Work Text:
Karen Page likes to think of herself as an independent person. She’s sort of had to be, after all these years on her own. With no family willing to claim her, an incredibly limited social circle (aka Matt and Foggy), and no romantic partners on the horizon, she usually finds her days to be solitary and quiet. Most of the time she can convince herself that it’s how she wants it–after all, the less people in her life, then the less she can get hurt. She knows her own limitations, her own failings and fucks ups. Unlike other people; they’re all wild cards. Unpredictable. And she’s learned that it’s just not worth the risk. So she’s content to come home to an empty apartment, glad to crack open a beer as she kicks off her heels, and happy to leave the lights off as she walks into the dusk-lit living room to collapse on the couch. After all, no one else will care that her work things are strewn over the floor, or that she’s airing out her sweaty toes on the coffee table. It’s her life, singularly. She likes it. This is what she wants.
Karen sighs.
Talking herself into loving her solitary lifestyle is going just as well as it always has.
She draws a thumb through the condensation on her beer bottle. It’s still hot outside despite the setting sun, and she knows she’ll feel better after a cool shower and a cold dinner of something green, but the effort to get up and do so is overwhelming. She lets her eyes roam over the dimly lit interior of her living room: the overflowing bookshelf, the secondhand furniture, the stained rug, the television she inherited from a neighbor with the color bleeding out in one corner. With it off, she can’t even tell.
What she can tell, however, is that she’s not as alone as she thought.
In the reflection of the screen, she can see a figure standing just behind her, where the back of the couch faces the hall to her bedroom. For a long moment the breath is simply snatched from her lungs and she freezes, brain catching up—because it could certainly be Matt, even if she just saw him less than an hour ago in his “daytime” uniform (a joke he does not find as amusing as she does). And some treacherous, furious part of her hopes that it’s Frank Castle—the ghost of a friend that’s been haunting her for months.
What she gets, instead of Matt or Frank, is the voice of someone she never thought she would hear again.
“Well, hey Karen,” Todd Neiman, ex-boyfriend and cannon fodder of her oldest, most gruesome nightmares, purrs in her ear. “Long time no see.”
Then everything goes black.
—
Frank Castle has seen a lot of shit in his day, but nothing takes the cake like seeing a grown man shriek like a little girl when his thirteen year old trips and launches a cup of red cream soda directly at his bright yellow shirt.
“Sorry Dad!” Zach Lieberman cries, grimacing at the spreading stain.
Frank smothers a laugh behind his hand. It was the ugliest shirt he’s ever seen before the stain, some Hawaiian monstrosity with a headache inducing pattern, and he’s about 98% sure Sarah paid their son to ruin it permanently. Colluding his theory, Zach flashes Frank a grin and scurries off with a giggle.
“Aww,” David whines, plucking at the material. “I was going to wear this for the party.”
“He did you a favor,” Frank says, amused.
“Shut up,” David bemoans. “I really liked this one….ugh. I’ll change when we’re done. Help me with this, would you?”
They return to the task of setting up folding tables in the backyard and–unfortunately–their previous conversation.
“So why don’t you just invite her, Frank? We want to meet her, you want her to come, it’s a win-win,” David says for the millionth time, unfolding a tablecloth as Frank sets up the folding chairs. This conversation has been ongoing for weeks now, ever since David and Sarah started planning Zach’s birthday party. The guest list is frankly ridiculous for a preteen, and the Lieberman parents have been emphatic in their request that Frank invites Karen.
Karen, who he hasn’t spoken to in nearly half a year.
Frank groans. “Jesus, not this again.”
“Yes, this again . You’re being stupid.” Not many people can get away with calling the Punisher stupid to his face, but Frank only unfolds another chair with a grimace and doesn’t answer, prompting David to speak again. “There’s no reason not to invite her.”
“‘cept the fact she probably doesn’t want to see me,” Frank scoffs. Because it’s true. Six months ago, Karen Page offered him the world and more and he turned her down. At the time he was terrified–handcuffed to a bed, on the run, what could he possibly give her except hardship? He’d just get her caught up in more of his bullshit and because she doesn’t know when to quit, because she has no sense of self-preservation, it would get her hurt. He’d had to turn her down to keep her safe, even if it killed him.
But now…now he’s not Frank Castle. Not where it matters. He’s just some asshole named Pete Castiglione, who goes to his normal job and wears normal clothes and carries a normal, respectable number of weapons on his person (one gun, one knife). He’s someone that could give Karen more than clandestine meetings on bridges and flowers for more than just a smoke signal. And he’s ready to try for her, but it’s been six months . Even if he hadn’t turned her down so completely before, after so long he’s sure she’s moved on from the feelings she gave away so freely back in the hospital. Even if his have grown more and more every day.
“Don’t know until you try,” David says. “Look, you have to pick up the cake anyway-“
“I do?”
“— so just swing by and ask her if she wants to come. C’mon, what’s the harm?”
And that stops him in his tracks. Because there’s no harm, except his pride if she tells him to take a hike. She’s not in danger from anyone coming after him, not anymore. Which just leaves his own fear of rejection, and he’s gone up against worse than that on any given Tuesday.
Fuck.
Frank crosses his arms and then uncrosses them again. Taps his pant leg with his fingers. Grimaces. “I’ll pick up the cake.”
“And Karen.”
“And…I’ll think about it.”
