May

Karen knew Frank was going to show up from the moment she woke up that morning. There was never a specific pattern to when he dropped by. He seemed to know her schedule well enough that he wasn't standing outside her door waiting for long and he'd just gotten himself into the building on multiple occasions without her help, appearing on the other side of her peephole, voice rumbling through the door.

She didn't mind the unpredictability. It was a bit of a routine in and of itself. At least once a week, often twice, on a day she wasn't sure of, Frank showed up at her door and she cooked him dinner and sat with him until she went to bed, sometimes with Bully, sometimes without. And she always felt better afterward, missed him when he wasn't there.

But that night she knew he'd be there. She left work early to be one hundred percent sure she didn't miss him because of how sure she was.

There was only one day over the course of the year that his family had been murdered before his very eyes.

Having brewed a fresh pot of coffee, she perched herself on the kitchen stool and worked on the article she would've been tinkering on had she stayed at the office. She was willing to wait.

For the first time that she could remember—probably since she worked as a secretary at Union Allied—she was actually at her apartment at a decent hour for dinner. The microwave clock showed first seven then eight but she didn't move to fix herself supper. It just felt wrong. She knew Frank was coming. She wasn't going to eat first…

She wasn't even sure he'd feel like eating. A few weeks before it had been his son's birthday. Frank Jr. would've been nine. Aside from black coffee and a yogurt on her part, neither of them had eaten as they sat on her couch, laptop before them, and watched the four hours' worth of soccer games she'd found that a parent on his son's team had put on YouTube.

Sports in general had never really been her thing, including ones involving kids seven to nine years old, and she'd accidentally fallen asleep on his shoulder about two hours in. When she'd jerked awake at an upset parent shouting right next to the cameraperson, she'd looked up at him with pink tinging her ears.

"Sorry," was all she'd managed to get out before sitting up straight, blinking owlishly. Frank had been staring at her, the look she still couldn't place or put a name to in his eyes. Even though she'd meant to after noticing the look, she didn't move back to her end of the couch. Legs crossed before her on the cushion, her knee pressed up against his thigh, and her arm flush against his side, she hadn't moved. He was one of those people who took up half the couch when he sat, arms along the back, legs pressing against the coffee table because they were too long to fit into the space comfortably but he wouldn't move it. His arm had been behind her head as she slept and he hadn't moved it when she woke, just warm and solid and there the whole time.

At some point she must've fallen back to sleep on him because she woke up the next morning still on the couch, covered with a blanket from her bed. She had the vague recollection of feeling the familiar question rumble beneath her ear. She'd murmured in response, "Not tonight."

Neither of them had mentioned it, though she'd taken something else from that night. Frank preferred remembering to avoiding pain. His family, even dead, were still the people in his life who could bring the most pain. Karen wasn't sure that would ever not be true. Rather than save himself the hurt, he'd take every single tiny bit of it he could get if it meant remembering, keeping them alive in the one way he had.

Her coffee was basically gone and the microwave declared it was almost ten when her phone rang. The screen lit up with Foggy's name. Smiling, she answered and immediately heard the sounds of a bar in the background, "Hi Foggy."

"Karen! Karen, Karen, Karen, beautiful Karen."

Somebody was already a little drunk…although she supposed it was Thirsty Thursday.

"Yes, that is indeed I, Foggy. What's up?"

"What's up? What's up! What is up is that it's Thursday, beautiful Karen. What are you doing right now? Whatever it is, it isn't more important than getting to Josie's where we are and drinking enough alcohol to kill the bacteria in the water with us. It's for the sake of public safety. The olives are white again. Do you know what that's about?"

"I'm sorry, I don't. But I wouldn't eat them. Foggy, don't eat the olives." A small piece of her was sad that she was missing drunken Foggy. He was the most entertaining drunk she'd ever met and she didn't see him as much as she would've liked anymore. But at the same time, her choice had been made before she was even presented with it.

She wasn't going to meet Foggy at the bar. Even if Matt was there with him and it would be just like old times and she'd wake up in the morning hungover but happy, she wasn't going to go. Not tonight.

It was hardly even a choice. She loved those times at the bar and she was sad she was going to miss it, but there was no temptation, no internal struggle. She was already where she needed to be.

"Hey! Hey, Matt, did you hear that? We're not supposed to eat the olives!"

She had no doubt that he had heard. He'd explained some more of how a blind man was a baton-wielding, martial artist vigilante. Hell, he could probably hear through the phone the heavy footsteps she noticed coming toward her door.

"I know that, Foggy. You're the only one eating them. You've been spending too much time with Marci and her martinis."

Karen laughed lightly at Matt's comment, clearly made from the barstool next to Foggy's. She was at the door, looking through the peephole to see the large black shadow in the hall before he knocked. As soon as he did, she undid the locks and opened the door, smiling quickly at him and holding up a finger to hold on a second. He locked the door for her as she focused back in on the argument Matt and Foggy were having about olives and avocados.

"Foggy. Foggy… Foggy!"

