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these heavy words, your open heart

summary

“You told me once that I was honest. That I don’t lie to you. But the hospital—you asked me to start over, and I said I didn’t want that.”

Karen sucks in a breath. Frank’s eyes are still on her, wide and bright. It’s the most vulnerable she’s ever seen him look.

“I lied,” he says.

chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four

“Don’t do that,” Curt says. “Don’t put this on her. She’s a grown-ass woman, she can make her own decisions. This is about you. What do you want?”

For as long as Frank can remember, the answer was this—to make those responsible for his suffering pay. He never thought beyond that. The city needed a punisher, so that’s what he became.

But now—he thinks about the first time he met Karen, handcuffed to a hospital bed, how she shoved the photo of his family in his face and told him they both wanted the same thing. He knew right then that she was different. She was the first person who saw him, and not a pile of crime-scene photos, or a dead family. Not a monster. She saw him.

“I want to be with her,” Frank says, and the confession leaves him feeling lighter than he has in years.

Curt smiles wide. “Then go get her, man.”

Frank spends the next day and a half in a daze. His reunion with Karen feels like a dream, a kaleidoscope of moments he replays over and over in his head like he’s afraid he’ll lose them if he doesn’t. He expected her to be angry—hell, he would’ve deserved it—and instead she held his hand, told him he was worth more than a life of punishment and war. Frank knows he sure as shit isn’t, he knows that—but the thing is, when Karen was saying it, he believed her. As long as he’s known her, she’s always had the uncanny ability to look at someone, truly look at them, peel all the bullshit away until what’s left is what’s real.

But this—this is what’s real: He thinks about his last words to her at the hospital, how callously he’d pushed her aside, and he feels sick to his core. The usual excuses he makes for himself—I was protecting her, I was protecting myself—fall away, until all that’s left is shame. He hurt her, and meant to. He did that.

“So you were an asshole,” Curt says the next time they meet for lunch. “Wasn’t the first time, probably won’t be the last.”

“That your expert opinion, Dr. Phil?” Frank snarks, swiping a hand over his jaw to hide his smile.

Curt smirks at him over his french dip. “Deflection. Classic. Look, Frank—self-awareness is half the battle. You know you messed up. What matters now is how you choose to fix it.”

“Yeah? What if it can’t be fixed?”

Curt stares at him for a moment. “Nah,” he finally says, shaking his head, “nah, man, I’m not buying it. That sounds like an excuse to me, an easy way out. The Frank Castle I knew wasn’t a chickenshit, but hey, first time for everything, I guess—”

Frank shakes his head. “Unbelievable, man.”

“Hey, you brought it up,” Curt says. “I’m just here for the food.”

They eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Frank polishes off his sandwich and orders a second cup of coffee, trying his best to ignore the swell of gratitude rising in his chest. He and Curt take the piss out of each other, but the man is family. He’s always been there, always had Frank’s back when others wouldn’t. Even before he hung up the vest, Frank knew that Curt’s was the first bridge he needed to mend.

It’s not just Curt, though. Everyone he’s reached out to—David and Sarah, Madani, the kid, Karen—they’ve all taken him back, and it knocks the wind out of him each time. Their kindness, their willingness to forgive—it’s staggering. It’s more than he deserves.

He says as much to Curt, who laughs in between bites of his potato salad.

“You know, for a smart guy, you’re pretty stupid, Frank. You’ve got people who care about you here, and you’re trying to—what, balance the scales? That’s not how friendship works, brother. You don’t keep score.”

Frank grips his coffee cup to keep his fingers still. “So, what—it’s all good, now? Everything I’ve done, all the shit I’ve put you through—boom, forgiven, just like that?”

“It’s not all about you, Frank,” Curt says. “No one but you gives two shits about what you think you deserve. That’s not your call. It’s mine, and Karen’s, and anyone else who decides to make the same call. We chose to give you another shot.”

Frank swigs his coffee, more to hide his face than anything. Bastard’s too damn good at his job.

“You know, I met her,” Curt says, pushing back from the table slightly.