David waves a hand. “What’s there to think about? I’ll text you the address for the cake. It’s just down the street from her place.”
Frank narrows his eyes.
David looks fucking ridiculous with the shirt and the stain, but he still smiles smugly. “What? I was curious.”
“You look like an asshole,” he mutters, petulant.
“Yeah, well, looking like one and being one are two different things and you’ve got the real estate capped on being one, buddy. Go get a girlfriend. Don’t forget the cake.”
—
An hour and a half later, Frank has been standing outside Karen’s building long enough that he starts to feel like he’s casing the joint. He switches the bouquet of flowers he picked up to his free hand and wipes his damp palm nervously. It’s ridiculous that he’s so nervous. He’s gone up against mob bosses and desert wars and government conspiracy and bratty teenagers on the run, but the idea of knocking on Karen’s front door is enough to make his windpipe close up and his shoulders crawl up to his ears. She has every right to tell him to fuck off and slam the door in his face, and that would be it. She’d be out of his life forever.
That’s scarier than anything he’s ever had to shoot at.
It’s only the thought that he’ll be late for the party that finally gets Frank moving. He takes the coward’s way, pushing every button other than hers until someone buzzes him in under the guise of having lost his keys, then makes his way up the stairs one by one. She’s on the fourth floor, he remembers. Apartment D7, right at the end of the hall. He’s there too fast, heart thumping painfully in his chest, and then he’s staring at her door.
Just knock.
Just knock.
Just fucking knock, Castle.
He heaves a sigh, trying to expel some of the nervous energy in his gut, and knocks.
There’s a long, swollen silence where all he can hear is the blood pounding in his skull. After a moment, footsteps approach and imagines her staring out the peephole at him. Countless months of no contact, then standing on her doormat with flowers. Again.
God, he really is an asshole.
“Karen,” he says, looking into the peephole. “Can we talk?”
The door opens just enough for the chain to go taut and instead of the woman he’s expecting, there’s a man scowling at him. He eyes Frank with distaste. “Can I help you?”
“Yeah, I—uh, is—is Karen home?”
Surprise colors his question. He wasn’t expecting—...but, Jesus, he should have. She’s the whole package. Of course she could already be seeing someone, already happy without him butting in to her life—
“There ain’t no Karen here, man. Whoever you’re looking for moved out. I just moved in.”
And then the door slams in his face.
Frank stares forward, bewildered. Evidently David’s info was wrong. She doesn’t live here anymore. Maybe he should take it as a sign. Maybe he should mind his own business, go back to the party and let her live her life without him darkening it.
It’s for the best. He turns and makes his way back downstairs, disappointment heavy in his boots. His car is where he left it down the block at a meter, bakery box on the passenger seat, and he simply looks at it through the window with his blood roaring in his ears. This is all his fault. He’s spent so much time avoiding Karen, avoiding everything she’s ever offered him, and now it’s too late. She’s moved on in every sense of the word, and he’s just a jerk with some flowers and a cake.
His phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out and answers David’s call.
“Hey. I’m heading back, got the cake.”
“Uh huh. Cool. Is Karen coming?”
Frank grimaces, pulling his keys from his pocket. “Ah, no.”
David makes a sympathetic noise. “Yikes. That bad, huh?”
“No, uh. She doesn’t live there anymore.”
“What?”
“I said—“
“No, no. What? That’s not possible.”
“What?” Frank furrows his brows. “Why?”
“Frank, I looked her up yesterday. I saw her get home from work on the cameras last night. She definitely still lives there. I mean, maybe she just didn’t answer, but–”
A trickle of ice water drips down his spine. He marks the gun on his hip, the blade in his boot. His brain begins to whirl, remembering the face of the man in the doorway. “Someone answered the door. He said she didn’t live there anymore.”
Stupid, stupid, stupid .
“Yeah, hang on. I’m looking.” There’s a clatter, a door slamming, the sound of keys typing. David mumbles under his breath. “Yeah, okay, yeah. Dirtball, blonde?”
“Yeah.”
“He went in last night. Uh…a few hours before she got home, it looks like. There’s no cameras in the lobby but the building across the street shows her coming home later. Hang on.” A pause. “Neither of them have left, man.”
Which means whoever is in Karen’s apartment is in there with her, and he doesn’t want anyone to interrupt.
“I gotta go.”
A calm settles into Frank’s mind; the calm that always overtakes him when he’s going into battle.Whoever the man in Karen’s apartment is, he’s not leaving it alive. Not if there’s any chance he’s been hurting her. He pockets his keys and strides back towards the building. A few more buttons are pressed until someone else lets him in, and then he’s ducking inside and drawing his gun as he ascends the stairs.
—
Karen wakes to the flush of a toilet and music playing, but keeps her eyes firmly closed as she tries to remember what the hell happened. She came home from work the night before, got a beer from the fridge and…and then everything is dark. There’s no way she got drunk enough to lose time with the six pack of Miller Lite in her fridge, but her mouth is dry and her head pounds. When she’s sure she won’t hurl up her last meal, she manages to squint open an eye to survey her surroundings. Still in her apartment, good. She’s sitting alone in the middle of her living room in one of her kitchen chairs with her back to the front door. The television is playing in the corner. Her wrists have been zip tied to the arms of the chair, and an experimental tug tells her that her ankles are much in the same way. Not so good. She can’t tell how long it’s been, but there’s sunlight coming through the blinds so it must be Saturday. She’s been unconscious all night at least, and she’s still in her nice blouse and flowing skirt from work. There’s a duffle bag on her couch that doesn’t belong to her.
