gets food, relaxes with a backlog of shows on her DVR, and then goes back to bed before heading to work in the morning. Ellison should have her story edited and fact-checked in time for tomorrow's edition, meaning Karen's life is about to get a little more dangerous.
She thinks about hotel kitchens and flowers on the windowsill and smirks a little to herself.
She can handle a little danger.
Dinner? That's a different story. Her kitchen is absolutely bare - a consequence of spending multiple nights over the past month sleeping at her desk so she could finish her story.
Karen's contemplating ordering take-out when she notices the plastic bag on her counter. She's freaked out for a second, until ...
"Oh," a small smile forms on her face when she catches sight of the single white rose resting on the counter next to the bag. She steps forward and brushes her fingertips gently against the soft petals. It's been a while since she saw Frank Castle, but one little gesture from the man always sends her heart into overdrive.
Still thinking about him, Karen opens the bag and grins widely when she sees that there's a box from her favorite bakery resting inside.
"Oh, Frank," she shakes her head fondly, pulling out the box and opening it to see all the black and white cookies she could possibly want.
A scrap of paper is taped to the lid and Karen pulls it off.
Frank's blocky print fills the page.
heard you finished a story. i'll see you soon
Her heart thumps painfully in her chest. She hopes he really does mean soon. She hopes he's okay.
Closing her eyes against the image of Frank, bloodied and bruised, in the hotel elevator - always the elevator, that's all she sees when she pictures him, despite the fact that she's seen him cleaned up and safe since then - Karen snags a cookie from the box and settles on the couch. She flips on the TV, but can't focus.
Suddenly, she's on edge - all frayed nerve endings and muscle twitches.
She only reacts like this for one person.
Frank. Always Frank.
Frowning to herself, Karen grabs another cookie and bites into it miserably. How had she gone from feeling like she was on top of the world after handing in her exposé to feeling completely confused by Frank - again.
"Stupid Frank Castle," she mutters to her empty apartment.
The next morning, after another solid eight hours of sleep, Karen wakes with a bubbly, nervous energy brewing in her stomach that has nothing to do with Frank Castle and everything to do with her article being published - finally.
She rushes through her morning routine and grabs one of the black and white cookies on the way out the door. All she wants is to hit the newsstand on the corner and grab a copy of the paper to see where her story is printed. It's definitely a front page, above-the-fold exposé, but she can never be sure.
Waving hello to the man that runs the newsstand, Karen grins as she grabs the Bulletin.
There it is.
Front page.
Above-the-fold.
Maron Family: Mob Ties and Murder
By: Karen Page
She's had front-page stories before, but Karen still gets giddy at the sight. The paper crumples under her hands slightly as she grips it in excitement and bounces a little on the balls of her feet.
She'll never get tired of the thrill that shoots through her body at the sight of her name in print. It's the validation that she's always worked for and it feels good.
Karen flips through the story as she walks to the office. Her words have made it to the page largely unchanged - even the one sentence reference to Frank near the end.
Or the reference to The Punisher anyway.
Frank hadn't been too happy to see her at the Maron family warehouse. He'd done a double-take when he saw her, yanking her out of the path of a bullet by her wrist, and implored her to leave, his voice gravelly and raw. After the shootout had ended, Karen looked for him, but Frank was a master at disappearing. That had been a month ago, and she hadn't seen him since.
She can't get him out of her mind for the entire walk to the office.
"Good job, Page," Ellison says upon seeing her. He gives her a wry grin before she can say anything, "Am I gonna have to get an NYPD detail on you now that this is making the rounds?"
Karen thinks about the man that protects her quietly - more lethal than the entire NYPD put together - and shakes her head. "I'll be fine, sir. I've dealt with worse."
"That's what worries me, Page," Ellison shakes his head. "Either way, it's a good story. You should be proud."
"I am," Karen smiles and then she heads off to her desk to catch up on emails and voicemails that she's ignored for the past few weeks.
She's not overly productive - her thoughts keep drifting to her story, to the Maron family, to Frank.
They'd kissed once. Exactly once. Months ago. Before her digging into the premier real estate family in New York City had begun, but after he had become Pete Castiglione. And still it was all she could think about.
Frank's habit of putting himself into mortal peril had finally gotten the best of her and she'd planted a kiss on him - terrified that he wouldn't come back. She'd almost regretted it - distracting him before he went out onto the mean streets of Hell's Kitchen - but she couldn't. Not when he had kissed her back - briefly, but sincerely.
And then he'd gone off the grid. David Lieberman couldn't - wouldn't? - tell her where he was and she'd only seen him once since when he had saved her ass.
She taps her pen against her desk and sighs. Maybe -
Her phone vibrates on her desk, interrupting her thoughts, and Karen smiles when she sees that it's a text from Foggy. He manages to congratulate her, fret over her safety, and guilt her into meeting him for drinks that night in less than 30 words - which impresses Karen and makes her laugh as she types back a response that accepts his invitation.
