I do not even know what this is, just some sort of oneshot...thing. One minute I swore I was retiring from fic, and then Frank freaking Castle on Daredevil this season, guys. I was on board this ship before I knew it floated. Help.
Apologies for editing errors, the Feels wrote this, not me.
Karen heaved another annoyed huff, blowing her hair out of her face for the umpteenth time; it was another stifling summer in New York, and she couldn't recall a day this week where her blonde locks had looked like anything other than wet noodles.
It was an attractive look, to be sure, gauging by the pool of male callers she could call upon for company; exactly none, until this week apparently. Before that, the last thing she'd been on that even resembled a date was a cup of bitter, lukewarm "coffee" at a diner that was shot to pieces moments later, with a bruised face sitting across from her. Now she had a maybe-date with a new assistant editor from work, and she was supposed to go on what experience, exactly, to have a normal night? Most of hers were spent camped out in the inherited Buick, slurping takeout coffees with her hand cramped around a camera; or running from the very leads she had originally been pursuing, usually down a dark, rainy alley.
Normal was…was what, now?
And Dan was…Nice, really nice. She had to impress him, had to channel Normal, Chic City Girl long enough to convince him she wasn't a severe social recluse like the office thought she was. Which she was, other than tracking down leads these days, but he didn't need to know that. Dan was from Florida, extremely likeable, but seemed too shiny, too untainted for her to even consider going out with; her eyes, which he always complimented, had just seen too much. Like the dark, haunted ones belonging to Fr-
She shook her head violently as if that would shake thoughts of Frank out and away from her, but it just sent sweaty locks of hair flapping back against her cheek. Scraping the tendrils from her face in frustration, she tried to focus on the clothing rack in front of her. It was a discount store, of course, as she was still tackling the mound of credit card bills she'd racked up while Nelson and Murdock had tried to stay afloat; she'd doctored the accounting to cut many of her checks to keep the Pro bono cases Pro bono. Nothing appealed to her, though; it was hard enough to find clothes that fit her frame correctly, and adding personal taste into the mix just made it impossible to find a date outfit.
Finally, she admitted defeat, leaving the store and wandering down the street. The date was tomorrow night; they were going to an Indian restaurant that Dan had enthusiastically suggested. A sidewalk sign ahead boasted of a new boutique in shiny, cursive letters, and she decided to give it a try. The glass door jingled cheerfully as it shut behind her, and she was pleased to see the place about half-full; she hated being the only customer in a quiet shop, all eyes on her.
A woman leaving with a loaded shopping bag passed her holding the hand of a little girl with braids, the door's jingle accompanied by a thank-you as someone held the door open for her exit.
Pulling her hair away from her neck again to get some air flowing against her face, she tugged it over one shoulder and headed for a rack of sundresses. She was pleased to see the maxi cut was still in style, making the display rack a little taller than her and perfect for comfortable perusal.
She combed through two-thirds of the rack, listening to style suggestions and weather comments drifting in and out of earshot.
"Hi! I'm Lena. Can I help you at all?" A bright voice chirped to Karen's left, and she glanced up to see a red-headed girl smiling expectantly. She was way too cheery for Karen to handle right now; must be on commission.
"Um, no thanks! Just browsing for a date night dress," Karen said with a dismissive smile of her own, and turned back to the rack.
"I see! Well, it sure looks like the lucky gentleman found what he'd like to see on you!" Lena continued, and Karen shot her a puzzled glance, then turned in the direction of the pointed nod and wide grin Lena gave in response before darting over to another customer.
The first thing she saw was a gorgeous emerald green dress held out to her; just her style, a sleeveless shirt-dress that would be comfortable in the heat they'd had lately, and she could throw a cardigan over in the cooler evening. The hand holding it sported battered knuckles, and she slowly reached up to take the proffered garment.
Frank was his usual cargo jacket-clad self, even as it hit eighty degrees outside, dark jeans and combat boots completing the familiar sight. She found herself scanning his figure for…for weapons, she told herself. Not injuries or weight loss or any other aspect of his well-being she could worry over.
There was an awkward moment of silence, and both of them cleared their throats simultaneously, she holding up the dress for inspection and he adjusting the cap on his head.
"Figured I'd save you some time," he muttered. "Needed to talk to you, anyway."
She was standing stock-still, eyes narrowed as she examined his find. Perfect size and everything. "How did you…"
"All part of the missions, you know, recon, observe, commit details, habits, to memory."
She swore she caught a pink tinge to his remarkably-unbruised cheeks underneath the ball cap, before he was putting his hands back in his pockets and shuffling towards another aisle. "Some wraps over here that'd match. If it gets cold." Were some of his covert missions providing fashion advice to a Duchess or something?
"I'm sure Dan will love this," she called at his retreating back. Knowing Frank, the hapless editor was probably under surveillance already.
Brow furrowed, she followed him into the accessories section, blindly accepting a shawl he handed her, and then a bracelet. "I can dress and accessorize myself, you know."
His only response was a raised brow and a pointed glance at the faded t-shirt and cropped cargos she had pulled on that morning. She huffed, shifting everything to one arm. She might have let herself go a bit since getting the journalist gig; a girl sometimes had to literally chase the truth, so the pencil skirts had to go. Telling herself she should stop and look at the price tags of what was in her arms, she instead found herself grasping at Frank's elbow to halt his progress, feeling his muscles tense instantly, and then relax in realization.
