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Frank knocks once, just once, then steps back and glances down the dim, too-quiet hallway. The place is clean and seems safe enough, but it’s not the kind of hotel that has heightened security or anyone who’d notice if something went sideways. Good thing he’s there.
He braces one hand on the doorframe and ducks his head, his other hand curling around his ribs. Something’s cracked in there, for sure, courtesy of those sorry fucking excuses for cops. Bunch of dumbass fanboys. And he’ll deal with them. Soon. But first Frank needs to see Karen. He has things to get off his chest.
“Karen, it’s me,” he says, his voice rough but quiet. “Open up. Please?”
The lock clicks almost immediately, and the door opens. She’s standing there barefoot, in jeans and a worn Columbia crewneck sweatshirt, her blonde hair still damp from the shower and twisted into a loose bun at the top of her head.
Her eyes sweep over him, cataloging every cut and bruise that hadn’t been there the day before. They linger on his face, on his left eye that’s purple and swollen.
“You look like shit,” she says, pushing the door wide and stepping back to let him in. There’s no heat behind the words, just worry and exhaustion. “Been busy?”
Frank huffs a breath, almost laughing, because that’s the understatement of the fucking century. “Yeah, somethin’ like that.”
Karen turns on her heel and pads back into the room, leaving him to follow. It’s as close to an invitation as he’s going to get. He steps inside, locking the door behind him, and follows her to where she’s sitting on the edge of the bed, sinking down beside her. His body aches from the inside out, but the mattress dips under their weight, and he relaxes — just a little — for the first time since he answered the phone to find her on the other end.
“You gonna tell me what happened?” she asks, crossing her long legs up in front of her.
He glances at her and sighs. Might as well. “I went after those task force clowns.”
Her eyes flick up to his, but her expression doesn’t change, like she’s not really surprised to hear that he’d gone looking for trouble after he'd told them he had better things to do.
“And how’d that go?”
“Uh, not great,” Frank gives a humorless shrug, the movement flaring pain through his ribs. He grunts, shifting uncomfortably, and Karen catches all of it. “Took a couple out, but there were too many. Tied me to a chair and tried to get me to join their little brigade of morons, like a fucking mascot or something.”
“Sounds about right,” she says, shaking her head.
“I told ‘em to piss off, so they locked me in a cage in some underground bunker where Fisk’s keeping a bunch of people.”
Karen’s eyes go wide. “What the fuck. Cages? Who else is down there?”
He scrubs a hand over his jaw, mentally tallying the faces he can remember. “Council members. Rich folk. All people who’ve pissed him off, probably.”
“Shit.”
He nods once, feeling the heaviness of it settle in his chest. “Where’s Murdock?”
“He went to your place looking for you,” she says. “Wait, how’d you get out of there?”
Frank chuckles. It’s not funny, not really, except it had been way too goddamn easy to trick that cop — Anthony something or other — into a false sense of camaraderie.
“Ah, took all of five minutes to convince the shithead keeping watch to come close enough for me to grab his keys,” he says. “After that, I just had to break a few bones, crack a few heads, and I was home free.”
Karen leans back on her hands. “Easy as that, huh?”
“Piece of cake,” Frank says, giving her a sideways grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. “So, Red’s waiting for me back at my place?”
She nods. “As much as he hates to admit it, Matt needs your help right now.”
Frank sighs again. That’s exactly what he was afraid of. “Yeah, I figured.”
Karen watches him for a beat longer, her brows furrowing. “So, then what are you doing here?”
He lets out a rough, tired breath and shakes his head. A hollow laugh scrapes raw in his throat. “What am I doin’ here? Where else would I be, Karen?” He looks at her, then, and it feels like a boot to the gut. “Look, I know you didn’t come back for me, all right? But you’re here, and maybe this is the only shot I got, so I’m taking it.”
“Frank, what are you talking about?” Her eyes search his, seeking clarity, and he wonders if she really doesn’t know how he feels.
He swallows hard, suddenly second-guessing everything he planned to say. Too fucking late now, though. He’s already shown his hand.
“Murdock,” he says, quietly. “I know you came back for him. And it’s fine. It is. I get it…”
Karen reaches for him, resting a hand on his knee. “Frank, stop…”
“Nah, Karen. Just let me get this out,” he says, his eyes fluttering shut at the contact. His voice catches, but he pushes on, the words tearing like stitches that aren’t ready to come out. “The coffee… you said no when I offered.”
“I did,” she agrees, raising an eyebrow.
“Was it because you really didn’t want any or ’cause you’re still pissed at me?”
“Why would I be pissed at you?” she asks, her brow knitting. She tilts her head, trying to make sense of the question.