Frank’s heart kicks. “Who—Karen?”

“Yep. She reached out to talk to me about all the shit that’s been going down at the VA office. I didn’t put two and two together until later—looked up some of her other articles, and that’s when I recognized the name.” He fixes Frank with a knowing stare. “She’s one hell of a reporter. I can see why you like her.”

“Christ’s sake, Curt, we in high school again?”

“I don’t know, man, you tell me.”

Frank turns his words over in his head before responding. “After I lost Maria—that was it, you know? She was everything—I never thought about anyone else. Didn’t want to. And now—it feels like part of me’s buried in the ground with her and the other part’s sitting right here. I don’t know what to do with that, Curt.”

“You said it yourself—this is you, now. This is how it is. And Karen has her own shit, like we all do. We’re all just pieces, Frank. That’s all life is. You just gotta figure out how your pieces fit with hers.”

Frank snorts. “You come up with that yourself?”

“Swiped it from a book I’m reading. Pretty good, right? Just the right amount of bullshit.” Curt leans forward, elbows on the table. “It’s simple, Frank—do you want to be with Karen or not?”

“I—” Frank sputters.

“C’mon, man, answer the question.”

“What do you—” Frank’s jaw clenches, and he swallows hard before continuing. “What do you want me to say, Curt? What about what Karen wants? You think she wants—this? All my baggage and bullshit, how is that fair to her—”

“Don’t do that,” Curt says. “Don’t put this on her. She’s a grown-ass woman, she can make her own decisions. This is about you. What do you want?”

For as long as Frank can remember, the answer was this—to make those responsible for his suffering pay. He never thought beyond that. The city needed a punisher, so that’s what he became.

But now—he thinks about the first time he met Karen, handcuffed to a hospital bed, how she shoved the photo of his family in his face and told him they both wanted the same thing. He knew right then that she was different. She was the first person who saw him, and not a pile of crime-scene photos, or a dead family. Not a monster. She saw him.

“I want to be with her,” Frank says, and the confession leaves him feeling lighter than he has in years.

Curt smiles wide. “Then go get her, man.”

.

He calls her on his way home. It rings three or four times before she picks up, her voice light and warm even over the phone.

“Hi, Frank.”

His stomach twists. “Hey. Didn’t think you’d recognize the number.”

“You’re in my phone as Pete. I figured I’d put you in my contacts now that you have a real cell.”

Frank grins. “Yeah, guess it was about time for me to graduate from the burners.”

“About time,” she agrees, and he thinks he can her the smile in her voice.

“Hey,” he says, “I won’t keep you, but—are you free tonight?”

“Oh, tonight? Um—” she pauses. “Foggy invited me to a New Year’s party, but I was kind of on the fence about going. I can definitely get out of it.”

Embarrassment surges through him, hot and fast. Since losing his family, he hasn’t paid much attention to holidays—this time of year just dredges up painful memories, things he’d much rather stay buried. He didn’t even realize that today was New Year’s Eve. Of course Karen has plans—she has a life, friends, a constellation of things that don’t involve him.

“Frank?” Karen’s voice pulls him from his thoughts. “You still there?”

“Yeah,” he says, “yeah, I’m here. Listen, if you’re busy, that’s fine. I don’t want to pull you away from anything—”

“Trust me, you’d be doing me a favor. I love Foggy and Marci, but their parties can be over-the-top. Like I said, I was already thinking about not going. I’ll just tell Foggy I’m coming down with something. He’s a huge germaphobe.”

Frank’s clutching the phone so hard to his ear that his fingers are starting to ache. “If you’re sure—”

“More than sure. What did you have in mind?”

.

He shows up at Karen’s place a little after eight. He feels more than a little conspicuous walking down the length of her hallway—what if her suspicious neighbor is home?—but all of that dissolves as soon as Karen opens her door.

“Any luck?” she says.

He hefts a brown paper sack. “That Thai place on 7th was open. I also brought booze.”

“In that case—” Karen swings the door wide, smiling.

Her apartment is exactly the same. Maybe a bit more lived in, but that’s good. He pictures his own place, sparsely furnished but functional, and wonders what Karen would think of it.