She turns her head just in time to catch someone exiting her bathroom.
Todd.
Her throat constricts.
He looks awful. The last time she saw her ex-boyfriend, he was muscled and clean shaven. His hair was shorter and he was healthy and put together (or rather, as healthy as someone doing regular party drugs could be). He looked handsome, back then. Just the thought of him then is enough to make her breath catch. She was so stupidly in love with him. So trusting. And now…now he looks terrible. His blonde hair is long and greasy. His skin is sallow and there are dark circles under his eyes. He looks strung out and exhausted in his rumpled clothes, but worst of all is the wide grin he aims at her. It’s full of gloating malice, and it sends a shiver down her spine.
She once shot this man in the chest for beating the hell out of her brother, and now he’s here in New York. He’s here, and he has her tied her up in her own goddamn living room .
“Morning, sleepy head.”
She curls her toes at that familiar voice, the painful memories they produce, and pauses at the crinkle beneath her feet. A glance down shows that she’s been placed on top of opaque plastic that extends outwards and over the rest of the apartment around her. It looks like a scene from Dexter , and that makes panic white out any other thought in her head.
And then, just as she opens her mouth to scream, to bring anyone running, she realizes she can’t. There’s a gag in her mouth, secured tight.
Her heart flutters weakly. She’s fucked.
How? She wants to ask the man before her. It’s been a decade, how could you have found me? Are you going to kill me? What are you doing here?
Todd approaches, and her eyes are drawn to the knife in his hand. Large and ugly, it hangs by his leg in a casual grip. “Oh, you noticed that, huh?” He grins wider. “Don’t worry, I’m not using it yet. First, we’re going to play a game. Get to know each other since it’s been so long.”
Karen wonders if Daredevil will appear to magically save her again. This time, she may have run out of luck. In a million years, she never would have guessed something like this could happen, and there’s nothing she can do. There’s no one coming. She’s not friendly with her neighbors; Matt and Foggy were both busy, last she checked, and won’t even try to get ahold of her until after she’s supposed to show up to the office on Monday. By then, she fears it will be too late. By then, she’s terrified to think about what Todd will have done to her.
Panic is closing in the corners of her vision. She fights to stay conscious, fights to get her heartbeat under control. She’s been drugged and kidnapped before by Wesley. She got out of that, she’ll get out of this.
Todd comes closer, dragging the point of his knife over the fabric of her skirt lightly. “I’m going to ask a question. Nod or shake your head. Wrong answer, and I use this.”
She swallows past the lump in her throat.
“Got it?”
Karen nods.
He licks his lips, eyes wide and overbright. He looks like he’s on something now, and that doesn’t bode well. It’s been so long since they were using together, she has no idea what kind of drugs he would be on after all this time. Back then it was mostly just weed and a party drug mixed in for special occasions. Todd wanders to the television and turns up the volume. She assumes it’s to cover his talking, but something sinister tells her it’s more than that. It’s likely to cover any noises she makes. “Good. We’ll start easy. You remember me, don’t you?”
Nod.
He moves around the chair, dragging the blunt edge of the knife along her clothes. He’s trying to intimidate her, and she’s terrified enough that she doesn’t have to play along. “Bet it would be hard to forget me. You shot me, after all.”
It’s not posed as a question. She nods anyway. Maybe if she keeps him distracted enough, she can think of a plan. Get him to take out the gag, or untie her, something that would give her even a hint of a fighting chance.
“Good, that’s a little bonus point for you.”
He leans in and lowers his voice to a whisper. “Get enough bonus points and I’ll kill you a few seconds faster. How’s that sound?”
What a reward system. Karen flickers her eyes around the room, mind working furiously against the remnants of whatever he drugged her with. There’s no weapons in sight (except his knife) and even if there were, she would have no way of escaping. Getting out of the zip ties will take more time than she has, with Todd circling her like a hungry predator. Her best bet is playing along until he is confident enough to remove the gag, and then hopefully someone will be close enough to hear her scream before he finishes her off.
With this in mind, Karen refocuses on Todd and tries to keep herself calm.
—
An hour passes in which Todd asks benign, stupid questions as he eats her food and wanders around the apartment, making messes as he goes. She’s thankful that he seems more concerned with prying through her private life than hurting her (for now) but there’s still a small part of her that is heartbroken by the numerous beer bottles soaking rings into her handmade coffee table. It was from an art fair uptown, and it’s her nicest piece of furniture. Stop worrying about your fucking coffee table, her mind chides sharply, and start worrying about how to get yourself out of this.
She can hear the regular sounds of a Saturday in New York around them as he continues to talk: the cars on the street, her neighbors yelling, planes overhead. They all come to her in a vague, dreamy sort of way. As if coming through a thick bubble. The idea that she’s being held at knifepoint in the middle of the day while the world goes on around her is too baffling to think about. She knows she should be trying harder to escape, but what can she do? She can’t get out of the zip ties on her own, and with the gag she can’t convince him to let her go. She’s stuck, and senses her time is running out.