Frank drops his gaze, fingers dragging across the back of his neck. Stupid. This was a mistake. Nothing’s coming out right, and he’s fucking it up. “Because of what happened at the hospital?”
The corner of Karen’s mouth twitches, “Which time?”
“Very funny,” Frank says, pressing his lips together. “You know which time.”
“Frank, that was six years ago.”
“Yeah,” he rasps. “But I was an idiot, pushing you away over and over. You can’t tell me that didn’t sting.”
“Of course it did. It broke my heart,” she says softly. Her expression shutters, just a little, but he notices. “I understand why you did it, though. Even back then, I understood.”
His throat tightens. He tries to swallow down the emotion building there, but it feels like there’s something lodged in his windpipe.
“But then you disappeared,” she adds, the pain of it still obvious in her voice. “I didn’t hear from you for almost two years.”
“I didn’t know what else to do, Karen. I regretted letting you walk out that door the second you were gone,” he admits. He rubs a hand over his jaw, two-day-old stubble scratching his palm. “You asked me to find another way, and that scared the shit out of me, so I did what I do best.”
“Frank, we’ve already talked about all of this,” she says, moving the hand resting on his knee to lace their fingers together. “Why are you bringing it up now?”
He squeezes her hand, more as a comfort for himself than for her. “Because I hadn’t set eyes on you since you left town, and when you got out of that car last night it was like nothin’s changed. Seein’ you knocked the wind right outta me.”
Karen’s breath catches, and her lashes flutter for the briefest second. The wall she’s been holding up between them is crumbling. He can see it.
“I didn’t just come back for Matt,” she says, her voice hardly above a whisper.
Frank’s eyes dart to hers, and his brows pull tight. “What?”
“Do you really not get it, or are you being dense on purpose?” Karen says, exhaling a deep sigh. “I didn’t have to call you. I could’ve called Luke or Jessica or even Mahoney”
“Then why me?” he asks, though he’s pretty sure he already knows the answer.
“Besides the fact that I knew you’d help? I wanted to talk to you,” she says, looking down at their clasped hands. Her cheeks burn pink, like it cost her something to admit that. “I wanted to see you. And I felt like I needed a better excuse than, ‘Hey just checking in.’ ”
Frank doesn’t know what to say to that, doesn’t know if he could say anything at all with how dry his throat suddenly feels. He looks at her, really looks, and for a second he forgets how to breathe, too.
I wanted to talk to you. I wanted to see you.
An admission like that, from her, it wrecks him. Because even after all this time and all the ways he’s fucked everything up, she’s still right there. When she finally meets his eyes, her gaze is knowing, like she can see inside him down to the deepest, messiest bits he’s kept buried.
“You know, Matt told me he listened to our heartbeats back at your place,” she says with a slightly amused lilt to her voice. She smiles in that way she does — soft, like it’s meant only for him.
His brow arches. “That right?”
“Mhm.”
Frank huffs out a laugh. “Seems a little invasive, yeah?”
Karen’s grin widens, and he can’t help it. He smiles back, just a little, but it’s real and it’s for her.
“You gonna tell me what he thinks he heard?”
She nibbles her bottom lip, drawing Frank’s attention to her mouth, then lifts his hand and presses it flat over her chest. He feels the warmth of her through the soft fabric of her sweatshirt, and his fingertips brush the bare edge of her collarbone.
Her heartbeat is fast and a little unsteady. It matches the beat of his own.
“He said my heart was racing,” she whispers. “Yours too. I told him it was probably just adrenaline.”
His throat works on a hard swallow. His palm stays splayed over her heart, memorizing the beat of it, each one a reminder that she’s alive. And so is he. “You don’t really believe that, do you?” he asks, his voice dropping low.
Karen’s eyes meet his, and they’re clear, sure and unflinching. She smiles again.
“No, I don’t.”
Frank doesn’t move, couldn’t even if he wanted to. His hand stays right where she placed it, and he closes his eyes and lets himself feel her, feel the shaky rise and fall of her chest as she tries to steady her breath. For Frank, a man who’s most at home with the grip of a weapon in his hands, she is the most dangerous thing he’s touched in a long time.
His fingers twitch, curling slightly against the collar of her sweatshirt, and he feels her breath hitch. He drags his gaze up to her, slow and deliberate, and Karen’s already looking at him with wide, unguarded eyes.
“Karen…” he rasps. It’s a low, almost pained sound when he says her name.
The air between them feels heavy and charged, and Frank’s ears ring faintly, a distant echo of blood rushing hard behind his temples. Then his hand is moving, sliding up the side of her neck to cup her jaw. She closes her eyes, and leans into his touch, and fuck… seeing her like this makes his heart ache.