“Bottle opener’s on the counter,” she says, closing the door shut behind him and moving towards the kitchen. She says it so casually, like this isn’t only the second time he’s ever been in her apartment. It stirs something up in his gut.

He opens the beers while Karen digs into the takeout bag. They settle onto her couch to eat, and she turns the TV on, flipping through the channels until she gets to the live broadcast of the ball drop.

“I know it’s stupid,” she says, hitting the mute button, “but we always used to watch it when I was growing up. Just one of those family traditions I can’t seem to shake.”

He’s not sure what to say to that. Even though he’s known her for a while, Frank still feels like he doesn’t really—know her. She knows his story, got down in the guts of it, everything that happened to him and his family. But he’s never asked her about hers. Not once.

“Is your family in the city?” he asks, and instantly knows he’s said the wrong thing. Her face darkens, eyes darting to her hands.

“No,” she says quietly. “My dad’s back in Vermont. That’s where I grew up. I came to New York after my brother died.”

Frank feels the breath swoop from his lungs, like he’s been kicked in the chest. All this time—all this time he’s been dragging his ghosts around, leaning on her for support, unloading all of his shit onto her, and he never considered she might have ghosts of her own. He remembers standing by the water with her, the ache in her voice when she told him that life is just people fighting not to be alone. She hadn’t just been talking about him.

Their conversation in the hospital echoes in his ears—What if there’s a better way, what if you and I figure it out together? You could choose to love someone else, instead of another war.

I don’t want that.

For a second, just a second, Frank lets the shame wash over him like the tide, all-consuming. He lets himself drown in it.

You know you messed up, Frank. What matters now is how you choose to fix it.

“Karen, hey—” he shifts so he’s facing her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know—”

“I never told you,” she says softly.

“I never asked,” he corrects.

“Frank—”

“No, Karen—” he sets his beer on the coffee table and gathers her hands in his. “You’ve been in my corner from the beginning, you’ve been there with me through—all of it. I was so wrapped up in my own shit, I never asked you about yours. I’m sorry.”

Karen squeezes his hands. “I appreciate that. But we were in each other’s corners, Frank. You saved my life—twice. That’s not nothing.”

“Still. I never asked.”

She sighs. “What do you want to know? I can’t say my life story makes for very good holiday conversation—”

“Anything,” he says. “Or nothing, whatever you want. Either way, I’m here.”

.

They eat their takeout, and Karen talks. She tells him what it was like growing up in Vermont, how easy everything was before her mom got sick, then the diner, and her dad losing himself in it. She talks about the first time she used, skipping class with her boyfriend at the time to do a line under the bleachers.

There’s so much he wants to ask, but he lets her talk without interrupting. The picture she’s painting is helping to fill in some gaps, like puzzle pieces slotting together. He never doubted who she was at her core, strong and stubborn and unflinchingly fearless—now he knows why.

When she tells him about Kevin, her voice changes. He was an honor roll student, he taught himself to play guitar, he was the only one at the diner who could make the burgers taste like something other than cardboard—there’s sadness there beneath the surface, but it’s not bitter, not like when she spoke about her dad. All Frank can hear is a sister who misses her brother.

They’re both on their third beer by the time Karen gets to the accident.

“I was high,” she says, her voice flat. “And I’d been drinking. I flipped the car. I killed him.”

Frank’s heart is in his throat. He wants to reach out and hold her, take all the hurt and anguish that’s radiating off her and ball it up tight, absorb it from her skin like blood from a wound. He’s not sure he trusts himself to speak, but he forces the words out anyways. “You were a kid, Karen.”

She blinks. “I killed him. God, Frank—” she sinks her fingers into her hair, hands bracketing her face. “I sometimes think I’ve come to terms with it, but I haven’t. Shit like that—you’re not supposed to come back from it. You’re supposed to live with it.”

