It's not the best night for it. The rain his coming down in heavy sheets, and the wind occasionally whips it right back in his face. But he finds the cold bracing, the downpour a much needed shock to his system. His head had been cloudy lately, too much warmth, too much softness, too much rest and god damned relaxation. And it had made him fuck up, monumentally. He curses and the angry sound is swept away into the night. Letting his guard down has always had unthinkable consequences, and he'd rather be out tracking down some sex-trafficking monster in the pouring rain than facing the fear collecting in his lungs, gathering around his heart.
He raises the scope of his gun for what feels like the tenth time, scanning the row of windows along the adjacent warehouse's southern wall. The inside of the building is dimly lit, but the bastard running the operation has gotten too cocky to tarp the windows and Frank has clear view of what's going on inside the building. It isn't a pleasant sight.
A group of girls stumble out of a nondescript van, their hands tied with plastic zips. They huddle together blindly out of fear and a need for warmth, filthy blindfolds covering their eyes. They're so young, their silent cooperation borne of terror. Frank doesn't have to imagine the source of their fear, he can see it on the predatory smile of their 'owner.'
Frank's jaw tenses as he mentally calculates exactly how many shots it will take to put down the six men standing around the group of captives. They're low level operators, and won't be missed by many. Frank relishes the looks of surprised shock that flit across their faces when he shoots the man in charge, the back of his skull exploding outward in a pink mist as the bullet exits. The men barely have time to process their horror before each meet their own painful demise, not managing to scatter even ten feet before they hit the dirty warehouse floor.
The girls don't even know what's happening. The initial shattering of glass makes them cower, trembling quietly as the harsh sound is followed by six muffled thuds. Frank immediately drops the scope of the gun, focusing on putting his equipment away. He'll call in a tip once he's a couple blocks away, give the cops of this city a chance to help someone for a change. The rain's letting up. It'll be a nice walk back home… The thought causes a slight twinge, just under his rib cage. The safe house isn't home, and neither is the place he's gone so many nights before. He reminds himself that home is a pile of ash, nothing more.
He hears it just as he's zipping his ammo bag, the familIar light footed running along the top of the next building over. Murdock and his superhero costume, knee high boots and all, special no-skid tread catching the edge of the roof before catapulting over perilously close to Frank.
Frank just shakes his head, "Too late, Red. It's done."
Matt doesn't immediately launch into his usual self righteous spiel, and that worries Frank. Maybe Red doesn't even know about the pricks in the warehouse. That means the altar boy is here for another reason.
Matt just sighs, "Do I even want to know what you've been up to?"
Frank shrugs, shouldering his bag and turning toward the fire escape. "Beats me, Murdock. You're always so god damned determined to find out though. What the hell are you doing all the way out here if you don't know about the pieces of shit I just sent to an early grave?"
He swings his bag over the side of the building, jumping down onto the escape without waiting for Matt to answer. The tenacious asshole follows, just like Frank knew he would.
"Frank, damn it, I never thought you'd be a coward. Running never seemed your style. What the hell am I supposed to tell Karen, huh? I was hoping I could go back and say you'd been gone for months because you were tied up, literally."
At the sound of Karen's name Frank's head snaps up, zeroing in on the unseeing eyes of Matt's mask. "Tell her I'm dead."
"I can't lie to her."
Frank laughs hollowly, the derision in his voice apparent. "That's not what I've heard."
Matt lets his barely contained contempt fly loose, jumping down on the fire escape with Frank, planting a swift kick right in the punisher's chest. Frank lets him do it, almost enjoying the pain of the rail digging into his back as the air leaves his lungs. Matt is soon on top of him, one baton pressing down on Frank's windpipe, a knee in his chest. "They deserve better than this, you asshole."
Frank springs forward, throwing Matt off angrily. He practically roars, "I know! That's why I left!"
Lisa and Frank Jr. had both looked like their mother. Strawberry blonde hair, sweet smiles. Hell, even the curve of their tiny ears had resembled Maria's. It was only little Frankie's dark and questioning eyes that had looked like his father's. They're why Frank doesn't like looking in the mirror these days. He's haunted wondering what the last thing those eyes saw was.
It's all he can think about on the way back to his safe house. His kids, the light that emanated from them, the way their voices sounded saying his name, his own eyes staring back at him filled full of pain and asking him why all of this had to happen. If Matt fucking Murdock knew one single thing about what it was to be Frank Castle he wouldn't have bothered coming to find him, no matter the reason, and Frank sure as hell knows the reason.
But then again, maybe Murdock does know a thing or two about him, because Frank finds himself turning the wrong direction about halfway to his destination, the iron in his blood suddenly magnetized, pulling him back north like the wayward needle of a wildly spinning compass.
Her apartment is quiet and dark. He waits a good twenty minutes after knocking on her window before he jimmies the latch and slips inside. Her things are still here like normal, only everything is meticulously clean. There are no dishes in the sink, no laundry in the hamper, no towels drying on the rod in the bathroom. Her bed is made smoothly, the pillows fluffed and tucked under the duvet's crisp edges. Even the kitchen is perfectly empty, nothing but a weakly flickering light greets him when he opens the fridge. She's definitely staying somewhere else, even if it does appear to be temporarily. A twinge of guilt arcs through him, but he's glad she has a support system when things are difficult.
He leaves the way he came, securing the window better than before. The next place he checks is a no-go as well. It doesn't take more than a glance or two to see no one is at Matt's apartment, to see that it's still a sloppy bachelor pad, no sign of Karen.
He catches Foggy on his way home from Josie's, nearly giving the lawyer a heart attack when the punisher steps out of the shadows for some friendly conversation. "Karen?" Well, it's not exactly friendly, nor is it really conversation, but the shorter man seems to catch his drift anyway.
"N-no, she's gone." He's stumbling over his words, sweaty palms searching through all of his pockets for something. Frank hopes it isn't a gun. He's really not in the mood to disarm someone who has no idea which end the bullet even comes out of. Just as he's about to leave and save Foggy the embarrassment, the man lights on something in his breast pocket. "Here, she said to give this to you, if you showed up."
It's a torn piece of notebook paper, Karen's precise handwriting marching across its lined surface. An address, nothing more. He doesn't know whether or not that's a good thing, but Foggy looks anxious to be on his way, and Frank is not inclined to engage the lawyer in conversation. "Thanks."
Foggy hesitates for a split second, biting his bottom lip. "Look, I don't know what the hell happened between you, or why Karen has been so stubborn about… everything, but things are different now. She needs you–"
Frank silences him with a cutting glare. "No one needs me, least of all Karen."
Foggy snaps his mouth shut, his nerves still jumpy. He hasn't had much reason to be around Frank, and he's still incredibly wary. This time he lets Frank disappear into the shadows without a word.