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 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?