September

Karen had nothing to wear.

She did this every time. Ever since she was fifteen and a boy had awkwardly asked her to the movies, for at least an hour before she was set to go out on a date, she just stood in front of her closet hating everything she owned. How did she wear all this crap? It wasn't like it should matter. Frank had seen her at her worst. She'd lived in oversized t-shirts and pajama shorts the entire time he stayed with her after she got hurt. For the love of Christ, she hadn't even worn a bra for the majority of those days. She was far past the need to impress him.

But she wanted to.

For the first time in months, closer to a year really, she was being a normal human being and going out on a date with her…Frank.

Boyfriend felt a little underwhelming. It didn't quite grasp all that whatever they were was, their togetherness, whatever. There needed to be a word that combined best friend, boyfriend, sort of roommate, shared pet owner, and free therapist…besides spouse. She was a journalist and writing was her job, but when it came to the two of them, she was complete and utter shit at putting words to things. Except good, wonderful, amazing, completing, happy. Those were easy.

Letting out a sigh, she pulled open another drawer in search of something to wear. Glancing over her shoulder, she scolded, "Bully, get your paws off the counter."

The dog pulled back from where he'd had his chin on the counter, staring longingly at the peanut butter jar.

She walked across the space and rubbed him behind the ears. "Alright, I'll give you some peanut butter, but that's it. You have to be good for the rest of the night."

He huffed unhappily, but perked right back up when she got a spoon out of the drawer. Leaving him perfectly content licking at the glob stuck to the roof of his mouth, she cringed when she looked at the clock on the microwave. "Shit, shit, shit."

As usual, her decision was going to be made on the spot because of a lack of time. With a sudden stroke of inspiration, she snatched a blouse out of the drawer and her single pair of jeans. People wore jeans on dates, didn't they? He'd notice out of sheer shock value if nothing else.

She was slipping on her shoes and grabbing a cardigan when he knocked on the door. He still had her spare key but he always knocked. The only reason he'd left was to give her time to get ready and he still knocked. She vaguely wondered if he'd always been such a blatant gentleman or if she had Maria to thank for it.

"Hi," she greeted after she'd looked through the peephole and unlocked the door. She started to turn away and say, "I just have to grab my bag and I'll—"

He tugged gently on her arm and brought her back to him before framing her face with both hands and kissing her. Knees going slightly weak, she smiled into it as her fingers wound into his shirt.

It still threw her that she got to do that, kiss him whenever she wanted, touch him without it needing to be a show of comfort and solidarity, run her fingers over his scalp when he'd just buzzed his hair short, hold his hand when they took the occasional walk out. He wasn't completely used to it either. Sometimes when she'd step forward to take his hand or lean up and kiss him while sitting on the couch he'd just stare at her like he wasn't entirely sure she was real or like she'd just made a mistake in touching him like that. They were both still getting used to it.

"…be ready to go."

She smiled at the distinctly pleased look on his face when she blinked her eyes back open. Turning to actually grab her bag, double checking that the pistol he'd given to her to replace her old one was safely inside, she could feel his eyes on her when he noticed the jeans. Eyebrow raised, he noted, "I'm not taking you out to do laundry."

"I know that. I just wanted to make sure you noticed."

The look on his face was somewhat offended when he replied, "Of course, I noticed, beautiful Karen."

"You hush…and I know you did." Again smiling, she put her bag over her shoulder and rubbed Bully behind the ears. "Be good. We'll be back later."

Frank grabbed her hand in his large warm one before leading them out the door. Leaning against him a little just because she could, she asked as they started down the stairs, "So if we're not doing laundry, what are we doing?"

"Not doing recon, ma'am." She took that as an indication that she wasn't getting anything else out of him and merely settled in to follow along beside him. It was something she could get used to.

And he still called her ma'am. Usually she was either Karen or sweetheart. The ma'am he'd wielded to keep extra distance, not quite give her a name, was used less often. The teasing he said it with now meant something different than it had before. Very different.