It'll be good for her - get out of the apartment, see her friends.
As the day goes on, Karen finds herself getting more and more excited about the prospect of just going to Josie's and letting loose a little.
Frank watches as Karen tilts a little sideways on her bar stool. She smiles brightly at Foggy Nelson and pretends to shove him.
She looks gorgeous in the low light of the bar - all soft and blonde and happy. Frank's heart clenches at the sight of her. He rubs his palm against his thigh - contemplating. He wants to see her, talk to her.
Before he can think too much about it, Karen looks up, eyes not really focusing on anything, until they do.
He can pinpoint the exact moment her gaze lands on him - her eyes go wide and she gives a full-bodied gasp, nearly tumbling right off the stool. Frank's ready to leave - to run - because he's not ready to face her, but Karen's eyes narrow at him and she lifts her hand in a 'wait' gesture.
God help him - he waits.
Foggy Nelson looks back as Karen slips purposefully off her stool and drunkenly weaves toward the bar's exit. His eyebrows rise when he spots Frank, half hidden in the shadows, but doesn't make a move to stop Karen. He knows she's safe.
So, Frank leans against the outside of Josie's as he waits for Karen to make her way through the crowd. Eventually, Karen is in front of him and Frank's mouth is very dry.
"Hi," he mumbles.
Karen wrinkles her nose at him - it's adorable, Frank thinks - and pokes him in the chest. "You need to be better at communication, Fr - Pete!" she catches herself, even in her inebriated state. "I miss you," she says plainly, her glassy eyes filling with tears.
"You wanna grab some coffee?" he asks, gently nudging her elbow.
Karen looks like she's arguing with herself for a minute before giving him a slightly grudging, "yes, please." She falls into step next to him, wobbling and swaying so her arm bumps his. They make it three blocks in silence, Karen slipping her hand in his after two.
"Where've you been?" she asks, still drunk enough so that she wasn't overthinking the casual intimacy between them. His hand is warm and dry in hers and it reminds her of the way he grabbed her hand and pulled her out of danger when she was investigating the Maron family.
"Around," Frank says, reticent to give too much information, even though he wants her to be in his life.
Karen makes an annoyed little huff and asks, "Did you read my story?" She hates that she wants him to have read it.
"Yeah," Frank's voice softens. "Yeah, Kare. I read it. It's a damn good story."
"I know," Karen says proudly, not at all embarrassed by her self-confidence.
"You're a damn good reporter, Karen," Frank says seriously, pausing at the corner to wait for the light to change. It's strange - being out in public without a hat pulled low over his face. But he likes it. He likes holding her hand and walking the streets of New York City with her.
"I'm proud of ya," he says, turning to make sure he catches her eye. He wants her to know how he feels.
"Thank you, Frank," she replies softly.
They walk into the late night coffee shop and shuffle into a booth, the waitress appearing and immediately pouring them two mugs of coffee. They both murmur their thanks and begin doctoring their brews - black for Frank and a splash of half and half for Karen.
"Got you somethin'," Frank says, breaking the silence after Karen's sipped at her coffee.
"Yeah?" she raises an eyebrow, looking curious.
"Yeah," Frank laughs a little. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a thin silver chain. There's a flattened metal pendant hanging off the end.
Karen leans forward and squints at the necklace. "What -?"
"'S the bullet Maron shot at ya in the warehouse," Frank says. "Went back after you were safe - wanted to make sure they were gone. Saw it in the wall."
"And you had it made into a necklace?" Karen asks, a small smile spreading on her face.
The tips of his ears going red, Frank nods. "Curt knows a guy. Thought it might remind ya -"
"That I'm always getting myself into trouble?" Karen interrupts him with a wry smile.
"Nah," Frank smiles. "That 'm always watchin' your back."
Karen's cheeks go pink and she reaches out to rest her hand on top of Frank's free one. Her fingers curl around his and Karen relishes the warmth of his skin against her own perpetually cool skin.
She can see that he's getting slightly uncomfortable with the way that they're dancing so close to their feelings - because now, with that look in his eyes, Karen is sure that Frank's feelings for her fall in line with her feelings for him. So, she squeezes his fingers once, shoots him a bright grin, and wiggles the fingers of her free hand, "Let me have my necklace!"
Frank hands it over, watching with anticipatory eyes as Karen takes her hand from his and holds her necklace up to her face.
"It's perfect," she enthuses, immediately clipping it around her neck. The slightly dull metal stands out, a dark spot on her fair skin, and Frank looks from the flattened disk to Karen's eyes.
They're overly bright - she's still drunk - but full of warmth for him. Her fingers dance over the bullet delicately and Frank vows that he'll stop pulling a disappearing act on her.
That he'll make sure there's a spot for her in his After.
A/N: This is my contribution to the Kastle Fic/Art Exchange on tumblr! It was based on a prompt from iamacolor: Karen publishes a front page story and frank gets her a gift.
This kind of got away from me, but I actually really like it! Drop me a review and let me know what you think :)