( when was the last time karen had another over, let alone within her sheets? she doesn't know. months span to years when it comes to a lacking touch, and eventually, it's easier to be absent of a thing when you no longer no how to long for it. it's a collection of things—work, files scattered across her coffee table, her kitchen counter, sometimes the floor of her bedroom where the light glints through, as if it could give her a spark. and then there's the city itself, the place she holds, what she's learned and what she wishes she hadn't—she has all the time in the world, coming home late to her apartment and nursing a coffee, or something stronger. she tells herself she doesn't. she tells herself she isn't missing anything.
she's the furthest thing from whole.
as much as she wants him to stay, it's not as simple as that. it's never simple with her. she knows how to sit in the quiet of her own place. what she didn't know was how to sit in the quiet with him. )
Either you're getting into less trouble, or you were holding out. ( for her to reach. to see if she could meet him somewhere in the dark. of course, when he did switch numbers, she'd come to learn it by an alert, a message from unknown. it's the only time she heard from him first. )
Sometimes it helps. ( when she finally caves, when she sends a message and sometimes even hours later, she receives a response. ) Like a push to get through the week. The month. The night, even. ( she makes a face like it's silly, like she knows, and draws in a breath, almost like she's retracting again to try and cover up the vulnerable. )
It'll be a change. ( for tonight. ) Not worrying what you're getting yourself into out there.
( it feels like this is glancing too closely onto something of dire significance, turning over stones that had been sitting untouched for too long. hearing from him gets her through the night? through the month?
thankfully, she keeps talking before he can address it. it's an importance that he simply doesn't deserve, to have someone like her hanging off his messages and waiting for a reply. for proof of life. this was why frank had surgically severed his connections as best he could. even his messages to curtis, amy, david, had tapered off and become sporadic over the last few months. he was bad at staying in touch. bad at keeping up the semblance of normalcy. had forgotten how to do it. they'd all wormed their way under his skin — this woman especially — and yet.
a muscle works in his jaw, like he's chewing over his words. his coffee's getting cold but he can't bring himself to indulge in that distraction anymore; hyper-fixated instead on the warmth of karen's skin, that self-conscious twist of her expression and the way she scrunches her nose. he could drown in these details. )
Keeping me under supervision, huh?
I don't mind. Already wrapped up my work here, anyway, so there shouldn't be any trouble following me home. ( because of course that was what he worried about, all the time. then, after a moment, he adds: ) Probably.
( the thing is, frank doesn't get to choose who he is or isn't important to. it's few and far between when it comes to karen garnering any sort of interaction, let alone anything that hummed on the edge of intimate. she's learned better than to put a label on things, whatever it was that'd flourished between them wasn't in the bounds of the ordinary, but who was anyone to tell her where she could or couldn't gather warmth from? it's a futile effort, his attempts to paint himself a ghost, something no one could love, all rough knuckles and spat out blood. she'd never needed the soft. it'd never come home to her.
she didn't need it's company now.
she notes that grit to his jaw, how the skin beside his ear flutters in response. her gaze is steady where it resides: on him, eyes an overcast blue and that subtle hint of a tilt returning to her mouth once more. this is how it was between them, ever oscillating, a delicate balance. )
I have my ways. ( seeing as she had a bit of experience with another vigilante in particular who had a knack for throwing himself into the carnivorous belly of the city. )
I can't promise the same. ( having her name in rigid type frequenting headlines on top of interviewing a bruising array of potential clientele at the firm, she didn't always put herself into the best light. it wouldn't be the first time she'd been followed—tonight, though, they'd be wise to keep their distance. before he can question what exactly she means, she's digressing; they had many more hours of the night to go, and for one frank castle, karen's an open book. )
I'm not so sure my work here ever ends. ( briefly, she chews at the inner of her cheek. ) Speaking of following... you need a ride?
I mean, me either. Already told you it's like playing whack-a-mole. No matter how many criminals I put down, there's always more.
( all the more reason this monolithic quest was neverending; was a snake eating its own tail; maybe wasn't worth pouring his whole life into and shearing off all the parts of him that weren't the punisher. killing any part of him that existed for something more than killing. when she asks about a ride, though, frank glances at his watch and realises how time has unexpectedly slid onwards. the coffee is utterly cold and sludgy by now, although he still disengages from her long enough to swig the last of it down in one straight shot.
he had noticed the waitress discreetly dropping off the check at his elbow, though. once upon a time, he might've missed that sort of quiet attentiveness — service people were stealthier and more unobtrusive than most thieves, even — but these days, he always noticed whenever someone moved into and out of his space. )
Could do with a ride, yeah. Faster than the subway.