After a dinner of falafel from a street cart—he'd had it overseas once and found a taste for it—they wound up in Central Park again, walking down the paths in the light of the street lamps and talking. They came there a lot, actually. Frank liked how it didn't smell like the city, how it smelled like grass and dirt and trees instead of cars and concrete. She just liked walks, getting out of her apartment or office and stretching her legs, reminding herself why she'd fallen in love with the city.

Maybe half an hour in, he let go of her hand and walked up to one of the vendors, hat pulled low like usual. Without needing to ask, he grabbed himself a black coffee and a strawberry frozen yogurt for her that she immediately dug into.

Karen knew she shouldn't, that it wasn't fair, but she couldn't help thinking back to her single date with Matt. Aside from the rocky, awkward start at the restaurant that was way too fancy for the both of them, she'd thought it was perfect. The Indian place and the lights and the kiss on her front steps. And maybe for the Karen she'd been at the time, the Karen who hadn't really met Frank Castle yet, it had been perfect.

She'd hero worshipped Matt back then, even without Daredevil and all of that. He was the dark, mysterious, blind but still so strong lawyer who'd saved her from a murder charge and just kept surprising her. He'd been exciting in a romance novel sort of way.

Frank was different. He was exciting in that she wanted him so much it hurt, wanted him around, wanted to kiss him, wanted to hear his voice vibrate against her when he talked. It made her heart pound in her throat because it was real. Everything about him was just as real as the memory of James Wesley and O'Brien and whoever the other man on the roof had been. He was real enough to balance out all of her dark and terrible.

And he wasn't a mystery. When it came to him, she just knew things. When to let him stare out the window by himself and when to drag him to the nearest CVS on his daughter's birthday to show him all the glittery nail polish and Dr. Pepper flavored chap stick and overly sticky lip gloss he would've drowned in if she'd reached age ten. It was easy and equal and honest and, as terrifying as the thought was, she wasn't entirely sure she could survive without it.

"You're thinking a lot."

He was looking at her with a pensive, patient stare, like he knew she was deep in her own head and was willing to let her stay if she wanted. And, of course, there was the underlying gaze that she'd finally come to understand, the one that said he loved her. Grabbing the hand holding his coffee, she stole a quick drink of it, before smiling teasingly, "Some of us do that."

He raised an eyebrow at her, though she wasn't sure if it was because of what she'd said or that she'd stolen some of his coffee, and smirked, "What, are you comparing this to all the other dates you've ever had in your life? You're such a woman, Karen."

She snorted. He loved echoing back things she'd said to him. She wondered sometimes if it wasn't leftover training from being married, his own way of proving that he listened. Squeezing his hand, she bumped him with her hip and noted airily, "You've never complained about it before, Marine."

"No, ma'am." He stared at her with the more recent look that not only made her toes tingly but made the tips of her ears go warm. "So, how's it stack up? The date."

"Well, it's a definite improvement from the last time you took me out to eat and only got me black coffee. I don't think we even paid for that." He smirked over at her before pressing kiss to the side of her head. She sighed softly at the feeling and words came out before she really thought about them, "I miss you."

Her own words made her blink in surprise for a second before she understood why she'd just said that. She saw him every few days. She was cooking, or letting him cook, three or four times a week. But that wasn't enough.

"I…I think you spoiled me back when I got out of the hospital. I want you around all the time. Like," she shifted her gaze away from him and looked at the pavement, "I wake up in the morning and I'm sad you're not there. That's crazy, right?"

She could feel him staring at her but she was too self-conscious to look up until he pulled her to him by the pocket of her jeans and kissed her right there in the middle of the sidewalk. As always, his fingers disappeared into her hair and she let out a sound from deep in her throat that was far too loud for being out in public.

Not quite at maximum brain power, she vaguely noted that he apparently didn't think she was crazy. Maybe it was because he'd had something he loved more than anything in the world before and it had been taken from him. Maybe he didn't want to have any wasted time with her.

Lungs not yet having remembered how to breathe, her eyes weren't open and she more felt than heard his voice when he asked quietly, "Do you want me to go home after we get back?"

Even after a month of them being whatever they were—together—it still made her grin stupidly when he flirted with her and made her toes go tingly. Pulling him back to her with the hand not holding her melting frozen yogurt, she shook her head, "Not tonight."