After some time she hears someone in the hall and decides this is it. It’s now or never. The gag is still firmly in her mouth but she screams past it as loud as she can, thrashing against her restraints in an attempt to make as much noise as possible. Todd’s grin widens, like he was waiting for her to try something like this, and then he plants a fist in her belly and the air leaves her in a stunted whoosh. Tears leak from her eyes and she strains forward against her bonds, pain lancing up through her body. There’s a knock at the door as she struggles to breathe.
“Nice,” he murmurs, grasping her by the chin. She doesn’t have the strength to lift her head, to jerk her face away, but she tries with an acid glare. He just chuckles. “There’s that Karen fire I remember. I thought you locked her up for good.”
“Fuck you,” she says through the gag, but it’s more a slur of mumbles.
Todd snorts, releasing her. “You make any noise, and I’ll kill them in front of you. Got it?”
Seething, Karen nods and watches as he moves towards the door. There’s a man on the other side, but the conversation is too quiet for her to catch. Maybe a neighbor. If it were anyone else–Matt, Foggy–they would know something was off. They would push through the door, help her. But it’s not them, because Todd shortly closes the door and checks the locks again, before turning and shooting her a grin full of hostility.
“Breaking hearts everywhere you go, huh, Kare?” he asks, striding back towards her and yanking her head back by her hair. He doesn’t give her any time to ponder that before he angles the knife at her bare throat. “Let’s have some fun. Want to know how I found you?”
Despite everything, despite the prick of the knifepoint and the trickle of blood leaking down to her blouse, Karen does. She blinks rapidly, unable to nod without cutting herself further. Todd releases her and moves towards a bag on the couch. From inside he pulls out a bag of fine white powder and shakes it in her direction.
“Want some?”
She hasn’t touched drugs since she left Vermont. She barely takes Aspirin, for Christ’s sake. The last thing she wants is to start on that path again after getting clean so long ago. In fact, she would rather he cut her with that ridiculous knife again than put whatever that shit is in her system. But if she says no, will he force it on her?
Karen swallows and keeps still, watching as he scoops some from the bag.
“You dad told me where to find you,” Todd tells her matter of factly, and then snorts the powder up his nose.
Whatever she thought was going to come out of his mouth, that isn’t it. Karen’s eyes widen, betrayal flashing through her. Paxton Page, her estranged father, sent this lunatic after her? What was he thinking? Why ? Even if they aren’t on speaking terms, he always hated Todd. And she can’t imagine that her father would want her dead.
Todd sniffs and rubs at his nose, blinking rapidly. He shoves the baggie in his pocket and refocuses on Karen. There must be an expression on her face he enjoys, because he brays out a loud laugh.
“Aw, hell. Weren’t expecting that, were you?” he asks. He crouches down in front of her, coming close. There’s a spot of powder on his nostril he missed. “Nope, good ol’ Paxton, drinking it up in the town watering hole like usual. Blubbering to anyone who can hear about his daughter in New York, writing for the paper. Too drunk to know who he’s even talking to.” Todd grins, expression wild and jittery. “After I found that out, it wasn’t so hard. You left the paper, but I can sound real professional on the phone. A real good guy, looking for her friend, that’s me. It was too easy tracking you down after that. You’ve been pretty busy here, huh? Been on the radio and everything.”
Her head is spinning and she’s struggling to stay calm, but if Karen knows anything, it’s that there she has only a few moments where the drugs haven’t kicked in to his system, where he’s close and his guard is down. And if she’s going to act, she needs to do it now. Karen judges the distance between them and before she can talk herself out of it, she snaps her head forward. The crack of their temples coming together is loud and painful enough to put stars in her vision. Todd falls backwards, yelping. Karen teeters in her chair before coming back onto all four legs. She blinks away the blooming ache in her head and struggles against her ties, taking as much advantage of the moment as she can.
Unfortunately, it’s not enough time.
Todd, fueled by rage and whatever is in that baggie of his, clabors to his feet and before she can react, he backhands her hard enough to snap her head to the side. She can taste blood, but all she can do is swallow it back due to the gag. Nausea rushes up to meet it.
“You fucking bitch,” he gasps. “ Fuck that hurt. You’re going to pay for that.”
She believes him, but the thing is…it was worth it. If her crazy ex-boyfriend is going to kill her in her own living room, he’s not going out unscathed. Karen leans back and fixes him with an exhausted glare, daring him to come close again.
Todd snatches his knife back up and points it at her. Before he can do anything else, there’s another loud knock at the door.
Maybe someone heard the cursing. Maybe the risk she took was actually worth it. Todd seems to think the same thing, because he gestures to her with his weapon threateningly, and then stalks back to the door.
—
Frank hears music playing, and past that the muffled cursing from the man inside. It’s nearly three in the afternoon now, and he’s got a couple options.
He can bust down the door, but that could cause Karen’s neighbors to investigate, and there’s no way he’s letting this motherfucker out of here alive so he’d rather not draw attention. He can break into a different apartment, then circle to the fire escape and get into Karen’s place that way. He can—...shit, he can knock again. It worked the first time.
Frank sheaths his pistol. He pulls as much misery as he can into his expression. It takes a moment, masking the burning fury, shoving it down deep, reigning in his urge to rage. He needs to look the part; after a few deep breaths, he knocks urgently.
