▫▫▫▫ blue is the color of love
@vitiosusvirtus
A month. Or a little over a month, at least. That was how long it had been since Lewis Wilson’s reign of terror had come to an end. That was how long it had been since The Punisher was dead. That was how long it had been since Frank had come back into Karen’s life. That was also how long it had been since Frank had been living with Karen, trying to figure out what after meant for him – or for Pete Castiglione, at least – and that was how long it had taken for the two to settle into a comforting routine with one another.
And for one month, Karen had been slowly but surely reintegrating herself back into work at Ellison’s behest. She started out with desk work immediately when she refused the leave offered to her after the bombing and hostage situation, learning the ropes of pagination and editing articles to help lighten Ellison’s load a little. After a week, she was shifted to fluff pieces and light work – things that required not a lot of effort on her part and no late nights – before she began to take on interviews and press conferences as she had before. In the beginning, Karen spent a lot of time at her desk, and when there was a lull in work she had to find ways to preoccupy herself and keep herself from going insane.
Preoccupation came in the form of various shelters, adoption agencies, and the dogs they had listed for adoption online. If asked by any passerby who was curious, Karen would say that it was honestly just a whim she had, the idea of getting a dog for company. In actuality, she had been updating The Punisher files (adding in the recent clippings and notes of what happened at the hotel and carousel to keep her accordion folder up-to-date) when she happened upon the police report from his initial arrest. At the bottom, a side note that meant nothing to everyone else, was an officer’s comment that they had found a dog in the building where the Kitchen Irish had been torturing Frank. That had piqued Karen’s interest, but she didn’t ask Frank about it.
No. She went to the police first and had to play ring-around-the-rosie to get an answer that didn’t make her out to be overly suspicious. (Which meant she avoided Brett at all costs even though he was the arresting officer that evening.) What she found out was pleasant news (even if it was disheartening).
The pitbull had been fostered out almost immediately after the arrest – a local foster organization had taken it in since it was a former fighting dog. Sadly that meant the dog had no record or paper trail with the police, but she had found out the name of the organization and contacted the woman in charge. A pleasant woman, really, and she remembered every dog they took in and adopted out, even the one Frank had taken care of. He went to a nice home upstate with a family that had three other fosters from her – big, fenced in grassy yard where he was allowed to live out his days, happily playing fetch and getting a little chubby. She even kept in touch with the owners who sent her updates, and the woman happily forwarded the emails to Karen so she could see just how happy the now-christened Max was with his new family.
Okay, so that kinda ruined Karen’s plans, but it sparked her looking into other options instead.
Karen didn’t let on to Frank that she was looking into a dog. That she had found the perfect one at the agency that had been up for adoption for almost two months now. She went about her days and nights as normal, stopping by for an initial meet with the pitbull Friday after work. (That meeting turned into Karen paying for and signing the papers for the dog that day, making plans for her and Frank to pick the sweet girl up the following day at their weekly ‘adopt a pup’ park day.) When she got home that night, groceries in hand and filled to the brim with repressed excitement, she told Frank that she was going for a jog that morning, that maybe they could go out for lunch at the diner down the road later.
Before she left for her jog, Karen had written Frank a quick note, placed under his coffee cup where she knew he would see it when he emerged from the bedroom (because texting ‘Pete’ was still so weird to her):
F,
Out jogging. Meet me at the park at 10:30 and we can go from there.
-K
She knew Frank wouldn’t think anything of her asking him to meet her at the park; it was a short walk from the diner they usually went to, after all, and it was a nice day out. At the ‘adopt a pup’ event, various pitbulls and pitbull mixes were either leashed or in a large runner as people passed by, discussing possible adoptions with the volunteers. Karen was standing at the edge talking with Eva, the middle-aged woman who ran the rescue and adoption events. Occasionally she would scan the approaching people, blue eyes searching always for Frank.
Karen shifted from foot to foot with a nervous buzzing energy, a smile plastered across her face as she and Eva made idle chit-chat.
“Nervous?” the woman asked with a smirk, noticing Karen’s fidgeting.
The blonde exhaled a laugh, nodding. “Yeah. He has no idea.” And she only hoped this would not come back to bite her in the ass.
It wasn’t too hard for Frank. Being Pete. He’d done it before, during a time in his life when he was desperate to be Frank Castle, desperate to have people look him in the eye and know that Frank Castle was the one cutting them down. So now, with most of the objects of his vengeance summarily crushed- with one large exception- that nagging need had all but vanished. Content to take some time just being a person, Frank didn’t mind what name he had to give out in public.
He’d slept through the night, as he did often now. That, too, was a welcome change. Another perk of being Pete. He slept longer and later as the ease of it became apparent. Catching up on years of fitful nightly panic. Frank’s exhaustion had lessened, certainly, but it would take a while to rinse completely.
Frank ran his hand through the hair that was beginning to get noticeably shaggy atop his head (when it started to reveal how curly it was, it was time for a cut) and stumbled out into the kitchen, squinting. Not finding Karen was not a surprise- she’d told him where she’d be, and the note slipped under his mug confirmed. Still, there was something slightly off-putting about being alone in Karen’s place. And it was still Karen’s place, despite the fact that he’d been living there a solid month. He was comfortable, and safe, and something approaching happy, but he wasn’t sure if that small feeling would ever leave him. Maybe guys like him were just not meant to have a home.
Maybe once you got that taken away from you, it was gone.
Well, no sense dwelling on it. He squinted at the note, then at the digital clock on the oven. Meet me at 10:30? Shit. He’d probably just make it, if he didn’t shave or wash his hair. Ruffling his hair again- not too greasy, anyway, he clambered back into the bedroom to rifle through his clothes.
Finally, in a henley and some jeans, Frank made it to the park. A handful of minutes to spare. And suddenly, immediately, he had the growing sense that something was up. The park was totally packed. Squinting suspiciously, he began to filter through, looking for Karen.