“Look, I get it,” he says. “I do. I’d rather live with the pain than work through it. Because I don’t deserve that, right? I don’t deserve to heal and move on. But—a friend told me recently that it’s not up to us to decide what we deserve. Life’s a shitstorm, yeah? Make a mess, clean it up—that’s all you can do.” He gives her arm a gentle squeeze. “It doesn’t define who you are, Karen. It doesn’t.”

Karen smiles sadly. “I’d like to believe that. I really would.” She stares at the TV for a few moments, the light from the screen flickering across her face. Then she shakes her head a little and turns to look at him. “So, that’s me. I’ve never really talked about all of that before. I mean, there are people who know bits and pieces, but—you’re the first to get the extended version. Thanks for listening, Frank.”

“Thanks for trusting me to,” he replies.

Karen’s mouth twists into a smirk. “Well, that got heavy. I’m sure this is exactly what you had in mind when you asked if I was free tonight.”

The pressure in his chest eases a bit. “What, reliving trauma on a first date? Yeah, definitely. I know how to show a woman a good time.”

Karen quirks an eyebrow. “A date, huh?”

Frank’s cheeks flush with a warmth that has nothing to do with his drink, but Karen just laughs. “I’m messing with you,” she says. “But technically, the coffee house was our first date.”

Frank feels his mouth tilt into a smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Coffee, a public place, neither one of us was injured or bleeding—sounds like a date to me.”

There’s something loosening up in his chest, something buoyant and warm. Yeah, maybe it’s the two and a half beers, but he doesn’t think so. This feels like something else.

“Wait—” Karen’s eyes narrow, glancing at something above his head—the clock, he registers, as he follows her gaze. “Wow, it’s midnight already? How long have we been talking?”

He was thinking the same thing. It feels like he just got here.

Karen’s head swivels back to the TV—but the ball has already dropped. The camera is panning over the crowd, confetti and streamers and people wearing oversized 2020 glasses. “We missed it,” she says, but she doesn’t sound disappointed. “That’s okay, I have a better idea. Follow me.”

She leads him up to her building’s roof. It’s chilly, but she’d snagged the blanket from her couch—she wraps it around her shoulders now, staring out at the city. The sound of cheap firecrackers being set off hits them from every direction, and Frank can see some kids waving sparklers in the street.

“Hey,” he says, and Karen looks at him. “Sorry again for pulling you away from your friends tonight. Nelson, he’s—he’s a good guy. Underneath all that corporate lawyer bullshit, I mean. Seems like a good friend.”

“He is.” Karen angles towards him. “I’m happy here, though.”

“What, freezing your ass off?”

She rolls her eyes, and Frank grins. He knows what she actually means. She’s not talking about not her apartment, or the rooftop. She’s talking about here, as in—the two of them, now. This exact moment in time. I’m happy here, with you.

They’ve moved even closer together—Karen’s arm brushes against his, and that simple touch enough to send sparks skittering up his spine. Her gaze softens, slips down to his mouth and then up again. She reaches out to rest a hand on his arm, lips curving like a new moon.

“Happy New Year, Frank,” she says, soft and low. She’s close enough for him to see the birthmark on her cheek, to feel her breath against his skin as she exhales.

Frank is very aware of his own breathing, his heartbeat thundering under his ribs. Every nerve ending in his body aches to close the distance between them, and he wants to. Fuck, he wants to. But he’s also scared out of his goddamn mind. They’ve crossed a lot of lines together, but not this. Never this. As long as he’s known her, they’ve had snapshots, a slew of moments that never added up to anything, but now—

Now, there’s time. Frank wants to savor every second of it.

“Happy New Year,” he breathes.

.

They make their way back to the stairwell that leads down to her building, hands threaded together. He feels every point of contact like his skin’s a live wire. They walk in comfortable silence, stealing furtive glances at each other—Frank’s amazed he makes it down the stairs without falling on his face.

Karen hesitates when they reach her door. There’s a weight to her gaze that wasn’t there before, uncertainty tinged with hope. She opens her mouth to say something, but falters as Frank pulls her into a hug, his arms sliding around her waist. He dips his face into the crook of her shoulder, breathing her in.

“Thanks, Karen,” he says.

