Hard alcohol, it wasn't very Karen. I mean the occasional wine of course, but here she was passed out in an alley…Karen flipping Page. How did she get here? Well Ben Urich died for one, her friend and journalist mentor. Wilson Fisk had killed him during their investigation and it was all her fault. She was coming home from work when she heard the news and no one had to tell her who did it. Of course it was Fisk; of course he wasn't going to jail. She had a shot of liquor when she got home before she had even put her purse down, and then another and another. Still in her clothes from work, (a grey skirt and white blouse), she wandered into the street not giving a damn that it was dark outside. Not giving a damn that it was dangerous and she was vulnerable. She had made her way to an alleyway when she began to feel dizzy. She knew she had too much to drink; she wanted to numb the pain of losing Ben. Soon her knees gave out and she began to slide down the brick wall behind her. Her nylons were ripped at the thigh and her purse was still hanging off her arm.
"Good idea Karen, bring your purse. Could you be anymore of a target?" she asked herself. Her eyelids were heavy and it stung to keep them open. Soon everything diminished to black.
She didn't know how long it had been when she awakened to the sound of a fight. It was still dark and her straight blonde hair was stuck to her face. There were two men in front of her, one with his arm clutched around her purse, and the other swinging a punch.
Were they fighting over the purse or was this guy defending her?
With a knee to the groan and a hard punch to the head the man holding her purse fell to the ground, out cold. Karen didn't dare to move, her blue eye's locked on the other mysterious man, who collected her purse and held it out to her.
"Tell me you're crazy. You must be crazy if you're out at 10:00 pm in the middle of an alleyway, in Hell's Kitchen for God's sake" the man said to her.
Karen brushed the hair off her face.
"I must be" she slurred, rubbing her forehead.
The man shook his head and extended his hand, pulling Karen to her feet.
"You're drunk and I'm taking you home, it's too dangerous" he told her.
Karen laughed and took her hand from his grasp.
"How do I know you're not dangerous?" she asked.
The man shook his head again, this time in disbelief.
"Because I'm not and now you know" he replied.
Karen decided not to argue and told him her address. It wasn't far, just a block and a half away. When the man got tired of her tripping over her feet, he had hoisted her up into his arms. She analyzed his face, expressionless, and closed her eyes leaning the side of her cheek into his warm chest.
She didn't remember much when she woke up the next morning, just one thing she had asked him. His name,
And it was Frank Kastle.
(Note: I know this was really short please don't hate me! I really wanted to end on that note. Please leave me a comment if you liked it and i'll be sure to update soon!)