After he started out on his quest for vengeance, it hadn’t taken long for Frank to make a name for himself. It hadn’t taken long for the police to realize that it wasn’t an army taking out the gangs in Hell’s Kitchen, hadn’t taken them long to learn that it was a single man. They hadn’t known his reason then, hadn’t known what drove him to do what he did. They hadn’t even known his name. That was how he’d gotten stuck with the Punisher bullshit, how he’d gotten pegged with some goddamn vigilante moniker he’d never wanted. Back then, pretty much everyone had been afraid of him. It didn’t change when he was caught, didn’t go away when he was a man beaten half to death and handcuffed to a hospital bed. The nurses had been skittish every time they came into his room, the doctors had stayed a good three feet away from his bed unless they actually needed something from him, the guard stationed outside his door always had one finger on the trigger. Everyone who came into that room was afraid of Frank except Karen. Karen, she’d been inside his house. She’d seen what made him who he was, looked through his things to understand what he’d lost. She’d spoken to him like a person, like he was a human being instead of a caged animal. Frank never quite knew how to react to that, didn’t know how to feel anything but grateful. It was the first thing other than anger that he’d felt in such a long time that he almost didn’t know how to handle it.
He was still grateful now, still thinking of how much he owed her. Murdock was the one who dragged him out of the Irish’s hideout, the one who’d called an ambulance for him and refused to let him bleed out in that graveyard, but Karen was the person who’d saved him. She was the first one who’d ever seen Frank Castle through the Punisher, and that was exactly why he couldn’t kiss her now. He owed her too much to drag her down with him, no matter how much he wanted to. Karen deserved the world, and Frank was too broken to give it to her. “No?” He repeated the word softly, mouth still forming around it when her lips touched his. A better man would have pulled away, would have let her go, but fuck, Frank didn’t know how. He leaned in to the kiss, putting a hand on her waist and holding her as close as he could. The first time he’d kissed Maria, it was like jumping in a pool on the first day of summer. Cold, heart-stopping, with that brief moment of terror dating back to prehistoric times, the fear you might drown. Karen, though… Karen was all heat, like smoke in his lungs. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t pull away. When she finally pulled back, he blinked, swallowing. “That was more than okay,” he said, a little breathlessly. She’d knocked the wind right out of him with it, he realized. "Did you… uh, did you mean that?” It was almost painful, offering her the out, but he knew it was the right thing to do. If she wanted to take it back, he’d let her. It’d kill him, but he’d let her.
Her smile was goddamn contagious, and Frank couldn’t help but let his widen at the sight of it. Karen had a way of doing that, a talent for making him smile no matter how heavy the weight in his chest felt. “I think so,” he agreed, selfishly loving the idea of speaking to her more often, of hearing from her on a daily basis. What they had now was good, but it didn’t feel like enough. He wanted most with her, even knowing he didn’t deserve it. She didn’t speak as he talked about his dad, didn’t interrupt or say a word until he was finished. He looked up at her with the ghost of a smile on his face, raising a brow. “I think you’re just about the only person that thinks that,” he told her quietly. Frank knew he wasn’t a good man, and he’d made peace with it. When she spoke, he looked over, a little surprised at the confession. “I’m sorry,” he said gently, reaching down to take her hand carefully. After he woke up in the hospital with a row of tombstones instead of a family, he’d learned that there was a hell of a difference between pity and sympathy. Pity did little more than piss him off, and he knew Karen would feel similarly. “You figure it out? What happened to him?” It explained her need for the truth, explained why she chased it so adamantly. She needed the truth for her brother, for Frank’s family, for everyone who’d ever been forgotten by the people who were meant to look out for them. He snorted as she spoke again, shaking his head. “You got jokes, huh? You funny now?” There was a teasing lilt to his tone, something he seemed to save exclusively for Karen. “Those dogs smell all right, considering.” Not much he could do to wash them living in a warehouse, after all. “You think he just took over?” Frank’s brow furrowed at the possibility. “Who gave it to him? Who has that kind of power? And why didn’t anyone realize it?”