"Back to business. You needed to talk to me?" She probed in a hushed whisper, shifting the haul in her arms and finally shoving it all at Frank. The look on his face as he reluctantly accepted the bundle was priceless; but if this was how this meeting was gonna go, he could shoulder some of the burden.
Clearing her throat primly, Karen wandered over to the shoe section, knowing he would follow. She held up shoe after shoe for his "inspection", noting that Lena The Perky Shop Assistant was eyeing them like an excited hawk.
"I have to meet Ellison in half an hour to go over this week's article," she shot at him, hefting a silver, strappy sandal in her hand and waggling it at him. "Why are you following me?"
"Told ya. Had to talk about something."
"Which is?"
"You're being followed. Looks like a couple guys from that crew you sold out in the paper last week, the ones selling faulty cars. Italians."
She rolled her eyes, testing the point of a stiletto pump against her palm and trying to feign indifference. "There's someone new every week. It's nothing."
"The shivs they're sportin' don't look like nothing."
She could've responded with all of the self-defense courses she'd taken in the past few months, the three kinds of martial arts she'd tried, and the well-used taser within easy reach in her purse, but sighed instead. He was clearly going to make trouble, and truth be told, she panicked when old men even held a door open for her some days. If only every new method of headlock she'd learned could push out a corresponding memory; as it stood, she saw Wesley in every suit-wearing man who sported glasses, Fisk in every shaved head, and the Colonel in every man in uniform. Would she tell anyone that? Of course not, although Ellison knew enough to walk her to her car most nights.
Pushing past Frank and grabbing her acquisitions as she did so, she distracted herself by admiring once again the shade of the dress. It was actually infuriating he'd picked out the perfect outfit.
Trying not to seethe, she made her way to the cash register where Perky Lena was waiting, practically bouncing on her toes.
Karen winced in advance of the credit card bill facing her next month, but before she knew it, Frank was leaned sideways against the counter, eyes on the street outside as he handed Perky Lena a card.
God, she hoped it wasn't stolen.
Even stronger, she hoped it wasn't declined.
The transaction went through with a cheery beep from the machine, and another enthusiastic thank-you from Lena, who was probably mentally rubbing her hands in anticipation of that commission bonus.
"You make such a cute couple!" She added, and Karen's eyes widened in exasperation for at least the tenth time since she'd entered the shop twenty minutes ago. She managed a very fake laugh as a sort of thanks, trying not to tense up when Frank's arm found its way tightly around her waist, steering her towards the door. The feeling was not altogether unpleasant, even if it was a charade.
"They're in front of the pizza joint a few shops to the right," he muttered, ushering her out the door and to the left before quickly pulling her close again. "Where you parked?"
She pointed ahead at the Buick, surprised to find herself handing his upturned palm the keys without argument. He opened the passenger door for her, waiting until she had slid in and buckled her seatbelt before moving to the driver's side. His predatory gait was so familiar, and she found herself calming, even as she spotted a few of the aforementioned Italians peeling themselves from the Pizza Joint's façade and crowding into a blue Impala parked in front of it.
As the Buick pulled from the curb and Frank channeled nonchalance itself, even rolling down the window, Karen took a deep breath. Eyes glued to the side rearview mirror, his suspicions were confirmed when the blue Impala pulled out after them, taking the first three turns they did. She heard rather than saw a gun make its way into the hand of the arm he had lazily draped over the door, and swallowed thickly.
"Might be late to your meeting," he said shortly, and she reached for her phone, catching a glint from the car still doggedly tailing them that wasn't sun off a window. She hit the icon to call Ellison, gave an excuse about traffic, and dialed off after he agreed to meet early tomorrow morning.
After a few more minutes of driving, she spoke up. "I've taken Evasive Maneuvers 101, you know. Why are you here?"
His eyes flicked towards her for an instant before they were back on the road, gun shifting in his grip. "Been after these guys a while."
There was a moment of silence before she spoke tensely. "You're using me as bait for, what, the only gang in this city that you haven't hit yet?"
"Italians moved up the list soon as I heard your name." That was the only explanation he offered before the car was screeching into a sharp left turn, leaving him a clear shot at the approaching car. Two shots hit the front tires, leaving them no maneuvering options, and three more shots found three more living marks.
Frank withdrew his arm, tucking the gun back against his leg before calmly rolling the window back up. The car moved on down the empty street it was on, leaving deflated rubber and scarlet-painted shards of glass behind.
Karen removed her hands from her ears; she couldn't get used to gunfire, and if she ever did, that would indicate a serious problem. "You just…"
"Did what I do." His reply was as terse as hers was stunned. The whole situation was resolved within twenty minutes.
"There's more of them."
"To-do list for another day." He switched hands on the wheel, reaching out to crank up some awful seventies jam and drown out further conversation until the car pulled up in front of another diner.
"Guess you're free for a cup of coffee tonight, then?"
For some reason, google won't tell me what sort of car Karen inherited, but I swear Frank had a line about a Buick at one point. Whatever, you guys know what I mean.