( he tended to move around the city on public transit and by foot. he liked getting reacquainted with new york by the soles of his boots, getting his physical bearings. he fishes in his pockets and drops some crumpled bills on the table, paying for both their drinks and tipping generously, as he grabs his coat and slides back out of the booth, waiting for her. )
You still live at the same place?
( there's a good chance that frank keeps somewhat invasive tabs on her and already knows the answer to that question, but he asks it anyway. that semblance of normalcy. )
All looking to get their shot at the infamous Castle.
( she finishes the narrative, a comfortable habit. how disappointed those darker nooks of the city and those who inhabit them would be to learn of his return, but what a hell of a pair they'd make, taking them down both in print and with brute force. she providing the finesse while he that roughened touch. it's an idea she could easily keep warm, but in the same vein, she wants better for him. more than stalking the streets looking for signs of trouble, and if he were to try, could she really say that with her was the best place for him to be? like leaving an addict right at the glaring entry of a liquor store.
in a lot of respects, she's no better than he is at getting out, hells kitchen or no hells kitchen.
he grabs for his coat after leaving a few bills atop that faint receipt, and she can already feel the bitter draft sneaking beneath the neck of her coat, biting that strawberry flush to her cheeks. she'll have to kick the heat on a bit higher when they get back—a means of skirting a too-high bill, living in too-big knit sweaters and the pacing scuff of slippers. as if she'd let him take the subway, let him part from her so soon when there was no promise that he'd follow—he could change his mind, decide to try that righteous route again.
she slips from the booth, standing alongside him with a quiet tut of heels still laced about her ankles. ) Yeah. ( when she starts, she finds gaze with his until he falls in line beside her. )
Must be taking it too easy on them. ( a playful nudge to his side once they've stepped out into the brisk night, weak ding of the door's bell sounding overhead. she's not. just... trying not to pick fights with someone who might encourage a blind target practice through her walls. )
I could scale up. Put a little more elbow grease into it.
( both of them are speaking about it so breezily, like it's just a matter of a particularly bad roach infestation or something. but there's a ghost of a smile on his face at the fact that she's able to joke about it. most people would recoil in horror at the realities of frank's life.
but she had kept coming back, and coming back, and coming back, and frank hadn't let himself think too closely on that just yet.
they set off in the night, heading towards her car and walking side-by-side. frank castle isn't actually a tall man — he's all compact muscle rather than height, and karen's heels bring her just about to eye-level, but something in him always radiates more personal space. taking up a wide berth where people unconsciously give way on the sidewalk, step aside when he's barreling forward with his shoulders hunched in his jacket.
and yet, here, with her, it's his shoulder bumping just as companionably back against hers, like a wild animal de-clawed. and then it's him standing beside her car, head ducked down, scuffing at some pebbles in the parking lot while karen's unlocking the driver's door. )
Can't remember the last time I just hung out at someone's place.
( it's a quiet, thoughtful admission, murmured more to the night air than directly to karen. most of the time, the things that brought him to her door or curtis' or lieberman's lately meant something had gone dreadfully wrong and he needed help or a favour. heading to her place just for the sake of spending time together, with no other underlying emergency? that's new. that's precious. )
( she notes how he stands by, casts his gaze down to the stray gravel on the pavement as she worries the key into place, and it dawns on her how out of place it all was, the two of them coming together willingly rather than by necessity, rather than their lives messily weaving in and out of the others. as it is, there's instances of time where she doesn't know what her life looks like without him; terrifyingly so, that reality still nips at her ankles, follows close at her heels. )
Most don't get an invitation.
( it's a little taunt spoken above the hood of her car just as she manages the door open, smirk sure to be caught before she's ducking in. to be honest, she'd never brought a man back to her place. at least, not to this one. and the idea of even imagining frank in that capacity leaves heat flourishing to the rounds of her cheeks, hidden well by the cold as the heat kicks on in the car, engine humming to life. it was easier to keep them separate, for that apartment to be hers and only hersโwithout the image of someone else painted around the surfaces, without memories sleeping with her like a ghost.
and how starved they were that intimacy found them at the slightest opportunity: in gazes cast over coffee mugs; in walking side by side along that sidewalk, just close enough to touch, but not quite there; in the way he waits to join her in the cab of that car 'til she's settling in to the driver's side, leaning over to pop the handle of his. like he's waiting for permission, waiting for the gentle reminder, reassurance that he was wanted, here.
she waits to pull from the curb til he's settled beside her, streetlights soon passing over them in blinks. )
It's easier to keep people out of... ( she shrugs vaguely, tucking lips in on one another. ) all of it.