Truthfully, Karen had never entirely known what fuelled her to look deeper into the Punisher case. She had suspicions, but introspection was difficult, and the choices she made leading up to entering Frank’s home had been reckless. When she first negotiated to peek at his files, she risked angering the DA, affecting Foggy and Matt in the process. Unfortunately, that hadn’t gone well, and it definitely hadn’t been safe. After she witnessed the sheer injustice that she had found regarding Frank’s injuries and broke into his home, she wasn’t entirely sure what kind of man the Punisher was, although he had spared her life. Perhaps what fuelled her was as simple as that: finding justice, seeking the truth, but Karen understood herself far better than to completely believe that. Karen’s motives were honourable, but only to an extent. Frank losing his family and battling for answers and ensuring no one else lost what he had reminded her of herself years ago, chasing every single lead in Kevin’s death that she possibly could. His obsession mirrored her own, albeit far more violently, and the recognition had helped Karen defy the odds and fight for Frank Castle when no one else would. He was human, he deserved sympathy if no one was capable of empathy.
Loss and obsession were dangerous things to bond over, but rather fuel each other’s unhealthiness, Karen and Frank supported each other. They realized who the other person was beneath their disguises and guards and they were battling the odds, attempting to find justice that no longer existed in either of their circumstances. The law ignored Karen’s case entirely and corruption had disgustingly been eradicated the evidence in Frank’s case. Together, they could find peace, Karen hoped, although she was more than aware that Frank would most likely never settle. Where Karen had every intention of working through the trauma she had repressed, Frank seemed determined to remember his family indefinitely. It was lonely, it was heartbreaking, but Karen rarely felt so intensely about someone — especially someone honest and respectful — and she had every intention of being with him if possible, regardless of how short their relationship would be. When Frank kissed her back, Karen wasn’t at all surprised. Their feelings were obviously mutual, neither had bothered disguising it, and kissing Frank reminded Karen of life outside her pursuit for truth. Her mind had been so consumed with finding answers about the Castle, about President Doom, and about Kevin that she had never once considered the connections she was missing out on. It was breathless, it was wonderful, and in the end, it would only lead to loneliness. She cared for a man that would never surrender memories of the family he had lost. “Good,” Karen replied, ignoring her doubts. “I meant that and before you try to inform me it’s a terrible idea, I already know and I don’t care.” Strangely, her words reminded her of Matt when he had warned her. Frank most likely wouldn’t, he understood that Karen made her own choices, thank god. “If you had any intention of warning me, that is,” she added.
Frank wanting to hear from her on a daily basis was undeniably nice and Karen couldn’t help but enjoy the knowledge. He was aloof, difficult to justify contacting often, but if Frank wanted it, Karen could easily comply. “I’ll text you tomorrow morning then,” she replied. Idly, Karen wondered how their relationship would change the more they spoke, the closer they got, even though it was impossible. Frank was legally dead and if he weren’t, he was a wanted fugitive. Anything that could possibly happen between them would have to remain hidden and that was a tragedy she would have to accept. “Thank god you don’t seem to care about many people’s opinions,” Karen replied seriously. Frank had made it clear that he cared very little for what other people thought, but that he did find Karen’s opinion important. She genuinely believed that he was a good man given a terrible hand, and the more she got to know Frank, the more that opinion solidified. When Frank took her hand, offering an apology, Karen silently squeezed his hand in reply. It wasn’t sympathy, but she had heard countless apologies in Fagan Corners and had no interest in them continuing. What Karen wanted was to discover why her brother had been killed and why law enforcement had never looked deeply enough to find evidence about how and who was behind it. Frank of all people would understand that. “No, I never could,” she admitted quietly, sounding pained. “All the leads I found went nowhere and eventually, the cops began talking to me. I still continued, but my parents had a mental breakdown and I agreed to stop. That’s when I moved here,” Karen explained. It was a difficult confession, she was a relentless woman, but it was the truth. Lying to Frank was never something she intended to do, though a lie would be much easier to say. “I’ve always been funny,” Karen replied with a snicker. Frank’s teasing was seemingly reserved solely for her and it was something she enjoyed. “You should bring them by here so I can bathe them properly,” Karen replied, obviously disagreeing with his claim. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe the government that’s in New York thought he was the only person capable?”