“If you’ve got something to say, Frank, just say it,” she says, opening her eyes and pressing her hand over his where it rests on her face.
“You know I’m not good at this.”
“Then just be honest,” she murmurs, brushing her thumb across the inside of his wrist. The feather light touch steadies something in him.
Be honest .
She says it like it’s easy. But if Frank’s ever been anything with her, it’s honest.
“You want honest? Fine. I’m tired of pretending I don’t want you in my life. Tired of pushing you away,” he admits, letting out a shaky breath through his nose. “And maybe that’s selfish because I’m a goddamn train wreck. But Christ, Karen… You weren’t supposed to matter. Nothing else was supposed to matter after they were gone. But you did, you do. And I don’t want to waste any more fuckin’ time acting like it doesn’t gut me when you’re not around.”
Karen’s breath hitches, and he can tell by the look on her face that he’s said the exact thing she wanted to hear and the last thing she expected to. Her blue eyes shine with unshed tears, and he thinks for a second that maybe the admission is too much, that he’s just too fucking late. But then she slides both hands around his neck, to the back of his head, and leans in until their foreheads touch.
That simple gesture knocks loose the permanent knot in Frank’s chest.
Her breath is shaky but warm, and for a long moment, neither of them moves. It’s enough just to be this close.
Then Karen exhales and slides her arms around him fully. Frank doesn’t hesitate when he wraps his arms around her, pulling her in tight like he’s afraid she’ll disappear if he doesn’t hang on. He tucks his face into the curve of her neck, breathing in her soft, familiar scent — warm vanilla and a hint of mint toothpaste.
He holds on. He holds on longer than he’s ever let himself before.
Karen’s fingers curl into the back of his shirt, a silent signal that she understands what this moment means. When he finally lifts his head, it’s with reluctance to put any sort of space between them. But he needs to look at her, to see her face. He’s always been able to read her that way, and he needs to know what it's telling him now.
Frank’s dark eyes search hers, bright blue and beautiful and unguarded in a way he’s only ever seen with him. And he can’t help it — he smiles. It’s a crooked, shy sort of grin that feels foreign on his lips.
Karen smiles back, letting her fingers drift up to brush feather light against the tilted corner of his mouth, and it sets his skin on fire. Her lips part like she wants to say something but his mouth is on hers before she has the chance.
The soft groan that slips from his throat is involuntary, and all the long-dormant parts of him come alive in a way that suddenly feels inevitable. Karen sighs against his mouth, her hand slipping up into his hair, and Frank angles his head to deepen the kiss just a little, just enough to let her know he’s finally going to make it all mean something.
He brushes his thumb over her cheekbone, smiling against her mouth and she wraps her long, slender fingers against his wrist, holding his hand in place. She nips at his bottom lip, gently at first, then a little bit harder when his grip on her tightens.
“You tryin’ to kill me?” Frank asks, panting a little.
Karen just laughs, pressing kisses along his jaw and up the side of his face. She pauses against his ear and whispers, “Is it working?”
“Yeah,” he rasps, turning his face into her hair. “Yeah, it’s working.”
He half laughs, half groans when she tugs his earlobe between her teeth, tilting his head back like he's surrendering. “Alright, alright,” he murmurs, catching her lips with his. “You keep that up, Murdock might be waiting all night for me.”
Karen grins, pleased with herself, and lets her hand trail down his arm as she leans back just a little. Her lips are kiss-bitten and her hair is a little messy, and Franks thinks she’s never looked more beautiful.
His smile fades to something softer as he studies her face. “So, when this mess with Fisk is over… you gonna leave? Go back to your new life?”
“That was the plan.”
“Was?” he asks, lifting an eyebrow.
“Yeah,” she says, nodding slowly. “Was.”
“And now?” Frank’s voice dips low like he’s bracing himself for whatever answer comes next.
Karen slips her fingers back into his hair, and leans back into him. “Now it seems like I’ve got something worth staying for.”
Frank exhales sharply, like the words have punched the air right out of him. He cups the back of her head, pulling her in until their foreheads are pressed together. The feel of her skin, cool against his, grounds him. She grounds him.
Outside, the city is still burning. Fisk is still out there. Murdock still needs help. None of it’s fixed. None of it’s safe.
But Karen's body is warm and real in his arms, and he can still feel her lips moving against his. He listens to her words echoing in his chest, letting them fill in the cracks in his heart.
It’s a rare moment of peace, and it’s a reason to fight like hell. She is his reason to fight like hell.
And if there’s one thing Frank knows how to do, it’s fight.