The second time it happens, she's dreaming, curled up in a blanket cocoon the likes of which would impress even the most industrious caterpillar

Her eyes flutter open, and she's not exactly sure why she's awake so early, the sky outside barely even tinged with pink. The glowing numbers of her alarm clock tell her it's barely even five. Groaning in protest, she wiggles back into her blankets.

But then she hears it, the noise that must have woken her up to begin with, an even rapping on her apartment door. A part of her wants to just close her eyes and ignore it, but there's a much stronger desire to give the person knocking a piece of her mind. Who goes around waking hardworking investigative journalists up before dawn?

Suddenly energized, she stomps through the apartment, flipping the locks and flinging open the door without even bothering to look through the peephole.

"Listen here, buddy! I don't know who you think-" She stops, mid-rant to stare at Frank. One hand still suspended in the air, ready to knock again, the other clutching a cup of joe. "Frank?"

"Present and accounted for." He steps through the doorway, even though she hasn't completely vacated the space, brushing up against her briefly. "I brought coffee."

Karen takes the proffered beverage without thinking. The contrasting warmth in her hands makes her realize just how chilly her apartment is, and the fact that she isn't wearing pants, just a long-ish t-shirt hanging almost to her knees.

Shutting the door, she dashes back across the apartment, coffee in hand as she calls out behind her. "What the hell, Frank?"

She's annoyed, sure, but also a little worried. A drop-by from the Punisher at such an early hour doesn't bode well, at least not for the criminal element in her neighborhood.

"I was thinking …"

He trails off, and she stops to listen, one leg in and one leg out of the only clean pair of jeans she owns.

Finally the low rumble she's so familiar with continues. "... How much practice do you have with that pistol of yours?"

She shoves her other leg into the pants and jerks them all the way up, grabbing the coffee off her nightstand. When she walks back into the living room, he's not facing her. He's inspecting the bullet holes still in her drywall, a frown creasing his brow.

She clears her throat, feeling more than a little irritated. Here is yet another man out to protect poor defenseless Karen Page. She isn't having it. "Why, Frank? You need a sidekick or something?" She takes a drink of the coffee, as if to punctuate her question, but the caustic taste nearly brings her to her knees, knocking the wind right out of her sails. She can hear Frank laugh, softly, and it only gets her more riled up. "What is this?"

"You said you liked it black."

"Yes, I like good coffee black. This liquified tar needs a little cream and sugar. Where did you get this? Please don't say the diner on the corner."

"I won't say the diner on the corner." He crosses the living room, and takes the coffee from her, walking over to get little kitchenette. He works quickly, grabbing a spoon and her sugar bowl. "So… how much practice do you have with that gun?"

Karen watches him, spooning sugar into the heinously bad coffee. He moves fluidly to her fridge and pulls out the cream. She blinks. He looks strangely at home. "Um, enough… I have enough practice. "You go to a shooting range?"

"Once."

He turns to her, hand proffering the now palatable coffee. "Once isn't enough, not for you to be carrying that thing around with you all day." He grabs her jacket off the coat hook, holding it out to her. "Come on, I know a place."

She takes a thoughtful sip from the still warm cup. It's pleasant now, sweet and mild, with only a hint of the previous bitter notes. She takes the jacket from him, and is rewarded with a smile. This time it reaches his eyes. They crinkle slightly at the corners, and she finds it harder to maintain her less than cheery attitude.

He's so pleased with himself. She doesn't know where he or not she wants to kiss him or slap him, a flood of heat zipping through her unexpectedly. Grabbing her keys from the counter, she pushes past him. "I know how to shoot, Frank."

"I know."

"Good. Let's go."