A/N: Set after Season 1 of The Punisher, a couple months after Frank is exonerated. Tension between Frank and Karen. There's love there, but exactly what kind?
Disclaimer: I own nothing!

The Look

Every news outlet, website, and paper had been running the story for nigh on three months now. "Frank Castle: Exonerated", "Frank Castle's Redemption", "Frank Castle: The True Story". Her name had also made the headlines. At first, writers had spun a story about how Frank and Lewis were partners in bombing New York; how two men formerly in the military had come after Senator Ori for his anti-gun campaign, even entertaining the idea that Karen was also targeted because of her personal, acerbic, and very public response to Lewis's manifesto. After Frank's exoneration, however, writers morphed their stories into a tale of compassion, prophesying that it was no coincidence he and Karen were in the same building at the same time that the bomber was there. Many reporters suspected that Frank had stormed the building with one objective in mind: to stop Lewis and save Karen. The leaks from the NYPD, probably Detective Sergeant Brett Mahoney, suspecting as much hadn't helped either. When the press was running Frank's trial almost a year ago, several "sources" discussed how adamant Karen had been about The Punisher's true and heroic nature when she worked as a secretary for Nelson and Murdoch. It hadn't taken a genius to connect that the two of them probably bonded in some way. They certainly were not wrong.

Watching other writers try to piece his and her story together had been more than a little amusing, Karen thought. And while she did not mind the publicity overmuch, especially considering how her work would be held in higher esteem after such a national case and her recognition of believing in a wronged man, Karen knew all of this attention would not sit well with Frank.

He was the kind of man who would be completely entertained with a carving knife, a fishing rod with some bait, and a boat. But then, Frank had always been a simple man with simple taste.

It had also been amusing watching the paparazzi try to hunt him down for countless interviews, exposés, and juicy gossip. As if civilians could effectively track a trained Special Forces Scout Sniper. Since every one of their leads on his whereabouts would turn up dry, Karen often found them clawing for her just outside her apartment building. While that had been interesting for the first week or two, now it had grown into a nuisance.

Despite such a well staked-out location by publicity vultures, Karen had secretly hoped that Frank would show up at her apartment. She knew it seemed far-fetched, but simply knowing he was alive did not satisfy her. They had gone through several life and death scenarios, each one more trying than the last; each one barely making it out alive. As far as she was concerned, he owed her another visit – at least one more before probably disappearing forever.

Unclicking the seatbelt of the police car, Karen stepped out into a mob of people as she walked through the sea of paparazzi. One night, the crowd had gotten so bad outside her apartment that a man yanked at her purse to goad her into swiveling around for a photo. She reflexively reached for her gun, and her expression must have been cool as ice. The man – and several other people – had raised their hands disarmingly. It took her another moment to realize that she didn't just reach for her gun. It was drawn and the safety clicked off, though not pointing directly at them. After that, there was a group of NYPD officers who would escort her to the apartment building door.

As they reached the base of the steps, Karen thanked them with a curt nod and walked up the flight of stairs. Exhausted from the work week, she imagined a hot shower and several beers were next on the menu. As she approached her apartment door, a small card was wedged into the space where the door met the wall. Annoyed, she figured it was someone trying to sneak into her building and leave a business card on her door to "get in touch for her exclusive interview", well paid and all that. She reached for it and turned it over.

Still got that hand cannon?

Her heart stopped. A memory of Frank in a black ball cap wrapped in a blanket "begging" for some spare change flashed through her mind. That was the first time she'd seen him in months, and before that she didn't even know if he was truly still alive.

Deliberately and noisily feeding the key into the key hole, she opened the door cautiously and locked it behind her. The apartment was pitch black. She didn't know why, but her heart was racing. Scared? No. It was…

Anticipation. Even excitement.

She turned on the nearest lamp and saw a dark figure sitting on her couch. His hoodie was pushed back, face still recovering from its monumental beating, but he was unmistakable.

"Frank," Karen breathed.

He allowed himself a small smile, but it was fast-concealed by his traditional hard exterior a second later.

"Miss Page."

She balked at the formal title, but sent him a glowing smile nonetheless. "What's with the note?" she waved the blank business card at him.

He opened his hands. "Considering the last time I came to visit your apartment unannounced you threatened to unload your whole magazine into my chest, I figured it would be preferable to give you a heads up this time."

Karen chuckled, "Very wise." Then, more sober, "I wasn't sure I'd see you again."

