Mornings were the hardest. The floors in her apartment were always cold, the air just a bit too frosty coming from her drafty windows. Whatever will she might have had to creep out from beneath her warm blankets and face the day, was sapped by a suffocating feeling of hopelessness.

And the dream… dear God, that dream had made things so much worse, filling her with thoughts of what could have been. Why had she always been so tentative, so slow moving when it came to him? She'd been afraid. There was something inside of her that called out to him, something dark and more than a little terrifying. It was only now that she was beginning to realize that she needed that part of herself to survive.

But Frank was gone, and there wasn't anything some lunatic in a cemetery on Halloween could do to change that. Karen's cheeks burned with embarrassment at the thought. How stupid was she? For Christ's sake, it was probably just some cruel joke. Her passionate defense of the punisher had raised quite a few eyebrows at The Bulletin. Maybe it was one of the overly competitive pricks who worked there, some reporter who couldn't handle Ellison running her stories so frequently.

The thought made her angry enough to throw off the blankets, ignoring the painful chill. She threw on her clothes and headed for the door. She had to get out of this place. It was too full of him. His things were still scattered around the apartment, after-images of him sitting on her couch burned into the inside of her skull.


The park was quiet, and even though the air was still bitingly cold, the sky was clear, and soft sunshine was falling through the trees, a dappled pattern painting the sidewalk. She picked an empty bench, clutching her coffee without taking a sip.

She was tired, and the sunshine on her face had a drowsing effect. Like a cat lounging in a pool of warmth, she closed her eyes. It was nice to listen to the wind shuffling the leaves off the trees, to the children playing in the distance. Life went on. There was proof in the constantly vital hum of her city. She was in sore need of a reminder.

"Karen…" Someone touched her shoulder, pushing at it gently. "Wake up dear… wake up."

Reflexively she answered, "I'm not asl-." Her eyes snapped open. There on the bench beside her was the woman from the cemetery.

In daylight, the woman's wrinkles were more prominent, light blue eyes peering at Karen curiously. Her hair was hidden under a knit cap, a few snow white locks escaping in the light breeze. She reminded Karen of her mother, a fair complexion with pink cheeks. The woman carried herself rather regally, her slender and delicate form sitting up straight against the backrest. She sighed, shaking her head at Karen sadly. "I can't believe you've already given up."

Karen frowned, anger simmering just below the surface. "Who the hell are you?"

The woman rolled her eyes. The gesture was strangely familiar. It sent a tingle of unease chasing along Karen's spine. "That is... not important."

"Please, just leave me alone. I don't know why you would play such a cruel joke, but I'm not falling for it-"

"I'm so disappointed in you."

Karen's eyes widened in disbelief. "What? You don't even know me."

The woman pursed her lips, fighting the urge to lash out at Karen, jaw clenching as she searched for a diplomatic way to express herself. "I know you as well as I know myself." She huffed out the statement, pushing back her irritation to deliver the real message. "You didn't go back far enough. You have to change the path he's on, reallychange it." The woman shook her head. "Asking him to stay… it was well intended, but he was too far gone by that point."

Karen stood up, mouth shut tight, fighting the urge to scream and cry at the same time. If this deranged woman wouldn't leave her alone, then she was going to do something about it. There was a cop standing at the end of the path, hands tucked in his pockets, quietly surveying the nearly empty park.

The woman yelled after Karen's retreating form, "If you love him, you'll try again!"

She scurried over to him, hands shaking as she brushed the hair away from her face. "Officer, could you please do something about that woman harassing me? I've told her to leave multiple times. I think she may be unhinged."

The officer looked over her shoulder, frowning. "What woman, ma'am?"

Karen spun on her heel, pointing vehemently in the direction of the bench. "That woman. The one in the knit cap. She…" Her words faded away. There wasn't anyone there, not even a trace of her former companion. "Sh-she's gone?"

This shaky question earned Karen a rather concerned look from the policeman. "Ma'am, are you alright?"

His body language said it all, the way one hand was hovering at her side, the other resting at the ready against his hip. He thought she was unstable, some dangerous madwoman who saw things no one else did and yelled at empty benches.

Karen took a deep breath, collecting herself. She smiled at the officer, her most saccharine and charming secretarial smile. "Oh, goodness. She must have seen you and left." She nodded, belatedly realizing that agreeing with herself didn't make her look any less insane. "Thanks for your help."

She spun on her heel, walking with her head down all the way back to her apartment.


Karen always brushed her hair before bed, stroking the long locks lovingly until they crackled with static electricity. The repetitive motion was calming, almost hypnotic, and she needed something to distract her from the unease in her chest, the strange desire to turn to an absurdly desperate solution for her misery.

It didn't work, her mind continued to bound back to the coin. She knew exactly where it was, had seen it peeking out from under the edge of her recliner when she'd gotten home that afternoon. It had winked at her accusingly, and she'd sent it flying under the chair with a little kick from her suede boot.

She moved to her bed, flinging the covers back. She couldn't do it. She couldn't crawl between the sheets knowing there was even the faintest possibility she was giving up the chance to save Frank. The mysterious woman had said to go back further? How much further? What could she even say? Go back too far and Frank wouldn't even know who she was. She wanted to scream.

Letting out a long sigh, she moved toward her recliner, pushing the thing back until she could retrieve the coin. It was warm between her fingertips, strangely so. It was a little spooky the way the thing seemed to be impervious to the chilly air along the floorboards.

She shoved it under the pillow, this time defiantly, daring the magical object to do it's fucking job. She closed her eyes, instantly transporting herself back to one of the worst nights of her life. It was damp and cold and there was a gash on her forehead that burned like the dickens in the night air.