The asshole doesn’t even stop the music. He comes close on thundering footsteps and yanks the door back open, scowling over the chain. There’s a growing welt on his forehead that Frank clocks immediately with a sense of pride. His girl is fighting back . “Jesus Christ, man, you again? I fucking told you—“
“Come on,” Franks pleads, lifting the bouquet in his hands. “You have to help me. I just gotta tell her I’m sorry. Could I just get the number of the landlord—see if they know where she is? Please.”
The man’s face screws up in disgust. “I said I don’t—“
He’s too slow to realize what’s happening when Frank plants his feet and shoves into the door. The chain breaks apart, door flying open, and the man sprawls across the carpet with a grunt of surprise.
Frank takes a step inside and freezes.
Past where the man is climbing to his feet, a few strides away, is Karen. She’s been tied to a chair in the middle of the room, sitting over plastic speckled with blood, and her eyes alight upon him with baffled amazement. With the tiniest bit of hope. She’s bruised, battered, but when he gives her a calm nod, her eyes light up in grim, relieved pleasure.
Frank looks back at the man before him. The large knife in his hand, the blood on his knuckles. Karen’s blood.
“You don’t know what you’re doing, you piece of shit,” the man says, grinning. He lists to the side, just a little, then straightens. He brandishes the knife. “That bitch’s cunt is about to get you killed.”
Frank isn’t entirely present for what happens next. He steps forward, dodging the knife swiping towards his neck. He grabs the man’s wrist, twisting sharply until the weapon drops, and spies a gun in his waistband. Within three movements he’s snapped the man’s wrist and has taken the gun from him, punching a fist into his face. The man gurgles in shock, falling to his knees as he alternates between cradling his wrist and his gushing nose. He wails once, and Karen watches as Frank grabs him by the hair—long, greasy—and lands another stunning blow to his jaw. The man rocks, eyes rolling up, and then collapses onto his side. The plastic crumples under him.
Frank kicks him lightly, waiting, but he stays down.
Instead of running to where Karen is watching him, he turns and closes the door gently. The chain has been ripped from the wall, and he makes a note to fix it later. For now, he listens hard at the door for anyone who may have heard the commotion, and upon hearing nothing he turns back around.
Everything inside him wants to stop halfway to her, wants to drop to a knee and take that knife to the unconscious man on the floor. He pushes that urge down and steps over him with the chant of her name echoing between his ears, and kneels before her instead.
“Hey,” he says softly, and then reaches up and pulls the gag from her mouth. She takes a few heaving gasps and curves forward, and then he’s pressing his forehead to hers tightly, eyes shutting in relief. “Jesus, Karen. Jesus Christ. Hey, you okay? You hurt?”
“Hi,” she warbles, forehead pressing hard to his. Like she’s telling herself he’s really there. Like she’s reassuring herself. Her voice is hoarse. “I’m okay.”
“I’m gonna get you out of this,” he tells her quickly. “How long—?”
“Last night,” she croaks.
Rage flairs once again and he smashes it under his heel. She doesn’t need his anger right now. He pulls back carefully. Exhaustion is carved into her face, but she watches as he pulls a knife from his boot and starts at the ties around her legs. Once her arms have been freed she hisses, moving stiffly to bring her shoulders rolling forward once more.
“I’ll be right back,” he tells her quietly. “You gonna pass out on me?”
She shakes her head, rubbing her wrists with a wince.
“Alright. Maybe, uh…maybe close your eyes for a second.”
For a moment, she doesn’t move. She simply watches him with a measure of tired calm, and he’s afraid she’ll tell him not to do what he has to do. That she’ll ask him to turn the fucker in, that she’ll want him to do the right thing. Then, mercifully, her eyes slip closed. The television is still playing some awful rap music. He stands and walks back over to the man on the floor and crouches down. With a quick jerk he ensures he won't be waking again, that he won't ever be able to hurt Karen again, and it cools some of the rage in his blood as the body drops back to the carpet. Karen doesn’t move, but he hears the quiet hitch of her sob. The sound pierces his chest as he realizes how much he needs to do.
But first, take care of her.
Frank’s never been good at comfort. He’s too brash, too meatheaded. His attempts to comfort and soothe are usually a little unorthodox. When Amy thought she killed someone, he did it for her. Took that on himself, so she wouldn’t have to.
With Karen, there’s nothing to take on. She needs comfort. She needs safety.
“Be right back,” he tells her, turning off the television, and then walks into the bathroom. The fucker went through her things–or at least, that’s what Frank imagines happened. Something about Karen says she doesn’t leave her bathroom in a state of disarray like this. He turns and starts to run a bath, throwing whatever nice smelling shower gel he can find into the water. Then he takes a moment to gently straighten her cosmetics, clearing the counter space. It’s not perfect, and he’s probably not putting things back where they go, but it’s good enough for now.
Next, food. He finds a sleeve of crackers in the pantry and brings it to her along with a glass of water. He goes to a knee before her once again. She opens her eyes at the sound of his boots on plastic and surveys the offering in his hands.
“I’m runnin’ you a bath,” he says quietly. “But you should eat something first.”
Her hands shake, but she takes the plate and cup. In moments the water is gone and she’s taken a few bites of the crackers, then hands them back wordlessly. He figures that’s good enough for now, then stands and offers her a hand. Her grip, when she takes it, is careful. Measured. The clotted blood no her neck bobs with her swallow.