What sounded like two prostitutes fighting over the corner down on the street woke Frank up from his dead sleep with a groan. Glancing down, he kept the second one in after noting the time on Karen's microwave.

He needed to go, needed to get to work. He wasn't overly fond of calling it that, but it was about the best way to drop that he had criminals to go put bullets into in casual conversation with her. No matter what he called it, the meth dealer who'd beaten his daughter to death in a drug-induced rage and had been bragging about it to his customers wasn't going to kill himself…probably. The guy was planning to skip town, so sitting around wasn't really in the cards.

Running a hand down his face, it took him a long handful of minutes to summon the willpower to get out of bed. He hadn't been lying all those months ago. Karen had a nice bed. It was soft and he was warm, the blonde head of hair spread out over his chest smelled like coconut and his sort of sleepy was the kind that only came from really good sex. Tear out his heart, rattle his brain, both hands, almost make him cry because he was so sure, really good sex.

And he was going to get up and leave in the middle of the night, hopefully without a word. Shit, he was such an asshole.

He wasted some more time berating himself that he knew deep down was simply an excuse to not get up. The screaming match down on the street ended and when he squinted at the microwave clock it showed he'd successfully wasted twenty minutes. Pushing blonde hair to the side, he started to rise. He had work to do. No more stalling.

Extracting himself from the bed without waking Karen was a challenge and he had only himself to blame for it.

Before, after her neighbor had probably heard his name through the wall a good few times and the really good sex had ended, when his breathing was still returning to normal and his heart was pounding against his ribs, he'd found himself just staring up at her ceiling. It hit him without warning and all of a sudden, he realized that he'd just had sex with a woman who wasn't his wife. That hadn't happened in over ten years, since they first got together.

He wasn't sure how he felt about that. It wasn't bad, necessarily, just…different, sobering, strange maybe.

Curled up on her side right next to him, pleased smile still on her face, Karen had broken the silence, "Frank?"

When he turned his eyes to look at her and she immediately read the thoughts on his face, he wondered if she'd gotten better at it or if he just didn't keep things as close to the chest around her anymore. Which one didn't matter when she offered a second later with a faltering voice, that smile gone, "I-It's okay. I'll…I'll go..."

Her eyes moved across the space, looking at everything but him and it took him a bit to realize what she was saying. Still naked and having had him inside her just a few minutes before, she was going to get up, get out of her own bed and give him space because she thought it's what he needed, was silently asking for. The tears she was hiding and the quiver of her lip said it was the last fucking thing she wanted to do, but she would. Because she was as sure as he was.

Just how easily he could break her heart without her even complaining dropkicked him in the chest with far more potency than the realization he'd had sex with someone who wasn't Maria. That thought wasn't even that important. It was, but…

He'd just had sex with Karen. For the first time, he'd gotten to know her like that, gotten to touch her like that. He'd felt how warm she was and drowned in the coconut scent and seen her smile at him while he was inside her. He could still taste black coffee from her tongue and he already wasn't sure if his hands would ever stop missing the feel of her hair tangled up in his fingers, how her smaller fingers entwined with his as she breathed out his name. He already wanted the soft curve of her hips against his palms again. That shit was important. He didn't want space. He wanted her as close as he could get.

He hadn't let her get farther than rolling over and reaching for clothes of some kind on the floor. He wasn't going to make her take some horrible walk of shame in her own home, go hide in the bathroom or try and stand unobtrusively in the kitchen while he wrapped his head around something that was more an anecdote than an issue. He'd said he was sure and he was.

"Come here."

An arm around her waist was all it took to pull her back to him. He could see the need to ask him about it, to make sure he actually was okay on her face. Frank hadn't really been worrying about himself at that moment. Sinking his fingers back into her hair, he pulled her close and kissed her again, kissed her until the hesitance that she'd just tread on something sacred receded and she was back to smiling warmly up at him.

"I'm still sure, beautiful Karen."

She'd rolled her eyes slightly at him, fond exasperation looking back at him, before laying down her head and finally letting the afterglow's drowsiness take hold. As his caught up with him, he'd pulled her closer, wrapping both arms around her and subconsciously making the vow to not let go.

