I got off the phone with Ellison several hours later. With each word, I sunk deep into my mattress. Putting the phone down gently, I buried my head into my pillow. Garonne had hung himself in his cell. Frank knocked lightly on the door, but I did not answer. He had posted himself on my couch after my visit to the prison, and was now standing in my doorway hesitantly. I breathed heavily into my pillow, calming myself, when I felt the bed shift under Frank's weight.

"Garonne killed himself."

"That wasn't your fault. He was a piece of shit, and he got what he deserved."

"Yeah." I said distractedly. Upon feeling his hand touch my shoulder, I turned to him, searching for his eyes in the dark.

"Then why are you chewing on this?"

"I... I don't know. There's something that's not always right with me. Something mean, angry, and it's growing. I notice it the longer I'm in the city...You're right, Garonne deserved what he got, but I'm happy about it. Satisfied with it, and that scares me."

"You aren't happy that he died. You're happy that the people he hurt got justice. That isn't evil Karen, there is nothing evil about you. You can't live in a city like this without getting a little filth on you."

I sat up, and looked at him. "You don't know everything about me. I have secrets. I've hurt people. Maybe, I'm not any better than the people that you hunt."

Frank pinned my body to his, arm tight against my lower back, mouth pressed against my ear, his breathing deep, upset.

"You think that huh? That's bullshit. Bullshit. I would never hurt you, anyone like you. You're all heart, always was." He let me go, but our bodies stayed close, hearts racing. I put my hand on his arm. "Please." I begged. For what, I don't know. Maybe to end the hurt, all of it. Make my fear go away. He was tense under my hand, but I moved slowly to his chest. "Please" I said again, and he put his hand over mine, maybe at first to stop me. Instead, he put my hand to his lips.

At that moment, I didn't care what this was, who or what we were to each other. I stopped for the briefest time, wondering if I was a surrogate for Maria. Him and I, we were family. Two broken people who needed something, anything, to feel human. To feel alive. I shifted my body onto his, and he moved his hands to my thighs. His next kiss wasn't nice. It was deep, and crushing, and full of need. I nipped his lip with my teeth and smiled.

"Come on, girl." He grunted as he fell back on the bed, struggling with his pants. I pulled my shirt over my head and slid my body down over his, trapping his hands, teasing.

The chirping of my phone interrupted us.

"Fuck." We stopped, heavy breathing and waited. It sounded off again and again. I looked over at the clock, 4am. He sat up, one strong arm holding me to him and snagged the phone, handing it to me. I looked at the number. Ellison again.

"Yeah?" I asked timidly. My body went limp as I listened, phone falling out of my hand onto the mattress. "Frank, it's Fisk." I extracted myself and walked into the living room, flipping on my television. The news was already breaking. The city's Kingpin, Wilson Fisk escaped with the help of unknown associates. His whereabouts are not currently known.

I let out a small yell and knocked my unopened mail from a side table, before sitting roughly on the floor in a bundle, head in hands. I turned on the lamp that I had knocked off the table. It was sitting beside me, casting light on the floor around me. A letter with no return address lay crumpled up in a heap with the other mail. It came in a prison envelope. I opened it shakily. One neatly folded page came out in my hand. The writing was tidy, small, and I began to read.

Ms. Page,

You have been a busy woman, and most adept reporter. I did not expect this from you, and for this I am sorry. It is always a sin to underestimate someone with so much potential. You also seem to be skilled at convincing people that you are an honorable woman, worth defending. Mr. Ulrich certainly thought you were worth protecting. Even moments before I strangled the life from him, he concealed your involvement with my mother, and the death of my dear friend, Wesley. Unfortunately, I cannot absolve you from this particular crime, despite my admiration for your specific talents.

We will meet soon.

W. Fisk

I handed him the letter. At first, he did not respond. His eyes were locked on the wall. Finally, he took it and read it. In that moment, I watched his eyes empty, change. He was no longer Frank Castle. He was something entirely different, a preternatural killer, single-mindedly driven to protect and avenge the ones that he loves. The Punisher. My hero.

.