In the bathroom, the soft lavender of her bath soap lingers in the humid air and the water running is loud in the silence. The surface of the water is patchy with bubbles. There’s a part of him that thinks she should be alone right now, that he should let her have some time to herself. For privacy. To regroup. The other part of him is digging in his heels at the thought of letting her out of his sight.
She senses his hesitation, turning back halfway from the tub. Whatever expression is one his face makes her speak. “You can stay.” A pause, then hesitantly: “Will you?”
He should deal with the body in the other room. He should call David. He should find her some real food and clean up the mess and fix the door. Instead, he nods. Because the truth is—he’s shaken. He’s practically vibrating out of his skin that he only happened upon this by accident. That had he been even the smallest bit more cowardly about his feelings for her, this shitbag would have—
“Stop,” she says, eyes darting between his. Knowing exactly where his mind has gone. “It’s over, Frank. I’m safe.”
He squeezes her hand, offering as much of a smile as he can. She’s right. It’s over, and she’s safe, and her palm is warm and soft against his. “C’mon, water’s gonna get cold. Need anything?”
“Bourbon’s above the kitchen sink. I could use some of that.” A hint of strained humor that has his heart thudding painfully. So strong, she’s so fucking strong .
Karen drops his hand and begins to unbutton her blouse. He takes that as his cue and returns to the living room. There’s still a body to deal with, and as much as he’ll regret it, Frank needs to call in a favor.
“Hey, Frank,” Curtis says in his ear, pleasantly surprised. “What’s up?”
“I need a favor,” he responds, and then fills him in as quickly as he can.
It’s asking a lot, but Curtis agrees to make his way to the apartment with promises of cleaning up, and lets Frank know he’ll pick food up on the way. Satisfied that everything will be handled, Frank retrieves the bottle of bourbon and two glasses, then knocks on the bathroom door.
“Come in.”
Karen is settled in the bathwater by the time he pushes the door open, but he keeps his eyes averted regardless. Even if she wants him to be here, it’s not permission to ogle her. Even as his heartbeat picks up, heat rising to his cheeks. When he holds out a glass to her, Karen takes it with a soft thank you. Damp fingers brush against his own, drawing his gaze, and she looks at him with an expression that is tenuously calm. It slows the rush of his blood, loosens the tension in his shoulders. He takes a steadying drink of the bourbon and lets it sear down his throat before he closes the door and sits with his back against it. With his legs straight, the toe of his boots press against the porcelain of the tub. It’s just enough space to breathe.
Karen doesn’t seem bothered by her lack of clothes. She takes a large gulp of the bourbon and closes her eyes against the sting of it. Then, her gaze turns back to him.
Tired, shaken, but curious.
“How did you know?”
He rolls the glass between his palms, eyes lowered. “I didn’t. Not, uh…not at first.”
“So why did you come?”
It feels like days away ago, now. He realizes he’s got his car parked at a meter and dismisses the thought. Dismisses the cake that’s likely melting on his passenger seat. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Frank.”
He lifts his gaze. “I came to see you.”
The words hang between them. She watches him with a renewed focus. “Why?”
His throat bobs. “I missed you.” He takes another drink of the bourbon, trying to think of a different topic. None appear. “Can we not….talk about this now?” Not when the bath water is pinking around her knees, the water lapping at her breasts, doing a poor job of washing away the blood on her collarbone from a small cut on her throat. Not when he was almost too late. Not when she could have died .
“I was the one tied up,” she says, soft but sharp. “I don’t think you get to ask that.”
And if he thought a near death experience would stop Karen Page from calling him on his bullshit, he should have known better. Christ knows they’ve been enough of these situations before, and she hasn’t balked once. Frank lets out a shuddering breath, setting aside his glass.
“Wash rag?”
She jerks her chin to the cabinet. Frank wets one of the clothes with warm water from the tap and then kneels beside the tub.
“This might sting,” he murmurs. “Tilt back.”
She does as asked, head tilting back to give him more access to the cut on her throat. He begins to wipe away the caked blood there, giving his hands something to focus on as he speaks. “Today’s David Lieberman’s kid’s birthday. He asked me to pick up the cake, told me to get my head out of my ass and come invite you. To the party. He’s been tellin’ me to for weeks.” He doesn’t look her in the eyes, though he can feel the weight of her stare. He dabs at the cut carefully. “Before in the hospital, you said…well, what you said. And I was scared. Uh, real scared. That you were gonna get hurt ‘cause of me. And then after, I thought—after everythin’— you wouldn’t want to see me. And I thought…” He struggles to find the words, chest tightening. “I thought it would be easier, stayin’ away. Instead of you tellin’ me to take a hike. And then I figured—I wanted to ask you if we could be...uh.”
It’s a tirade of gibberish. He’s sure he’s not making any damn sense, but his tongue feels too big for his mouth and the blood is pounding in his temples too loud. This isn’t what he came here to do, none of it. He wasn’t supposed to find her kidnapped in her own apartment, bruised and bloody. He wasn’t supposed to confess his feelings like this. He was supposed to invite her to a damn party . Her hand comes up to circle his wrist. His eyes lower to hers, finally, and he realizes he’s breathing raggedly.
“If we could be what?” she asks quietly.
“If we could be friends,” he says softly, finally, into the hush.
“You want to be my friend.” It’s cautious, the borderline of a question.