If anything, they were more tangled up together after a couple hours of sleep and he honestly wasn't sure how he managed to make it to the floor, bare feet somewhat cold against the wood, without more than a sigh from her. A good five more minutes ticked by as he stared at her sprawled across the bed, eyes drawn down to where the sheet was slung low on her back.

Running a hand over his newly buzzed hair, he knelt down to start collecting his clothes. His Kevlar and coat were back at his apartment and he'd have to grab them and his rifle before going after the meth head. Those thoughts on his mind, he didn't think twice before perching himself on the kitchen stool and pulling on his boots.

Spare key securely in his pocket, one pistol in his boot and another in his current jacket, he realized his mistake as he took his third step toward the door. Across the room, Karen stirred in her sleep, frown pulling at her features as she felt around the bed for a body that wasn't there.

When she rolled over, not bothering to bring the sheet with her as she looked at him by the door, he was sorely tempted to go back to bed. But then she just smiled faintly at him in the semidarkness, "Stay safe, Frank."

The same footsteps that woke her brought him right back to her and he kissed her again. "Yes, ma'am."

He locked her door behind him, jogging down the well-known stairs without running into anyone. The prostitute who'd won the fight that had served as his alarm clock was slouching in her claimed spot. She sent a few offers at his back as he walked by, but he doubted she'd remember anything about him in an hour.

With no Bully and no real evidence that anyone properly lived there, his arsenal/apartment was quiet when he unlocked the door. He didn't stay longer than the ten minutes needed to strap on his Kevlar, shrug into his heavy coat, and check over his assault rifle. It took him a confused moment to realize that the smell of coconut wafting in the air, mixing with the gunpowder and cosmoline, was coming from him. Though he'd complained about it that first night, he wasn't so concerned with smelling like her at that moment.

Plenty of black coffee and recon over the last week let him know exactly where his target was going to be. The man, whose name was Holden Rodriguez, was in the same alley he was usually in, selling. How his brain worked well enough to do the math required when he was clearly a tweaker himself was beyond Frank, but he wasn't there to judge his habits. He was there to punish him for taking too big of a hit and beating his little girl to death with an Xbox controller and his own two hands and then bragging about it. As her only parent, he hadn't reported her missing and so her little body was still decaying in the apartment. He was either too persistently high or too much of an asshole to care about the smell, about looking at what he'd done.

Frank had gone by the place when he'd first heard the murmurs, doing his due diligence to be sure in what he did. He'd seen her there, laid on her bed with the door shut like she was a forgotten toy shoved in a closet. She'd had long dark hair and pretty brown eyes from what he saw from the eye that wasn't swollen shut and still open, staring lifelessly at her world. From what little she'd had by way of toys and decorations, she'd been going through a pony phase. She couldn't have been more than six.

No amount of time the law could take from her father, that Red's way would go for, would be enough to make it up to her.

The smell of coconut was both distracting and strangely comforting as he rested his rifle against his shoulder and turned down the alley. He was maybe fifteen feet away from Rodriguez and his two customers when they finally noticed him and froze. One of the figures breathed out with horror, "Shit."

All three promptly sprinted away from him.

Frank smirked faintly at Karen's prediction from January coming true. Him smelling like coconut did not, in fact, keep people from running from him in terror in dark alleys. The thought was only halfway finished when he put his rifle to his shoulder and shot Rodriguez, making him crash to the garbage-littered pavement.

Hands shaking violently, probably from both the pain and the drugs in his system, the man stared up at him with blood leaking from his lips and fear in his eyes when Frank roughly grabbed his shoulder and rolled him over. He knelt down and leaned against his rifle, waiting for the dying man at his feet to get out the words he was clearly struggling with.

They weren't ones he was unfamiliar with when Rodriguez stuttered out, "W-W-Why? What d-did I do?"

Even bleeding out and dying, there were a lot of them that wouldn't admit to what they'd done. It made it that much easier. Pulling the pistol out of his coat, Frank weighed it in his hand for a moment. "How's your daughter, Mr. Rodriguez?"