I get that. Although, not sure if that's what I expected for you. So you haven't been...?
( he doesn't blush like she does, but something catches in the back of his throat, the words grinding to a halt as he can't find the right way of phrasing what should be an innocent question. funny, that. he tells himself he's just curious. asking about a friend's social life. just as part of catching up. it's fine, everything's fine.
(sure.)
frank's watching the streets around them rather than looking over at her — old habit, constantly evaluating their surroundings, looking for a suspicious lurch of motion or a car tailing them, but it also means he's safely not looking over at karen so she can't see the way his expression flickers. she wouldn't be with red — he had a feeling that particular ship had already sailed, for so many reasons — but... someone. someone normal and good for her, so she doesn't have to weather those cold nights alone. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
she's the furthest thing from whole.
as much as she wants him to stay, it's not as simple as that. it's never simple with her. she knows how to sit in the quiet of her own place. what she didn't know was how to sit in the quiet with him. )
Either you're getting into less trouble, or you were holding out. ( for her to reach. to see if she could meet him somewhere in the dark. of course, when he did switch numbers, she'd come to learn it by an alert, a message from unknown. it's the only time she heard from him first. )
Sometimes it helps. ( when she finally caves, when she sends a message and sometimes even hours later, she receives a response. ) Like a push to get through the week. The month. The night, even. ( she makes a face like it's silly, like she knows, and draws in a breath, almost like she's retracting again to try and cover up the vulnerable. )
It'll be a change. ( for tonight. ) Not worrying what you're getting yourself into out there.
no subject
thankfully, she keeps talking before he can address it. it's an importance that he simply doesn't deserve, to have someone like her hanging off his messages and waiting for a reply. for proof of life. this was why frank had surgically severed his connections as best he could. even his messages to curtis, amy, david, had tapered off and become sporadic over the last few months. he was bad at staying in touch. bad at keeping up the semblance of normalcy. had forgotten how to do it. they'd all wormed their way under his skin — this woman especially — and yet.
a muscle works in his jaw, like he's chewing over his words. his coffee's getting cold but he can't bring himself to indulge in that distraction anymore; hyper-fixated instead on the warmth of karen's skin, that self-conscious twist of her expression and the way she scrunches her nose. he could drown in these details. )
Keeping me under supervision, huh?
I don't mind. Already wrapped up my work here, anyway, so there shouldn't be any trouble following me home. ( because of course that was what he worried about, all the time. then, after a moment, he adds: ) Probably.
no subject
she didn't need it's company now.
she notes that grit to his jaw, how the skin beside his ear flutters in response. her gaze is steady where it resides: on him, eyes an overcast blue and that subtle hint of a tilt returning to her mouth once more. this is how it was between them, ever oscillating, a delicate balance. )
I have my ways. ( seeing as she had a bit of experience with another vigilante in particular who had a knack for throwing himself into the carnivorous belly of the city. )
I can't promise the same. ( having her name in rigid type frequenting headlines on top of interviewing a bruising array of potential clientele at the firm, she didn't always put herself into the best light. it wouldn't be the first time she'd been followed—tonight, though, they'd be wise to keep their distance. before he can question what exactly she means, she's digressing; they had many more hours of the night to go, and for one frank castle, karen's an open book. )
I'm not so sure my work here ever ends. ( briefly, she chews at the inner of her cheek. ) Speaking of following... you need a ride?
no subject
( all the more reason this monolithic quest was neverending; was a snake eating its own tail; maybe wasn't worth pouring his whole life into and shearing off all the parts of him that weren't the punisher. killing any part of him that existed for something more than killing. when she asks about a ride, though, frank glances at his watch and realises how time has unexpectedly slid onwards. the coffee is utterly cold and sludgy by now, although he still disengages from her long enough to swig the last of it down in one straight shot.
he had noticed the waitress discreetly dropping off the check at his elbow, though. once upon a time, he might've missed that sort of quiet attentiveness — service people were stealthier and more unobtrusive than most thieves, even — but these days, he always noticed whenever someone moved into and out of his space. )
Could do with a ride, yeah. Faster than the subway.
( he tended to move around the city on public transit and by foot. he liked getting reacquainted with new york by the soles of his boots, getting his physical bearings. he fishes in his pockets and drops some crumpled bills on the table, paying for both their drinks and tipping generously, as he grabs his coat and slides back out of the booth, waiting for her. )
You still live at the same place?