“I want a lot of things from you,” he admits, unable to look away from the red rimming her eyes. “But what I need is for you to be safe. And you weren’t. Even with me gone, you weren’t. That bastard—…Karen, he could have killed you.”
Her eyes darken, some of the light in them winking out. “His name was Todd.”
He rocks back on his heels, breath leaving in a gut punch. “You knew him?”
She nods, resting her head back against the shower wall. “He was my ex. You don’t know this but I wasn’t a good person back where I grew up. Todd and I sold drugs together.” Her breath hitches. “I was nineteen and high all the time, sneaking out and drinking and getting other people high. You know, at a party, some kid overdosed on some pills we— I — sold him? No one knew, no one but Todd, and I got away with killing that kid.”
“Karen—“
“Please,” she interrupts, her voice a whisper. “Let me finish.”
He plants himself on the tile and waits.
She inhales sharply. “My brother, Kevin, applied to colleges for me. He knew Todd wasn’t any good. He knew I was throwing my life away, and he wanted me to get a degree. He wanted me to get out . I was so pissed at him, Frank. This—this kid , applying to school for me. Like he knew better. I went out, got high with Todd. We fucked in his truck, right outside his supplier’s house. We went back to his trailer, and all I could think about was how—how angry I was. I was stoned and angry and when we pulled up, the whole thing was on fire. Kevin was standing there and he was so fucking brave , Frank. He stood there and when Todd hit him he just went down. I—“
She takes an unsteady breath, eyes glassy as she stares at the bathwater. After a moment, she continues.
“Todd was beating him with a tire iron. He was going to kill him. So I shot him. I got Kevin in the car, he couldn’t drive—he couldn’t even see, his eyes were swollen shut—and I was so high that I…I don’t know what happened. The car flipped. Kevin died. Todd was still in the hospital when I left town.” She pauses. “I thought I was pregnant. Maybe the stress or something, but my period was late. I was so paranoid he knew, that he was going to come find me and take it from me, or hurt us both. I didn’t sleep for weeks, even after the test was negative.”
She goes silent, drawing her knees up to her chest. The water laps quietly against the side of the tub. When he’s sure she’s done speaking, he ducks his head to meet her gaze. Watery, red rimmed, miserable. She looks at him like she’s expecting a punishment, like she is waiting for him to get up and leave.
“I killed him, Frank,” she croaks. “He’s dead because of me.”
“No,” he tells her, voice rough. “Whatever happened back then. Whatever you thought about yourself, about what happened, doesn’t make you a bad person. You were a kid, you made a mistake. No one—hey, look at me— no one , can avoid makin’ mistakes. They're built into our goddamn DNA. You tried to do the right thing, and shit went sideways.”
And everything clicks. He realizes how similar they are. The deaths, the violence, the guilt. It has followed them both around like miasma, poisoning everything. It’s why she stepped over that line, the first time they met. It’s why he keeps coming back to her. They’re so goddamn similar.
His palm is wrapped around the side of her neck. He can feel her pulse rabbiting in her throat. “And,” he says, finally, so softly his voice feels like mere vibration, “I know it ain’t much to stop you from hurting, and hell, maybe this isn’t the right time, but none of those mistakes can stop me from loving you now. You understand me? None of it.”
Her lips part in surprise, eyes widening. A tear escapes. “You love me?”
“It ain’t even a question, sweetheart.” He brushes a thumb over her skin, eyes returning to the shallow cut on her neck. A thought strikes him. “Is there anybody else gonna be comin’ after you? He mention anyone else?” She shakes her head, still watching him with a wide eyed wonder that makes his cheeks flush. “Alright. I gotta make a phone call. Gonna be okay for a sec?”
She nods, dazed, and reaches up to press at her scalp. “I’m going to take a shower.”
He nods, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Unable to help himself. Then he’s on his feet and out the door, closing it behind him to the sound of the tub slowly draining.
“I thought you were dead!” David shouts into his ear the moment he picks up. “What the hell happened?”
Frank holds the phone away with a grimace and doesn’t return it until the shouting has ended. “Ex boyfriend of hers. He’s taken care of. But uh, I’m not gonna make the party. She’s…not doing too good. Don’t wanna leave her.”
“Taken care of,” David sighs. “Does that mean what I think it does?”
Frank doesn’t answer that question, saying instead, “Tell the kid I’m sorry about the cake.”
“Oh, we already had a cake.”
He blinks. “What?”
“Yeah, I made it up. I had you pick up a cake and figured you wouldn’t be coming back. I didn’t think the reason was going to be so…unsexy…though.”
“Lieberman,” Frank groans, rubbing his face. “Jesus Christ.”
David’s voice softens, serious. “Do you guys need anything?”
“Nah,” he mutters. “Thanks, David.”
“For?”
“You fuckin’ know what.”
“Oh. That,” David responds, lightly. “You’re welcome.”
Frank is just about to hang up when David says, “I’m glad you got there in time.”
“Yeah,” Franks says, throat tight. “Me too.”
—
Clean up doesn’t take as long as Frank imagined, thanks to Todd’s plastic. In fact, by the time Karen exits her bedroom in soft looking pajamas, the place is put back to normal and Curtis is gone. Frank is halfway through spooning food onto plates when he hears her door and he drops everything to meet her in the living room. She’s standing in the doorway, staring around in bewilderment.
“How?”
“Had a little help,” Frank admits. “Asked Curtis. He’s gone to uh…deal with the mess.”
