A/N: Chapter musical selection: "Work Song" by Hozier.

August

'A while' for Frank and Bully turned into four days as July slid into August.

He made a token trip back to his apartment every morning to change his clothes, but that was really all. His assault rifle and another two pistols had joined the growing collection Karen had had the idea to store under her bed. His armor and heavy coat were under there, too, so when her friends came to see her and he hid on the fire escape they couldn't tell that the Punisher had basically become her live-in nurse. He'd brought the bag of Bully's food back with him on the second day. Except to go out, the dog hadn't left her side. They both laughed at it, but the thing followed her into the tiny bathroom whenever she had to pee.

Nelson came by once a day. He was scared to death of Bully but he came to check on her anyway. Frank approved. The guy was as good a friend as he was a lawyer. Red had stopped by once and he hadn't bothered to step out the window. The man would've known, heard his heartbeat or whatever he had exactly that made up for his blindness. The visit had been awkward.

Karen wasn't suddenly better, fixed, or whatever she would be when she completely let go of the weight of her guilt, if she ever entirely did. But she was working on it. He could tell that it was lighter. She didn't hate herself quite so much for it, even the vicious bloodiness of O'Brien.

Red's presence made her want to take a step in the wrong direction.

All things considered, morality and the truth of 'you hit them and they get back up, I hit them and they stay down' aside, Frank admired the guy a little. It was hard not to with the level of conviction the man had. What he needed to fucking stop was trying to shove that conviction on everyone else.

Karen wasn't him. She didn't leave her apartment late at night with the express purpose of killing people, criminal or not. She'd never hurt someone without danger weighing on her, the knowledge that she or someone she loved was going to be hurt if she didn't come up with the same determination as the person threatening her. That was different and he wanted to smack the stupidity out of Red at the disappointment that lingered in his voice. He was glad the man hadn't been back a second time yet.

She was going stir-crazy, though. They were similar that way, couldn't sit still without purpose for too long. Her boss had called while he was waiting for her to get back from the hospital. The man left a message saying that as soon as they got more facts from the cops, they were going to run an article about what had happened to her, about O'Brien and Daredevil and the Punisher, but she was banned from coming into the office for at least a week. Security would escort her from the building and put her in a cab back home as gently as possible if she tried. She was too important to not heal up as quickly as possible. She'd scoffed at that, but she hadn't tried to go in.

It was both amusing and a challenge to watch her fight to not start work on something, though. She constantly got an idea and went to look for her laptop only to remember that it had been thrown off the roof. A period of melancholy he did his best to coax her out of always followed. It usually ended with him convincing her to sleep.

Sun starting to go down out her window, she was asleep right then. Bully hadn't given either of them a chance to decide if they wanted to allow him on the bed and the dog was stretched out beside her, paws against her back and nose pressed into her shirt. Frank smiled slightly when Karen twitched in her sleep, making a soft noise in her throat as she rolled over.

The expression was so natural on his face, it took him a few minutes to recognize it. It wasn't just that he was smiling. He smiled more with Karen than anyone and anything anymore. He was used to that, smiling around her, feeling like Frank Castle again, feeling like a human being after everything. That wasn't it. No, the smile was specific, was special, and the feeling in his chest when it spread across his face scared the ever living shit out of him.

'I'll never feel that.'

That's what he'd said to her in that diner, seeing her all shaken up and confused about Red. And there he was, eight months later and seeing her asleep in bed, snuggled up with his dog—or her dog, their dog, whatever Bully had decided to be—and as surely as he was sitting on her couch, the blonde had reached out, shoved her hand into his chest, yanked his heart out and squeezed.

He hadn't explained it very well back then, how precisely Maria had hurt him so damn much. It wasn't that they fought and they yelled and went out of their way to really injure one another. They hadn't been one of those couples who thrived on sticking knives into each other. That wasn't what he'd meant. It was everything else that had torn his heart out: waking up before her in the morning and watching her sleep, seeing her dance around the bathroom as she took off her makeup at night and sang to old rock music when she cooked breakfast and the way she'd smile at him when the kids were both asleep and they had a quiet hour to themselves in bed.

It was all of that stuff, the tiny things about her that made him worship the ground she walked on for loving him back, that brought the pain. He'd loved his life so much, been so acutely grateful for it, it had hurt.

He wasn't supposed to have ever felt that again. Not tonight. Not ever.

Suddenly needing to get out of there, he pulled his socks and boots on and snatched his hat off its coat hook—it had a spot, for the love of Christ, everything he had, everything about him, she'd given a spot, had taken into her life. It made his hands shake as he hastily tied his boots. They looked like they'd been tied by a six-year-old just learning rather than a full grown man who'd served in the military but they'd work. Keys in his pocket, he silently opened the door and moved into the hall.