When she opened her eyes there it was, the haunted looking cabin tucked in between overgrown trees. She looked up at Frank, waiting for him to break her heart and disappear into the cabin. She knew what came next, which words were perched on her vocal chords, ready to be screamed out into the night. No, god damn it. That tactic hadn't worked. And in any case, she couldn't bear to scream, "You're dead to me!" Not now… not ever again.

Instead she just stared, her bottom lip trembling with rage and sadness as he disappeared. The gunshot rang out just like she knew it would, muffled by the oak door between them. She didn't turn her back this time, moving up the path and pressing her palms against the rough hewn door.

Schoonover's body was just inside. Her stomach soured at the sight of his blood pooling in a sticky puddle by her toes. She clenched her jaw. The bastard deserved it, and Frank could have done so much worse. It wasn't hard for Karen to compartmentalize this part of him, the way she compartmentalized this part of herself. She knew what it was like, to want revenge in your very bones. Her brother's death had taught her that, and she wasn't sure she wouldn't do the same thing if she ever found the assholes that had so callously ended his life.

She tore her eyes away from the dead body, gazing around her in surprise. It was a damned arsenal in here, rows of guns and ammo and explosives lining the walls and shelves. No wonder Frank had started his bloody mission to rid New York of it's scum. He'd had ample opportunity and plenty of supplies after finding this place. Even she wasn't immune to the shiver of strange anticipation at the sight of it all.

His back was to her, standing so still that she knew he'd heard her come in. She waited for him to acknowledge her presence. It didn't take long.

"Why are you still here?" His voice was hoarse with emotion, like he was close to snapping, shattering. It was strange. Her memory of this night was different. All she'd seen was the mask of indifference dropping down over his face, the callous and cold-blooded deadly intent in his eyes as he'd closed the door. This time he looked... broken.

"Frank?"

His eyes darted up, catching hers. He was surprised to hear his name, to hear how softly she said it, the empathy and care in her voice. She watched his adam's apple bob, his emotions slipping back down his throat before he could let them out.

At this point in their relationship, the first time around, she would have been afraid of him, a quiet voice in the back of her mind wondering if maybe Matt and Foggy were right. But now she had the benefit of really knowing him, of seeing the man beneath all the sadness and anger. He could smile and laugh. His heart was still beating, and she knew Frank Castle was more than just the punisher. "Frank, I know what you're thinking."

He laughed, so bitter it made her want to cry. "Oh, do you, ma'am? What's that?"

Unafraid, she approached him, one hand resting gently on his sternum. He flinched at the contact, and she felt the beat of his heart skitter, quickening beneath her touch. "I know you want to take all of this stuff… and just kill every sorry son of a bitch in New York City…"

He took a step forward, crowding her. It was an attempt at intimidation, moving into her space. "That's exactly what I'm gonna do." His words were menacing, but there was something not quite right about them, like he was waiting for any reason at all to take them back.

She shook her head. "No, Frank."

"Pardon me, ma'am, but what the fuck do you think you're gonna do about it?"

She looked up at him, tears welling in her eyes. "Don't do this. You'll die here, in this ungrateful city. No one will thank you for any of this shit. You need to leave, Frank. There are scumbags that deserve to die everywhere."

One eyebrow shot up. He backed away, looking at her strangely. "What are you…" He trailed off, clearly trying to process what she was saying.

Full of desperation, she lunged forward, digging her fingers into his biceps. "You have to leave. You don't understand. You. Will. Die. Here."

"I can't leave."

Screaming in frustration, she let go of him, panic rising through her chest. She could feel the world spinning, the edges fading to gray. She was running out of time.

She kicked at one of the shelves, yelping in pain as her shin caught a piece of metal sticking out. It scraped the skin, leaving an angry gash down the length of her leg. "Fuck!"

He was kneeling beside her in an instant, fingers gently probing her injury. His touch was feather light, and she began to cry. "F-frank, please… I'll come with you. You can… you can teach me. We-"

He cut her off, eyes fiery. "You need to get away from me, far away." He hauled her up, one hand rough under her arm as he moved toward the door. "Don't ruin your god-damned life."

She was alone in the woods again, blackness swirling around her, leaves getting stuck in her hair. Everything was falling apart and she couldn't hold onto it, no matter how much she clawed at the air. Finally her eyes closed, and she lost consciousness.


"WAKE UP, GOD DAMN IT!"

Karen jerked awake, the sound of someone's angry voice echoing in her ears. She was alone, a cursory glance around her apartment assured her of that. She knew before she even turned on the lamp that the bloodstained dog-tags were still there, still laying on top of her favorite book, still gut wrenching proof that nothing in her dream had altered reality one bit.

She kicked at the covers, feeling sick enough to scramble to her bathroom. She barely made it to the toilet before emptying the contents of her stomach. It had been a horrible dream, an exercise in futility.

She leaned back against the wall, head bumping the tile with a quiet thunk. She stretched her legs out, thinking maybe she would just curl up in the floor for the rest of the night, not bother dragging her exhausted body back into the other room.

She blinked slowly, eyebrows drawing together in confusion. There was a mark on her skin, a half faded scar running from just above her ankle almost to her knee. She drew her thumb along it. It couldn't….

Her stomach flipped again, unfortunately there was nothing left to come up, the dry heaving painful as she tried to process what she was seeing. It was impossible. The injury in the cabin had been in her dream, not in real life.

Jumping to her feet she ran out of the bathroom, snatching her phone from his charging cradle. She was shaking now, fear twisting through her uncontrollably as she tried to dial the number. She was going insane, she needed a voice of reason, someone to walk her through the insanity.

It rang once, then twice… on the third ring she got an answer, sighing in relief at the sound of the voice on the other end of the line.

"Oh, thank God, Claire. C-could you please come over?"