She cinches her arms around his shoulders, squeezing tight before letting him go. “See you soon?”

He bobs his head. “Night, Karen.”

He walks away down the hall, only daring to breathe when he hears the scrape of her door shutting behind him. The building is full of sound, music and people laughing and those cheap poppers going off, and then he’s outside. He lingers by the front doors, cranes his neck to look up at her apartment. Warm light glows behind her window, framing the flowers like a painting.

It’s almost painful to pull his gaze away, but he does. He shoves his hands into his pockets and steps onto the sidewalk.

That’s when he hears it—a low whine.

Frank freezes where he stands, tilting his head as he strains to listen. Fireworks crack a short distance away, and then there’s silence. He stays still for a moment. Then—

Another whine, coming from the alley next to Karen’s building. Frank peers down it. The length of the alleyway is tangled in light and shadow from the nearby streetlight, but if he squints he can just make out something huddled by the dumpster. He moves towards it.

It’s a dog. Its face is tucked under one paw, but at the sound of Frank’s footsteps, it lifts its head.

Frank knows that face. It’s the dog, the one he followed on the day he’d seen Karen’s flowers. He recognizes the marking over its eye.

“Hey, you,” he says, squatting. The dog doesn’t growl or make any effort to move away from him, which is how he knows something is wrong. He narrows his eyes, doing a swift visual inspection. The dog’s shaking like a leaf, whether from the cold or something else, he can’t tell.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay, you’re not gonna like this, but I’m gonna check you out, yeah? It’s okay—” he reaches out slowly. The dog’s eyes flick nervously from his hand to his face, until he’s resting his palm flat against its flank. “Easy, easy. That’s a good dog.”

He keeps his hand there for a second. The dog’s eyes never leave his face, and he feels something crack apart inside him. No half-measures, this time. He’s going to do whatever he has to do to make sure it gets out of this okay.

Frank gives the dog a gentle pat, lifting his fingers lightly. Then he slides his hand over its back, down its sides and up towards the shoulders, checking for any sign of injury. Its fur is matted and dirty, but there aren’t any obvious wounds. Frank’s hand drops to the dog’s leg—and that’s when it nips at him, letting out a yelping bark.

Frank doesn’t see any bones jutting out, so he’s reasonably sure nothing’s broken. He stretches his hand again towards the leg in question, and this time, the dog bares its teeth in a warning.

So. Definitely injured. Maybe the bone is fractured, or there’s a torn ligament.

Frank considers his options. Even if it wasn’t a holiday, vet clinics aren’t open this late. There are emergency clinics, but he’d have to somehow get the dog into a cab, and transporting it when he doesn’t know the full extent of the injury might make things worse.

Frank digs for his phone, and punches Karen’s number.

She picks up almost immediately. “Frank?”

“Hey,” he says, looking down at the dog. “I’m sorry to ask but—I need a favor.”

.

It only takes a few minutes after he hangs up. He’s working out how he’s going to lift the dog without making its pain worse when he hears the sound of a door swinging open behind him.

Karen’s half-jogging towards him, her hair trailing behind her in the thin breeze that’s kicked up. She crouches next to him, and he can see her brandishing a Milk-Bone in one hand.

“Hey, girl,” she says fondly. The dog whimpers in response.

“You sure it’s the same one?” Frank asks, watching as she holds out the treat. The dog licks at her hand, then gingerly bites into the bone.

Karen scratches the dog under its chin as it chews. “I’m sure. She has such distinct markings. I first saw her maybe half a week ago, right here in the alley. I called animal control, but I don’t think they ever came. Then I saw her again the same day we met for coffee.”

Frank’s thoughts turn to the first time he’d met the dog, and what transpired afterwards. “Yeah?”

Karen pivots to look at him, hearing something in his tone of voice. “Why?”

“You’re not gonna believe this, but—the day I called you, when I saw the flowers—this dog showed up on my jogging route. I decided to follow it, see if I could maybe get it to a vet, and—it led me here. To your place.”

Karen hums thoughtfully, rubbing the dog’s ears. “You are a lucky dog, huh?” She shifts on her feet. “Okay, we’d better get her upstairs.”