He shrugged, "You said you wanted to see me again when we spoke along the Hudson and you told me about Lieberman. 'Believe it or not, I still care what happens to you, which makes precisely one of us' was your exact wording, I believe. Those words still hold true?" Mischief played at the corner of his mouth again. He must be having a good day.

Karen, returning the smirk, rolled her eyes. "You're such an ass."

His smile reached the other corner of his mouth. Standing up with a little difficulty, concern flashed over Karen's eyes.

"How are you healing?"

Frank rolled his shoulders in a slow stretch and made a dismissing sound. "I've had worse beatings in my life."

Karen frowned but stayed silent. Instead of protesting a losing battle, she let them both stand in silence for a moment. They both gazed upon each other, and it seemed like it was the first moment in the history of their odd relationship that they actually had time to pause. Though his expression seemed unreadable at first, Karen soon realized he was watching her look at him. Her eyes were always so expressive, he must have been reading her like a well-worn page from an old book. Suddenly self-conscious and exposed, she glanced away and moved to her fridge.

"Drink?" she asked. Somehow knowing that this time he would be more likely to stay after finishing the beer made her pleased.

He nodded, "I'd like that."

Popping off the tops of two beers, she made her way over to him and sat down in the love seat opposite the couch. He sat back down on the couch and took a long swig.

More silence.

It seemed to swallow them both, but instead of some pressing and life-threatening inevitable doom looming over them as the weight of their lives and mortality sunk in, the quiet held no such impending doom anymore. Now it was filled with an unspoken connection – a bond confirming all of the heavy shit they had gone through. The kind of silence only shared between two people when they had gone through hell together. Or war together.

The thought of Billy Russo's betrayal nagged at her mind. Bringing it up might have unintended consequences, but considering her connection to Frank, it only seemed right to give her condolences. Frank had given her one last visit. She had to make it count.

"Frank, I'm so sorry about what happened with Billy," she started out and saw his jaw tighten. "I can only imagine what you had to go through in order to bring him to justice."

His shoulders tensed for a moment and then curiously relaxed. "To be honest, I wanted to kill him. I told you as much – that I was going to kill every last man who had a hand in murdering my family."

Karen tilted her head to the side, "What made you stop yourself?"

Frank paused to drink the last of his beer, then looked up at her, his eyes…soulful?

"You."

Karen gawked, "Me? What did I do?"

Setting the empty bottle on the table, he leaned back on the couch. He seemed more at peace with himself than she had ever seen before. "Your words, from when we were along the Hudson that night. When you told me to bring them to the cops, or to you. To expose them, to let the truth of their actions hang the men who did this. For a split second, my hand was on his carotid. One effortless stroke and it would have been over," his voice now a whisper, "But I just couldn't bring myself to do it."

Karen moved to the couch next to him and placed a hand on his forearm. He shifted awkwardly, but not uncomfortably. At first, she thought he was shying away from her touch but soon realized it was because Frank had shown emotion. Emotions were always a struggle for a man who only knew how to cope with two: pure, abject rage, and the fleeting moments of numbness leading up to more rage.

"Frank, you did a good thing," she said reassuringly. "Look at where Billy is now. He's in a coma. He might never wake up. His career, his life, and his liberty destroyed. You took everything from him. And for the rest of his life he will be reviled."

Frank nodded, glancing down at her hand. "I wanted him to know what it felt like to lose everything he ever loved. I realized that unless you hadn't spoken to me and tried to convince me not to kill these men, I would never have considered it. I would have killed Billy, and he never would have known what it felt like to be me."

Karen lifted her hand and affectionately stroked his shoulder, pleased he did not flinch.

"Dying is the easy way out. Letting him live and suffer for years to come will be his penance," her voice grew dark and vengeful.

Frank let out a one syllable chuckle, "Still all heart, huh Karen?"

Another phrase from their first encounter, just like what he had written on the business card.

This time she laughed openly and threw her head back. When she returned his smile, Karen noticed that his body had leaned slightly towards her. He watched her laugh with some restrained relish, though it was possible to miss using an untrained eye.

As their shared smile extended into the next moments, the almost feverish kiss he had given to her cheek came to the forefront of her mind. Then the memory of holding him, eyes closed and heads touching in a silent embrace came to her. As if reading her mind – or her damned expressive eyes – he glanced away and looked down at his shoes. Karen knew it wasn't the right time or place to bring it up, but something about their exchanges had changed since the boat explosion and him disappearing six months ago. In all their most recent interactions, he seemed to truly care for her in ways that mixed between affection to love, to an obsession over her safety, to friendship, to a familial bond. The fact that these lines were in a constant state of change, blurring and overlapping, retracting and advancing, was privately infuriating to her. She needed answers. Hell, she needed closure.