( there's a good chance that frank keeps somewhat invasive tabs on her and already knows the answer to that question, but he asks it anyway. that semblance of normalcy. )
no subject
( she finishes the narrative, a comfortable habit. how disappointed those darker nooks of the city and those who inhabit them would be to learn of his return, but what a hell of a pair they'd make, taking them down both in print and with brute force. she providing the finesse while he that roughened touch. it's an idea she could easily keep warm, but in the same vein, she wants better for him. more than stalking the streets looking for signs of trouble, and if he were to try, could she really say that with her was the best place for him to be? like leaving an addict right at the glaring entry of a liquor store.
in a lot of respects, she's no better than he is at getting out, hells kitchen or no hells kitchen.
he grabs for his coat after leaving a few bills atop that faint receipt, and she can already feel the bitter draft sneaking beneath the neck of her coat, biting that strawberry flush to her cheeks. she'll have to kick the heat on a bit higher when they get back—a means of skirting a too-high bill, living in too-big knit sweaters and the pacing scuff of slippers. as if she'd let him take the subway, let him part from her so soon when there was no promise that he'd follow—he could change his mind, decide to try that righteous route again.
she slips from the booth, standing alongside him with a quiet tut of heels still laced about her ankles. ) Yeah. ( when she starts, she finds gaze with his until he falls in line beside her. )
Must be taking it too easy on them. ( a playful nudge to his side once they've stepped out into the brisk night, weak ding of the door's bell sounding overhead. she's not. just... trying not to pick fights with someone who might encourage a blind target practice through her walls. )
HOW DID TWO WEEKS GO BY
( both of them are speaking about it so breezily, like it's just a matter of a particularly bad roach infestation or something. but there's a ghost of a smile on his face at the fact that she's able to joke about it. most people would recoil in horror at the realities of frank's life.
but she had kept coming back, and coming back, and coming back, and frank hadn't let himself think too closely on that just yet.
they set off in the night, heading towards her car and walking side-by-side. frank castle isn't actually a tall man — he's all compact muscle rather than height, and karen's heels bring her just about to eye-level, but something in him always radiates more personal space. taking up a wide berth where people unconsciously give way on the sidewalk, step aside when he's barreling forward with his shoulders hunched in his jacket.
and yet, here, with her, it's his shoulder bumping just as companionably back against hers, like a wild animal de-clawed. and then it's him standing beside her car, head ducked down, scuffing at some pebbles in the parking lot while karen's unlocking the driver's door. )
Can't remember the last time I just hung out at someone's place.
( it's a quiet, thoughtful admission, murmured more to the night air than directly to karen. most of the time, the things that brought him to her door or curtis' or lieberman's lately meant something had gone dreadfully wrong and he needed help or a favour. heading to her place just for the sake of spending time together, with no other underlying emergency? that's new. that's precious. )
no subject
Most don't get an invitation.
( it's a little taunt spoken above the hood of her car just as she manages the door open, smirk sure to be caught before she's ducking in. to be honest, she'd never brought a man back to her place. at least, not to this one. and the idea of even imagining frank in that capacity leaves heat flourishing to the rounds of her cheeks, hidden well by the cold as the heat kicks on in the car, engine humming to life. it was easier to keep them separate, for that apartment to be hers and only hersโwithout the image of someone else painted around the surfaces, without memories sleeping with her like a ghost.
and how starved they were that intimacy found them at the slightest opportunity: in gazes cast over coffee mugs; in walking side by side along that sidewalk, just close enough to touch, but not quite there; in the way he waits to join her in the cab of that car 'til she's settling in to the driver's side, leaning over to pop the handle of his. like he's waiting for permission, waiting for the gentle reminder, reassurance that he was wanted, here.
she waits to pull from the curb til he's settled beside her, streetlights soon passing over them in blinks. )
It's easier to keep people out of... ( she shrugs vaguely, tucking lips in on one another. ) all of it.
no subject
( he doesn't blush like she does, but something catches in the back of his throat, the words grinding to a halt as he can't find the right way of phrasing what should be an innocent question. funny, that. he tells himself he's just curious. asking about a friend's social life. just as part of catching up. it's fine, everything's fine.
(sure.)
frank's watching the streets around them rather than looking over at her — old habit, constantly evaluating their surroundings, looking for a suspicious lurch of motion or a car tailing them, but it also means he's safely not looking over at karen so she can't see the way his expression flickers. she wouldn't be with red — he had a feeling that particular ship had already sailed, for so many reasons — but... someone. someone normal and good for her, so she doesn't have to weather those cold nights alone. )
There hasn't been anyone?