His footsteps were loud and heavy as he made his way down the flights of stairs. She recognized them, had said she could tell it was him just by hearing them.

He found himself stepping into a bodega a couple blocks away, music in Spanish that Karen probably could've told him the gist of playing in the background. Frank took note of the security camera inside and shifted his face accordingly. Absently, he grabbed things off the shelves and tucked them under his arm. A new container of coffee grounds because they were both basically immune to caffeine, the vanilla almond milk Karen liked, bananas she cut up with a spoon and put in her yogurt, gingersnaps, and a new jar of peanut butter for Bully.

Setting it all on the counter, he avoided looking at the clerk as he pulled out his wallet. After the man said his total in an accented voice, he set a ten on the counter. A long moment of silence during which he could feel the stare sitting on him later, the man pushed the money back.

Frank looked up with a frown, gazing at the middle-aged Hispanic man from beneath his hat. He just started putting the items in a paper bag, not looking at the money still sitting there. It was only when Frank pushed the bill toward him again that he spoke. Voice lowered, he took a step back from the counter, away from the money, "You helped save Miss Page."

It was only then that he noticed the cracked front window. The clerk must've been one of the bodega owners O'Brien threatened, whose story Karen picked up when the police weren't there.

The look on the man's face said that if he didn't take the money back, it was going to sit there until someone decided to take it. He, on principle, wouldn't take money from someone who'd helped keep Karen Page alive. Voice rather hoarse, Frank nodded to him and took the ten back, "Thanks."

"Thank you, sir. Have a nice day."

"Yeah, you too."

Stepping back onto the darkening street, it hit him just what Karen had become. He and Red did what they did. He punished the ones who'd already killed and hurt. Vengeance didn't have anything to do with it anymore. That had been taken care of. He punished when the law didn't and he would until the need he felt deep inside him said he'd done enough. It wasn't vengeance. It was punishment. Simple. Red gave the law the helping hand it needed in the darkness of Hell's Kitchen, sending people to jail and protecting who he could. They were the gun and fist of the people who couldn't fight for themselves. People believed what they believed about both of them, but he knew that they felt better for having the two of them out there.

But Karen was different. She had no mask like Red, no armor like him. She was out in the open, walking down the street as one of Hell's Kitchen's own. People could see her, could talk to her. She was their voice in a place where keeping one's head down and staying quiet was the best way to get along. And she'd been willing to die for that.

No matter how he scoffed at it, people called him and Red heroes sometimes. Sometimes they called them the opposite, but the conversation was one that was always up for debate. They were the heroes, but people loved her. And what she did took a hell of a lot more strength and determination than pulling a trigger or roundhouse kicking someone in the face. She had it in her head that she was weak, hated herself for having killed someone and hated that she hated herself for it. She was the exact fucking opposite of weak, the woman who just believed in him with everything she had. Before she had any reason to, just believed in him with a conviction that rivaled Red's.

His chest ached all the more at thinking about it.

His thoughts had taken him back to the door of the apartment far too quickly. The bag of food under one arm, habit got the key out of his pocket and had it in the door before he could give himself more time.

Karen was up and out of bed, leaned over in front of the fridge. The flash of fear in her eyes evaporated as soon as she stood up and saw it was him. Smiling around the spoon in her mouth, she greeted, "Hi. Where'd you go? And what do you want for dinner? I'm starving."

She did that when she was excited, talked with her mouth half full of whatever she was eating and the utensil she was eating it with. A little bit of yogurt stuck to the corner of her mouth when she put the spoon back in the container, still smiling up at him. His chest contracted.

Shit, there was nothing about this woman that he didn't love.

Yeah, there it was. Four letters smashed into one little word that had the power to dropkick him in the chest and shake his brain loose, rip his heart out and stick it in Bully's food bowl. He wasn't supposed to feel it again. It was supposed to be gone, dead in the ground just like his family. But it wasn't.

Holy shit, it wasn't.

He did something with the bag of food, but he didn't really notice what before he reached out with both hands and pulled her to him. Lips pressed to hers, she tasted like vanilla yogurt. And she was warm, so warm, and her hair was soft when he ran his fingers through it and cradled the back of her head with his hands. And she smelled like coconut and black coffee.

She fumbled with the container of yogurt, trying to get it settled back in the fridge with eyes closed and mouth occupied and she ended up just tossing it in right before grabbing a handful of his shirt. As his tongue slid into her mouth a pleased noise came from deep in her throat. At that moment, the yogurt's precarious position sent the mustard to its side and half the jars of condiments on the top shelf followed.