Breathing heavily, speeding up his own death as his lungs filled up, his eyes went wide as he stared at the man looming over him. There wasn't any remorse there, just fear. "…oh."

"Yeah," Frank agreed. "Oh."

Without another word, he raised the pistol and emptied a slug into Rodriguez's forehead. The man's frantic breathing and twitching hands stilled immediately, only a final muscle spasm wracking the body before it was just that: a body, a corpse. He took the piece of paper with Rodriguez's address written on it and slipped it into the man's collar. The cops would figure it out eventually, but the little girl deserved to be taken care of sooner rather than later. Pushing himself to his feet, Frank put his pistol back in its place and once again shouldered his rifle.

He had somewhere far more pleasant to be. He didn't deserve it and he knew it, but he had it and he was going to hold onto it with both hands.

All things considered, he was far less bloody than he usually would've been and he decided to skip stopping back at his apartment. Stepping into a shadow between buildings a few blocks from Rodriguez's body that the cops probably wouldn't find until the trash people came through, because people didn't really report things in Hell's Kitchen, he pulled off his coat and vest and wound them into a bundle he hid his rifle under.

He was just another face in the middle of the night as he walked back to her. At one point, he thought he saw Red perched on a rooftop, but he kept walking without going out of his way to double check. He'd finished his work for the night. Red could do his bit.

Without incident, he got into her building and made it to her door. Before he got all three locks open, he could hear Bully's nails on the floor and the beginning of the dog's happy whine. So much for leaving or coming back without waking her up.

When he got into the kitchen, he gave Bully the attention he wanted after closing the door. A glance across the room told him Karen was indeed awake. Curled up on what had become his side of the bed at some point, she had pulled on one of the big t-shirts she liked sleeping in. The expression on her face said she was clearly somewhat surprised he'd come back.

He didn't blame her for that. When he first left, he hadn't been planning on coming back. What he did out in the middle of the night and what he did with her weren't things he'd wanted to mix. And really, did he deserve to be able to come home to her when he'd been out killing someone?

The same part of him he'd thought was dead along with his family had decided it didn't care what he deserved, it cared about what he had. So there he was.

Still clearly sleepy, Karen smiled at him. Drawn like a moth to flame, he only paused to shove his bundle of armor and metal under her bed before leaning over the bed, one of his hands on either side of her head, and kissing her in greeting. He was sure the coconut scent had sunk its claws fully into him again and would cling for a while when he pulled back and went to the bathroom to wash off what blood there was.

When he was done and he'd pulled his boots and socks off and left them beside her small pile of shoes that had been condensed to make room for him, he was in a strangely good mood. Maybe it was the sex, maybe that he had somewhere and someone warm to come home to after he did what he did, maybe it was the knowledge that there was one less asshole out there to hurt little girls without remorse, and maybe it was just being close to her.

Whatever it was, he'd overthink it in the morning. The middle of the night wasn't for that kind of thinking. It was for taking the woman who somehow loved him to bed and making sure that the last thing she wanted to do was get up for work in the morning.

Shedding layers as he went back to the bed, he tugged at the collar of her pajamas with one finger after he was under the blanket beside her, "What's with this?"

"You weren't here," Karen replied with a smirk, seeing right through him. "I was cold."

His fingers found the bottom hem and started pushing upward and she let him, a smile on her face that reminded his fingers just what they were missing from earlier. "Yeah, well I'm back now."

When Karen woke up late for work that morning, before she rolled naked out of bed and started grabbing whatever clothes were closest, stubbing her toe on the butt of the assault rifle sticking out from beneath her bed, she took a long, glorious moment to bask in the feeling of waking up next to Frank Castle with his arm cinched around her waist.

A/N (revision edition): So yeah, for those of you who were here before, I decided to keep all twelve chapters, just add a little more purpose to these few that were basically just fluff before. August is still the big point and in all honesty I should probably have left it there, but I wanted to see some of what after that point would be like. I suppose that means the fangirl author in me won, lol. And to anybody hoping to see what happened in between the two scenes, I wish we could too, but I am complete and utter crap at writing smut. I just am. Apologies. =/

Anyway, thanks so much for reading, review if the desire takes you, and I hope you enjoy. :)