It takes a few attempts, but Frank is finally able to slide his arms under the dog’s belly and lift it without jostling the injured leg too badly. Karen offers up treats as a distraction and talks gently to it the whole way up to her floor. They move as a unit, slow but steady.

“I set up a bed here,” Karen says as soon as they’re in the apartment, gesturing to a hastily arranged nest of blankets and pillows by the couch. “It’s not ideal, but it’s the best I could do.”

Frank meets her eyes. “That’ll work fine. Thanks, Karen.”

They work together to gingerly lower the dog onto the makeshift bed. It whimpers when its bad leg brushes against one of the pillows, but otherwise settles. It looks exhausted, casting a half-hearted glance around the room before dropping its head to its paw.

“My first aid kit is pretty basic,” Karen says, moving into the kitchen. “There’s some bandages in there, though.”

“That’s perfect.”

Karen returns with the supplies and a bowl of kibble. The dog licks at her fingers when she sets the bowl by its head.

“She likes you,” Frank observes.

Karen shrugs. “The Milk-Bones helped.”

“That’ll get you in the front door, but dogs can smell bullshit a mile away. They know when someone’s heart is good, yeah? This one—she knows.”

“Yeah, well, I’m just glad we finally got her out of the cold.” Karen’s knuckles brush the dog’s nose. “Do you think anyone’s looking for her?”

Frank starts to unravel one of the bandages. “Hard to say. Figured we—I—could take her to a clinic tomorrow, see if she’s chipped. They’ll find a shelter for her if she isn’t.”

“I can go with you,” Karen says. “I mean—I’d like to go with you. I did see her first.”

Frank huffs a laugh. “Deal.”

Karen stabilizes the dog while Frank attends to its leg. It makes a rumbling noise in its throat when he gently runs a finger down the length of bone. There’s some slight inflammation around the elbow joint, but he doesn’t want to risk applying an ice compress when the dog is already hypothermic. He settles for wrapping the limb, and Karen helps him lift the leg so that it’s slightly elevated on one of the pillows.

“Think that’s about all we can do for now,” he says. “I can stay up with her for a bit if you want to get some sleep.”

Karen fixes him with a knowing stare. “You know what I’m going to say to that.”

Frank smirks. “Yeah, I know. Thought I’d try anyways.”

They stay like that for a moment, and then Karen stands, tugging lightly at Frank’s arm to pull him up with her. “Since we’re in for a long night,” she says, “you want some coffee?”

“You gonna put that sugary crap in it?”

Karen smiles, her teeth flashing. “Extra, just because you said that.” She turns towards the kitchen—

It’s a reflex. In one swift movement, he’s reaching out to stop her, fingers snagging on her sleeve as he pulls her in and presses his lips to hers. She makes a soft sound of surprise against his mouth, and for a second, he thinks she might pull away—but then her hands are cupping his face, sliding around the nape of his neck, and she’s kissing him back. The world slides out of focus, narrows like a scope until it’s just him and Karen and his hands at her waist and the press of their hips and her mouth moving softly against his.

She pulls away first, breathless. “I was wondering when you were going to do that.”

Frank tips his forehead to rest against hers. “Wanted to, earlier. I just—I don’t want to mess this up, Karen. Don’t want you thinking I’m here for some reason that I’m not—”

“Frank.” Her fingers are moving in slow circles at the base of his neck, tangling in the hair that’s curled there. He thinks he’ll never get tired of this—how gentle her voice sounds, the feeling of her hands on him. “I want you here. You get that, right? I want this.”

His hand comes up, thumb dragging along the edge of Karen’s jaw. Lucky, she’d called the dog, but maybe luck has nothing to do with it. They’ve been in each other’s orbit ever since she crossed that red hospital tape. He thinks he knew, even then—

Wherever this woman is, that’s where he’s supposed to be.

“Okay,” he says, lips grazing hers. He feels her shudder, and warmth unspools in the pit of his stomach.

“Okay,” she whispers back, and kisses him again.

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