"Beautiful Karen! When are you getting here? Beautiful, beautiful Karen…"

She couldn't help but laugh. He did that when he drank. He got attached to certain words and he just used the hell out of them for the rest of the night. Where he was hovering near the door, she even caught a smile on Frank's face at the man's antics. She immediately gained a fear of him latching onto 'beautiful Karen' and using it to drive her crazy.

"I'm not coming, Foggy. I'm sorry, but I've got somewhere else I need to be."

"But beautiful Karen…" he whined.

"No, don't 'beautiful Karen' me, Foggy Nelson. You'll survive like a big boy. Next time." He started muttering somewhat incoherently and she added, "Matt, start getting water into him. For Christ's sake, it's only ten."

"Is there water in whiskey?!" Foggy shouted hopefully.

Both she and Matt replied with the same firm, "No!"

She heard what she took to be some sort of struggle for the phone and then Matt's voice appeared, "Have a nice night, Karen."

"You, too, Matt. Keep him out of trouble."

"I will."

Ending the call and placing the phone down, she sent Frank a wry smile, "Matt inherited the Irish liver. Foggy, not so much."

He returned it for a short moment before putting his hands into the pockets of his short, not-the-Punisher jacket and looking down at her feet. She let him stay in his silence, still a little unsure how to be around him when on the brink of discussing his family. She never had any trouble when she was there on the spot, confronted with his pain and the inescapable need to, if not lessen it, then share in it. She just managed to overthink herself when leading up to it.

Waiting for him to speak, she started clearing away her notes, closing her laptop and plugging it in across the room.

"I can go."

She frowned at him over her shoulder before straightening and coming closer, wondering why he was still standing in the corner, like he was waiting for a chance to leave. "Why?"

"You said you have somewhere you need to be."

Finally understanding, she approached him until he finally looked up at her. Though happy wasn't exactly what she felt, her mouth pulled itself into a quiet smile as she nodded, "Yeah, here."

Her mouth added three more words her brain hadn't approved a second later, "With you, Frank."

The look that bored into her as soon as they were out was the one she never understood. She'd come to like it though. Of all things, it made her toes tingly.

It took him a few good, long minutes to find whatever answers he was looking for with the stare. A short, somewhat pained bark of laughter came out of his throat as he ran a hand down his face. "I wasn't sure you'd know what today was, make the connection."

"Reporter," she gave as explanation with a shrug. "Dates are kind of our thing."

"This mean you know my birthday, too?"

"Shit, I do. I do," she muttered as she tried to think back, running a hand through her hair. "It was in your medical files I somewhat dubiously obtained. February. It's in February. The…sixteenth?"

His smile was once again short-lived, somehow made all the sadder by the bruises on his face. She stood silently as he leaned against the wall and bent at the waist, taking his hat into his hands and staring down at the space between his boots, rubbing his face on occasion. Then he bent his knees and slowly slid down to the floor, elbows propped on his knees.

The overthinking stopped in that precise moment and once again she was just consumed by the picture of the man before her. She didn't know if it was just with her or if he'd always been so genuine, but it called to something in her, irrevocably making her heart reach out and grab onto the connection with both hands. Unsure how, she knew that she was powerless to let go.

In the small bit of space between him and her shoe mat, she slid down beside him. Though she'd never done it before, her arms didn't hesitate before reaching around his shoulders. Resting her chin on the one right next to her, she whispered a single time, "I'm sorry, Frank. I'm so sorry."

A long, wavering exhale came out of his nose and a second later he tilted his head just enough to lean against hers. And just like that, she was hugging Frank Castle for the first time.

They sat there like that for what must've been close to an hour, just breathing around one another, not saying anything, not really even looking at each other. It was intimate in a way she couldn't describe, the knowledge more of a nebulous feeling in her chest that shifted whenever she tried to put words on it. All she could figure was that it wasn't scary. It was the exact opposite of scary. It was like…home. Even though the cynic in her cackled at that like it was the best, most pathetic shit since sliced bread, the feeling stuck.

At some point, she'd started crying but Karen didn't realize it until she blinked when she felt his voice rumble through his chest. "Will you come somewhere with me?"

"Y-Yeah." Clearing her throat against the lump in it, she tried again, "Yeah, of course. Let me get shoes."

Pushing herself up with the wall and his knee, she got upright and slipped on a pair of flats. Not quite willing to ask where they were going or how long it would take to get there, she wordlessly grabbed a cardigan and pulled it on. When she turned to face him again, Frank was on his feet, looking at hers with a raised eyebrow.

"What?"

He nodded at her feet. "I'll never understand women's shoes."

"What? These are comfortable."

"How? There's nothing to them."

At least for the moment, the cloud of grief they'd been sitting beneath together cleared. Huffing, she glared as she grabbed her keys and sent a look toward his boots, "Yeah, that's why they're comfortable. Why should I cart around an extra ten pounds on my feet? That's what my purse is for."