The domino effect of clattering, or maybe the other sound, jolted him out of his momentary insanity—wonderful, soft, dizzying insanity—and he drew back, putting his hands up like she was pointing a gun at him. She didn't let go of his shirt right away and the fabric stretched between them until she let it slip through her fingers.

He told himself it was her concussion and how he'd just jumped on her, but another part of him preened rather smugly at how long it took her to blink open her eyes. She eyed him with her fingers pressed to her lips for an uncomfortable second, something between confusion and contentment blinking up at him. As soon as he saw the latter, he quickly muttered with his heart pounding in his ears, "I'm sorry. I…Shit, I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Be sure."

Smiling softly, she took a step back as he let out a deep breath and ran a hand over his face. She'd always had an unnerving knack for knowing when he needed a little space and when to take the step closer that he wouldn't. Because she knew him and trusted him and believed in him and…loved him.

"Frank, it's okay," she whispered from her spot a few feet away, splinted arm crossed over her chest, other hand pushing hair out of her flushed face. Seemingly following his inner struggle on his face, she repeated, "It's okay. Just…"

She let out a deep breath of her own and when she looked back at him, he immediately knew that he wouldn't be able to look away. She had the smile on her face, the shy one that said she wanted to say something that was painfully important to her and she was scared of opening up so much. It was the look that had sat and told him 'not tonight' for the last eight months.

"I just want you to know that you can still break my heart just being my friend." She remembered what he'd said in that diner, too, it seemed. She'd started to cry silently, but she didn't look away. "Almost a year ago, in the middle of the night, I…I stood on a dock next to a burning ship and listened to them tell me you were dead. And for," her voice broke, "for a little bit I wasn't sure how I was going to recover, because I believed in you and I cared so fucking much. You weren't even the one person in the world who just got me yet. You're my best friend, Frank. I love Matt and Foggy, but…" she smiled faintly, "if you hadn't noticed, I kind of need you."

Karen took a step closer and rested her hand on his forearm, the same touch she'd first given him so long ago. "You're my best friend and I'm going to hold on with both hands however I can for as long as you'll let me…when I can actually successfully grab things with both hands, at least."

She smiled again and the side of his mouth quirked up, though it quickly faded. She was looking at him differently, a different softness than usual pulling on the connection between them. He felt like something was pounding on the inside of his ribs, some caged thing hurling itself against the bars to get out and get to her. It didn't quite make it out before she spoke again.

"None of the other stuff matters. I know how much you love your family. You can tear out my heart either way, give it to Bully if you like, as long as you're around. And I want you around. Just don't… Don't ever be sorry, Frank. Be sure."

Heard put like that, Frank was sure. Holy shit, was he sure. Both hands, beating heart, aching chest, willing to go barefoot for the rest of his life sure.

"I'm sure."

He waited just long enough to see the smile on her face before leaning back on the kitchen stool, tugging on the arm still touching his, and sinking all ten fingers into her hair again. For the first time since his family had been murdered and his life had gone to hell, he just sat back and kissed a woman who was close enough to break his heart, long and slow and deep.

Her arms wound around his neck, fingers dug into the back of his shirt, he noticed her weight shifting off her bad hip. With complete selflessness, he trailed his hands down, grabbed her waist, and lifted her up to perch on his legs. She let out a surprised squeak that made him grin.

She glared playfully at him, "You hush."

"Yes, ma'am."

Something very different lit in her eyes right before she leaned in to wipe the smirk off his face. Holy shit, was he sure…

He was still sure of everything but the time when a voice he'd heard quite a bit in the last few days broke through the sound of their somewhat ragged breathing, "The door was sort of open so I just came in, but I feel like this is a bad time and I should come back…"

At the same time, they both looked to the doorway where Foggy was standing there, blinking at them with rather wide eyes. He only flinched away when Bully trotted happily over, yipping at him.

Back of her hand to her mouth, Karen climbed back down to the floor and did what looked like trying to get her breathing back to normal. She looked between the two of them for a moment before letting out a resigned but light sigh, "Foggy, you remember Frank Castle."

Unsure precisely of how he was supposed to proceed, Frank held out a hand to the man. Foggy shifted his briefcase before unsurely taking it. Pulling his hand back, the man nodded, "So, yeah, you're still kind of terrifying when you're not in an orange jumpsuit and handcuffed...and when you're making out with Karen. Just…thought I'd throw that out there."

Between them, Karen started laughing. She pressed her lips together to try and keep it in but it just made her face go red and the sound got out anyway.

Raising an eyebrow, Frank looked at the long-haired man, "She do this a lot?"

He shrugged, taking all of this rather well, or at least too shocked to freak out, "Usually when she's drunk is when she gets giggly, but I supposed being caught necking like a teenager will do it, too. What sort of painkillers is she on?"