"Frank…" she paused and almost considered changing the subject.

His gaze met hers again, only this time, instead of awkward and classic side-eye when musing about emotions, his expression was soft, almost inviting. Like he knew the inevitable question she was about to ask.

Karen inhaled, gathering inner strength, "Frank, why did you kiss me on the cheek that night?"

He seemed to choose his next words with care, never breaking her stare. "Karen, since the day we first met, you had hope for me. Believed in me. I could have been a raving lunatic, God knows I probably am one. But you never gave up, no matter how much I pushed you. No matter how many times you had cause to leave and let me rot in my Goddamn jail cell." His shoulders squared with hers, commanding even more importance for his next words. "That belief you have is a precious thing." Then, with difficulty, "…You are a precious thing. To me. In that moment, I was running scared. I didn't know if I could protect you. I'd failed once before with my wife and family. It was my job to protect them. And I failed," he repeated with the weight of a man tortured and destined to beat himself with a guilty conscience for the rest of his life. "The last thing I wanted – the thought I could not bear – was having that happen to you."

Karen felt her chest tighten. "I care about you. So much," her voice caught in her throat. "I was so scared I would lose you. I've already lost so much this year."

Images of Matt flooded her mind, but she pushed them back, determined to get another answer out of him.

She swallowed hard to compose herself. "The elevator. When we were…when we were saying goodbye…"

Frank's jaw started to work and his eyes darted away again. He had a ready answer for the kiss, but not the elevator. That made Karen's heart skip a beat. Was there something there? A string to pull on? Between them? Unspoken, yet present?

She pressed onward, "You and I, Frank. We have gone through some serious shit together. Shit that gives you that terrifying moment of clarity right before you die when everyone who has ever meant anything to you flashes by. Shit that weighs on your conscience for months as you try to rationalize through the trauma and the scars."

He listened to her intently, nodding occasionally.

"When people go through the things we went through together, they can grow close." She let the last sentence hang in the air, hoping desperately that he would affirm it with another nod.

He didn't.

"What happened to us doesn't come without developing…feelings for the other person," she tried again.

Nothing. He stared straight ahead, as if he was being drilled by his CO. With each passing sentence, his frown grew more and more prominent until it looked like a scowl. Other people found this face terrifying as they cowered, begging for their lives, and the last expression they would see before being exterminated by Frank Castle: The Punisher. But she had nothing to fear from him. His disapproving reaction made her all the more angry. Didn't he want answers, too? It had been true enough when he was searching for the men responsible for orchestrating his family's murder. Why was he digging his heels in now? What was he keeping from her?

What was he hiding from her?

Karen exhaled sharply, "Dammit, Frank. Answer me!"

He turned away from her, sharply standing up with no hint of his earlier struggle to get to his feet, though his voice echoed with the aggravation of an old torn wound, "What do you want, Karen? Huh? What do you want me to say? That I care about you? I do. You and only one other person has been there for me through this whole fucked up goose chase."

"I know, I was there," she stood up and raised her voice to match his.

Confrontation she could handle. Confrontation was easy for both of them. Familiar. Sometimes, she thought it was both of their natural state of being. Hell, more than half the time, that was the only way they communicated, and using it certainly provoked him into answering her.

"Cut the shit, you know what I'm asking," she bore her eyes into the back of his skull as he walked away from her, "I held you in that moment. We were this close! Close enough to see into each other's soul, for Christ's sake. You saw the way I looked at you, the way I needed to touch you – to hold you – even for a moment, before you left. When I pulled back to let you go, you looked at me the same way."

"And what look was that, Karen?" He spat, feigning incredulity. But this time, his face was an open book. Karen realized that the old torn wound was guilt – guilt that he actually felt something in return, in the wake of his wife's murder; guilt that caused him to react so negatively to her prying. He wouldn't have reacted so strongly if there wasn't some part of him that felt it too.

Her heart rallied.

"Pure. Love." Karen's voice was shaking, "God dammit, I love you. Can't you see that?"

For a moment, she thought he would storm out the door and never return. Seething, he paced back and forth between the fridge and the counter. The times he did pause to look at her before brooding back and forth again, the fire in his wide and dark eyes engulfed her. She saw rage bubbling just underneath the surface. He seemed like he was practically choking on it. His chest had bowed up, nostrils flared and teeth ground in anger. He closed his eyes, let his mouth tighten into a hard line, and inhaled a few short breaths. It took him several minutes before he responded, each one more grueling than the last; each one hardening Karen's heart further as she anticipated an unrequited answer.