Once they were on the street, he turned them northward. It was still warm, but he didn't stick out for still being in a coat. With his hat on his head and her by his side, he probably actually looked normal, just another guy walking down the street with his girlfriend, out on the town for the night. Karen knew that wasn't what was happening, but just how thoroughly the police had plastered his face across Hell's Kitchen those months ago when he first escaped ran through her mind. Without saying anything, she took a step closer to him and hooked her arm through his.

Instead of Frank Castle, the Punisher, and Karen Page, the investigative journalist shining light on the darkness of Hell's Kitchen, it wouldn't hurt to be just two people walking down the street.

Though he glanced at her arm for a short moment, moving his gaze up to her face immediately after, he didn't pull away from the touch. She could only imagine that he'd read her intent on her face. He read just about everything else there.

They passed four police cars out patrolling, one car accident, and an ambulance screaming down the street on their way. He wasn't the only one who sent each siren a wary look. At least Foggy's phone call indicated that Matt was probably safe for a couple more hours. Plenty of others were out for the same reason her former avocados-at-law were and she and Frank blended into the bar crowds with little problem.

It wasn't until they crossed 59th Street that the city quieted slightly around them. Central Park was always strangely quiet compared to everywhere else. Without the concrete on all sides, it was also chillier, the grass already dewy just off the sidewalk.

Smoothing her skirt with her hand before sitting, she sunk down onto the bench Frank silently led them to. Even though she'd lived in the city for over three years, Karen couldn't remember ever actually stopping and taking a moment to look at the carousel until right then.

She instinctively knew that he had, though. He stretched out on the bench like he did with her couch, legs extended in front of him, his arm behind her on the painted wood. Even if she hadn't already known what importance the place held for him, she could've figured it out simply from how he was sitting.

Those were the sorts of things she found herself just noticing about Frank Castle in the last months.

The carousel was closed and all its lights were off, but there were still a few people walking by on their ways to somewhere else. Though she looked behind them and down the main paths, she didn't notice anything out of place. "They won't be expecting you to come here today?"

They both knew she was referring to the cops and, his eyes glued forward, he shook his head with a short jerk, "They did. They've gone home already. I guess it's close enough to tomorrow, they figured I wouldn't go to the effort. I'm just crazy remember."

"You're not a monster, Frank," she said levelly, eyebrow raised and brooking no argument. He didn't look at her, but she caught the small, humoring quirk of his mouth. He could believe whatever he wanted about himself, whatever he thought he needed to. That didn't matter. She knew what she knew. She could be stubborn, too.

Crossing her legs and pulling her cardigan closed against what chill there was when sitting next to the human heater that was Frank, she asked after a moment, "Which one was her favorite? The horse from the picture?"

He nodded and made an affirmative sound deep in his throat. It took him a few breaths to say aloud, "She was a tomboy with a bunch of shit, dinosaurs and wanting to be a soldier like daddy. That particular one scared the shit out of Maria. It did me, too, but I never had the heart to tell Lisa that. She was a complete fucking girl when it came to horses, though. I mean, do they just wire that shit into your brains? I've never met a woman who hasn't wanted a horse at some point."

"Men got dogs and trucks. We needed something that combined both best friendship and transportation," she provided with a smile.

"Yeah, but did they have to make a damn tv show about it? I swear to god I woke up every Saturday morning with that stupid pony show playing from the living room. Something about Fluttershy and Rarity and Rainbow Dash and that pink monstrosity that made my ears bleed."

It took her a minute to realize what he was talking about but once she did she couldn't stop laughing. She tried to hide it behind the back of her hand but as soon as he glanced at her, rolled his eyes, and muttered "Yeah, laugh it up," she lost it. She couldn't help it, not thinking about him waking up to the "My Little Pony" theme and still knowing half the names. No matter how much he complained now, she also couldn't help but believe he'd been roped into watching quite a few episodes and probably hadn't minded spending a morning with his daughter and animated ponies in the slightest.

"I'm sorry," she finally gasped out. Hiccupping against a few lingering giggles, she cleared her throat enough to get out with a marginally straight face, "Sorry."

"No you're not."

That was true but she refused to openly admit it as they sat there and his arm inched ever so slightly closer to her shoulders. Neither of them said anything when she lightly leaned against his side.

One a.m. was starting to approach, the park emptying, when he asked quietly, "Tonight better?"

Without warning, her body folded further into his side, her head just inches from being able to tilt to the right and lean on his shoulder if it was so inclined. On some level she knew she should move back to her spot, sit up on her own, stop leaning her weight into him. Once it was there, though, she didn't feel like moving it. Aside from an initial moment of tension, his muscles beneath her relaxed back to normal. The arm behind her got a little heavier against her shoulders.

Unexpectedly content, she couldn't ruin it with her dark and terrible.

"Not tonight, Frank."

A/N: Happy weekend to everyone. Mine's looking a tad bit busy, so I'm going to try, but I might not get a chapter up tomorrow. Here's hoping though. Thanks so much for reading, review if the desire takes you, and I hope you enjoy! :)