"Not ones that strong."

"Then yeah, it's the teenager thing. Karen, stop holding it in before you pop a stitch."

Frank smirked as she started laughing outright, leaning against the counter with her arms wrapped around her stomach. He'd probably laugh at the situation if he was in her shoes, too. She'd described her life as ridiculous on multiple occasions. He was starting to see where she got that from.

"Oh here, man who I thought was supposed to be dead but is apparently dating my friend Karen. This was on the ground." Foggy held out the bag of groceries he'd brought back from the bodega. Looking at the clock on the microwave and realizing just how long it had been since he'd come back—the smug part of him grinned again—he placed everything in its spots on the counter…except for the almond milk which had been out of the fridge for too long.

He'd almost forgotten what feeling this sort of smug felt like. It got better when Karen looked over at him with an embarrassed smile on her face and she promptly blushed bright red. Oh, he was sure.

Coughing a little, clearly trying to pretend she wasn't the same color as a Red's outfit, she looked to her friend, "D-Do you want to stay for dinner? We were going to eat before…" Her face went bright red again.

The man looked from him to her a few times before warily nodding, "Sure…I wouldn't mind an explanation of," he pointed a finger between the two of them, "this. Just as long as the dog doesn't eat me."

A few hours later, Karen was asleep on his shoulder and Foggy was about two beers into grasping the concept that his friend was dating—or whatever precisely his being sure meant—the Punisher. He still thought the guy could use a haircut but once again he'd come to the conclusion that the man was a good friend, was glad that Karen had him in her life.

Letting out a sigh, Foggy shook his head for the umpteenth time. He lowered his voice to a whisper before saying, "I feel like I shouldn't mention any of this to Matt."

He shrugged, "Tell Red whatever you want. If he wants more answers, he can ask her himself. She's not gonna break just because he's mad at her."

"Fair point."

He took another swig of his beer and the look Frank saw gazing back at him was one of a man determined to say something. Setting down the bottle, Foggy let out another sigh before looking him straight in the eye, "Okay, I'm probably going to regret this because, once again, you're terrifying, but I need to say it anyway. I'm not going to go to the cops about you. One, because technically I'm still your lawyer and I'm not going to do that without provocation. Two, because even though I hate that you exist…I'm not so stupid that I don't kind of see a need for people like you and Matt. Three, because even though I always thought you were a pretty out of your mind, psycho murderer, she didn't and she seems…happier than I've noticed in a while, probably since we were trying to bring down Fisk. I don't know, maybe it's because you've done bad stuff and you get it or something, but she just seemed…lighter tonight. I'm probably not making any sense, but it's not like this is my most logic-driven conversation ever. However, I will find you and call my childhood friend Sgt. Brett Mahoney of the NYPD to come aggressively cart you off to jail and personally switch to the prosecution to bury your ass under every single bit of legal badness I can manage if I ever find out you hurt her."

Oh yeah, he liked Nelson.

"Please do. Don't go Red's route, either. Just fucking shoot me."

Foggy coughed a bit uncomfortably at that but nodded, his sentiment across. Smiling, he gave a nod as he stood, "I'll see myself out. Tell her I'll come by tomorrow…I'll call first."

Nelson had no way of locking the door behind him, so he gently gathered Karen up in his arms and moved to put her on her bed before going to flick both deadbolts closed. She just kept on sleeping until Bully leapt onto the end of the bed and promptly began licking her feet. Giggling, she drowsily leaned down to rub his head.

He was so sure. He'd take every second of the pain she was going to cause him, because he'd gotten lucky once before. He'd known it, stared it in the face, thanked whoever was responsible for it daily. He didn't deserve to get that lucky again, but he had. He'd be a fucking idiot to let go of it, not hold on with both his bruised, cut up hands that she didn't mind.

Grabbing Bully's leash, he walked back over and pulled him down, "Come on, bud. Let's take you out for the night."

Yawning, Karen reached out for him and snatched his sleeve. "Hey, are you going to work later?"

Pushing her hair to the side, he leaned down and kissed the side of her forehead. The smug part of him smirked again at the breath she let out and the soft smile she shined up at him. He somehow knew she wasn't like this when he wasn't there, unguarded and unafraid, and able to sleep even though she didn't have a gun on her nightstand. He liked being that for her.

Nothing was ever this simple and their lives were more ridiculous than most, but along with that acute ache in his chest, he was happy. Not just less sad or too driven to care what he felt. He was happy and that was worth the work.

"No, beautiful Karen, not tonight."

A/N: Thanks so much for reading, review if the desire takes you(thank you many guests!), and I hope you enjoyed! :)