Putting her ex-boyfriend’s body somewhere no one will find him, he means. Frank leaves this bit out and surveys her carefully. “How are you feelin’?”
She presses gentle fingers to her cheek, prodding at the bruised skin there. “I’m okay. I’m glad you’re here.”
Despite himself, Frank feels a warmth nestle up right inside his chest. He comes closer, but keeps his hands firmly to himself. “Me too. You hungry?”
Her expression brightens infinitesimally. “God, I’m starving.”
He leads her into the kitchen, making her a plate of the food Curtis left. As he does, he shoots her a look.
“Want me to put you up for a few days? Get you outta here?”
Karen accepts the plate gratefully, but doesn’t lift her fork. She stares into the clean living room, a shadow passing over her expression. “No. I won't let him take anything else from me. This is my home.”
Frank shoots a concerned look at the other room. He wonders if she’ll relive those moments, staying here. Walking past the same spot over and over.
“Frank,” she says softly. Her hand finds his on the table. “This is my life. I’m alive, thanks to you. And I want…I want to make new memories here. He’s taken so much from me already. He won’t take anything else.”
Something in her tone catches his attention. He plants his hands on the counter to stop himself from doing something stupid. With his declaration from earlier out in the open (and the fact that she hasn’t turned him out on his ass for it) there’s an ache sitting high and bright on his chest. He wants to touch her, taste her, have her close and keep her there. For now, he’ll keep his distance. He still doesn’t know everything that happened in that room, and he won’t touch her until she asks him to. “Yeah, okay.”
He sneaks a glance at her as she moves closer. Her hair is still wet from the shower and her cheeks are flushed with a healthy glow, even past the bruises. The scent of lavender fills the air between them. She comes towards him as if she’s scared to move too quickly, and at the first point of contact—her fingers, trailing over the back of his hand and up towards his shoulder—a shiver breaks out over his skin.
“Will you help me?” she asks softly.
It takes a moment for the words to register past the buzzing in his ears. There’s a shockwave rushing from where the tips of her fingers rest throughout his body. “Help?” he finally asks, as if coming out of a long sleep.
“Help me make new memories,” she says, smiling.
Whatever you want , he wants to say. I’ll do anything you want me to. Anything.
“What, you thinkin’ Twister or—,” is what comes out instead, half a joke and half an attempt at self-grounding, and the sound has barely left his lips before she’s swallowed it up. Her mouth is soft and unhurried against his, and she guides one of his hands off the cool countertop to the sweet curve of her hip, caging her against the kitchen island. The apartment is suspended in a quiet hush, other than the sound of her soft breathing and the blood rushing in his ears. His thoughts oscillate between disbelief that this is truly happening — is he really, actually kissing Karen Page right now, hours after finding her beaten in her own living room?— and a simple, warm hum of eager relief. Relief that she’s here, safe with him. He chooses to settle on the latter, and then it’s over too soon.
“I love you, too,” she tells him quietly when they separate, hand over his heart. It’s beating so quickly he’s sure that she can feel it, but Frank doesn’t move away. He’s done moving away from her. “In case it needs to be said.”
“I could stand to hear it again,” he murmurs, eclipsing her hand with his.
Karen only smiles.
–
When Karen wakes the next morning, it’s to the smell of food and soft sunshine coming through her bedroom window. She squints an eye open and notes the opposite side of the bed is empty, although the duvet has been folded back.
She sits up and stretches, shoulders still sore from being tied up for so long. She was lucky with Todd. Lucky that Frank showed up when he did, lucky that Todd was too concerned with intimidating her than getting some kind of revenge. It bought her enough time.
And now Frank…
She smiles, heartbeat picking up at the thought of him. He loves her. He loves her, and he stayed the night, holding her as they talked. As she fell asleep to the rumble of his voice. And he stayed throughout the morning, if the smell of coffee and food is anything to go by.
A week ago, she thought she would never see him again. She was doing her best to move on, shoving her feelings for him as deep as she could, trying to protect herself from them. A week ago she was convincing herself she wanted to be single. And although they didn’t do anything more than hold one another and talk last night, she can’t imagine letting him walk out of her life again. Nor does she expect him to.
Karen gets out of bed and makes her way down the hall, and what she finds in the living room nearly makes her chest crack open with affection.
There, crouched by her coffee table, is Frank. He’s got several cleaning products littered around him, a wash rag in hand, and he’s working at the water rings left by Todd’s beer bottles. He notes her entrance and straightens, smiling. His eyes crinkle when he smiles. She forgot about that.
“Mornin’,” he greets. “I found a way to get these out. Found an article last night, when you went to sleep.”
She makes her way over and peers down at the coffee table, and sure enough–most of the rings are gone. The sight makes her strangely emotional, and Frank notes this with a worried frown. He glances between her and the table.
“I uh, thought you’d want them out. Is that–wrong? Shit, Karen, I’m sorry, I–”
“No,” she says quickly, and throws her arms around him. “No, it’s perfect. Thank you.”
“It’s nothin’,” she murmurs into her shoulder, holding her to him. He squeezes lightly. “You hungry? I made some breakfast. Coffee’s ready, too.”
And while Todd may have given her plenty of material for new, horrible nightmares…standing in the middle of her sunlight filled living room as the man she loves offers her breakfast, they seem incredibly far away.