Though he had turned to face her, Frank's eyes remained closed, his head hanging down as his hands worked between twitching and balling up into fists.

"Karen," He finally whispered, almost as if her name were a prayer. "Please, don't make it like this between us."

"I can't lie to you, Frank. And I can't keep living a lie." She stood her ground.

He nodded, still refusing to look up at her.

"- Can you?" She finished, resolved to make eye contact.

Their eyes met, and for a brief, beautiful moment, she saw it.

The look.

They were a room's distance across from one another, both squared off and practically heaving for air from such confrontation. But she saw it. It was unmistakable.

And then, as fleeting as it had come, it receded back into the vault of his compartmentalized emotions until his expression was unreadable. Unreachable.

Karen felt rage mix with despondency mix with betrayal. She kept her eyes locked on him until fresh tears began to stream down her face. She wanted him to see her reaction; how he hurt her; how she knew he would be lying to himself by denying that it was there. Frank sighed and turned around, gripping his mouth and rubbing the back of his neck as he searched the ground for answers once more. Karen snatched the two empty beers from the table and walked towards him to the trash can underneath the counter. Tossing them loudly into the recycling half, she sharply turned away to increase the distance between them again when Frank grabbed her forearm and spun her around.

Her breath caught in her throat. Such an effortless move made her dizzy. He righted her deftly and took hold of both her shoulders. Feeling the presence of their bodies so close to one another made Karen keenly aware of the heat radiating off of his body. His blood was pumping.

So was hers.

"Karen," he whispered again. His face a flood of unspoken emotions, each one playing out and dancing across his scarred eyebrows, healing cuts and bruises on his cheeks, and those lips…

Without thinking, she closed the distance and embraced him, letting one arm wrap around his shoulders and the other perch the back of his neck as their cheeks pressed together. He followed her movement, holding her comfortably at first, until she whispered back his name. Then she felt his arms tighten until there was no space left between them. Each moment seemed like an eternity as they held each other, their hands momentarily stroking affectionately before taking hold once more.

This silence was blissful suffocation. Karen wanted nothing more than for Frank to be happy. He wanted nothing more than for her to be happy. Why couldn't he connect the two and see that he made her happy?

Finally letting out a defeated exhale, she motioned for them to part. Karen retracted her head far enough apart to give him space to do the same, to let her go. Instead, he leaned in and connected their heads, as they had done in the elevator. Karen held back a grin, closing her eyes and smelling his scent – his real scent. Not gunpowder and blood and sweat. He smelled like a clean shave, washed clothing, and a hint of alcohol. Her heartbeat slowed and the tension and anger she carried moments before seemed so far away and insignificant as their breathing matched. She felt safe, even loved, as he caressed her, slowly rocking side to side on his heels. After another eternity, Karen opened her eyes and pulled slightly away.

She smiled knowingly at him. At least his gesture was an appreciation for the fact that something was clearly shared between the two of them. Karen had embraced him, but Frank had kept her there to link their heads once more – a silent confirmation on his part, an admission that there was something. He just couldn't express it verbally. Perhaps that would make it too real. And that would add too many problems to his life right now. After all, the man was still reeling from the death of his wife and family.

Pushing him to answer her suddenly made Karen's cheeks burn with guilt.

But instead of stepping away after she released him, as he had done in the elevator, Frank continued to hold her, their faces now inches apart. He wasn't letting her go. Karen blinked in disbelief. There, plain as day, was the look. Frozen as a statue, his eyes traveled from her eyes to her lips, then back again, clearly considering closing the remaining gap between them to kiss her. Karen's heart lurched and began to pound. She could feel his heart thud with every beat, too. He looked terrified, torn between two lives – the life of a husband, a father, a married man, and a sudden widower, and the life that Karen breathed back into him – his struggle a torturous process to watch. Frank's breathing became ragged. She could see that he was torn between two worlds. His face would contort and twist, and his eyes would focus on her and simultaneously unfocus to some point on the horizon, to some point in his past where she could not follow.

Karen softly massaged the back of his neck as a supportive gesture, reminding Frank that he had locked her in this embrace. For the first time, she felt her touch command such a presence over him that his shoulders trembled slightly in response. She could wait no longer. His face was inches from hers, both of their heads tilted enough to close in for the kiss. She had proclaimed her love. It was only a matter of seconds before she would give in.

"Frank," Karen murmured, "You–"

With a sharp intake of breath, he closed the distance before she could finish.

Chapter 2 from Frank's perspective. + more explanation on the smooching. Don't worry.