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confused-pyramid · 1 year

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Maybe I'm Not Scared

pairing: frank castle x karen page

summary: A few moments in time following the events of 1x10 of The Punisher.

word count: 3.2k

warnings: angst, yearning, canon!typical violence, drinking

a/n: This is my first fic that isn't 'x reader' and I'm a bit nervous but very excited:) The title comes from the song "Bare" by Wildes. Fic mentions events and episodes for Daredevil season 2 and The Punisher season 1.

The door to her apartment shuts behind her and Karen Page collapses to the ground. It's been an especially long day and after Madani finally finished with her questions, Karen needed to get out of there.

Her apartment has always felt like her safe place. It shouldn't, and she knows this, but it helps her fall asleep with all of the things that go bump in the night hiding right under her bed. It was less than a year ago that her old apartment was shot up, and that itself should have been her first sign to get out of the city, but for some godforsaken reason she stuck around.

If she forces herself to remember, she knows that Frank had been there that night. When bullets were flying over her head, puncturing her walls with holes that never got patched up, Frank had been laying on top of her, covering her body with his own. He always managed to show up, right when she needed him.

So maybe it's not her apartment. Maybe she has no safe place at all. No where to turn to when she feels the walls closing in on her.

Nowhere maybe, but not no one.

Frank, who had been there at every turn, right when she was starting to think that all hope was lost. Just like today.

Karen picks herself up, pressing her hands against the wall for a moment to steady herself. Her ears still ring from the bomb that went off in the congressman's hotel room, but it's nothing that a gulp of whiskey won't fix. Nothing ever is.

She floats into her kitchen, unsure of how her legs are still working, and pours herself a glass, before her eyes land on the bouquet of flowers still sitting out on her counter. A large bunch of white roses that now just looks like a few wilted stems. They have long since passed their prime and probably should be let go (there's a metaphor in there somewhere), but she can't bring herself to throw them out. Not if they may be the last thing of Frank's she will ever have.

Her hand reaches for the glass of whiskey, but she misses and her body presses up against the cool countertop. She closes her eyes and his words from earlier flash across her eyelids.

"I will come for you."

Karen had believed him completely. There had been no doubt in her mind that he would have torn the building apart if it meant getting her back from Lewis. But what does that mean?

What does it mean for them that she is so certain he would stake his life down for her in a heartbeat, but she has no clue whether he would answer the phone if she called right now?

She tries to remember what Frank said to Lewis when they were in the hotel. Something about pretending that what they were doing was noble. He has to know he isn't like Lewis. That what he did may not have been noble but at least it wasn't cowardly.

The memory of the cold metal of the barrel of her gun stings her skin and she gulps the contents of her glass in one go. The clink of her cup hitting the counter sounds loud in the silence surrounding her, and she stumbles over to the window, flinging it open.

Traffic and chatter filter up and the nausea rising within her calms down momentarily. That was part of the reason she moved to New York. The noise.

The city was never silent, and that helped to quiet the demons always clawing at her heels. Even when she was lonely, she was never by herself, and with no family left - at least none that would speak to her - she couldn't handle being completely alone.

Maybe that's what drew her to Frank. They both look around and all they see are the threats hiding in the dark corners of the city. Matt and Foggy never understood that part of her. They had never held a pistol in their hand and known exactly what it could do to whoever it was pointed at. They didn't have to live every single day knowing exactly what it felt like to hold someone's life in their hands and choosing to end it.

The shrill sound of her phone ringing jolts her from her thoughts and she scrambles to her bag, ripping it open when the zipper doesn't come undone.

"Hello?" she gasps, pressing the device against her ear like it's a lifeline.

"You home?" Frank asks, his voice tinny over the receiver. “Did you make it back okay?”

“Yes,” she sighs, nodding even though he can’t see her. “I’m in my apartment. I actually just got back, Madani had a lot of questions.”

He chuckles lightly, but it’s hollow. “Sounds about right.”

He’s silent for a few moments and she wants him to speak so badly, but she doesn’t know what he would say if he did.

I’m done? I’ll stop?

He would never say either of those things, and in her heart, she knows she would never ask him to. At least not again.

“So what do you want? Should I let it go?”

She had almost said yes. Yes, yes, please yes. But she didn’t.

Instead she blinked away the tears that she convinced herself were just from the wind and shook her head.

“I want there to be an after. For you.”

That was all she had ever wanted. All she still wanted for him. She knew what his family’s death had done to him, and she knew what killing the people who had wronged him meant, but there had to be an end.

“Are you safe?” she asks him, her hand still pressed over her phone like it will disappear at any moment. “Did you get out?”

“Yeah,” he says simply, not giving anything away. She knows this is to protect her, and that’s also why she holds back from asking the one question that is sitting on the tip of her tongue. Will I see you again?

He must hear it in her mind - he always was able to sense exactly what she was thinking - because his breathing gets uneven. She can imagine him pacing around, his hand bringing his burner phone down for a second as he collects his thoughts.

“I’ll try to come by,” he states gruffly, his voice somehow going even lower. “Before I leave, I’ll try.”

The weight pressing on her chest lifts ever so slightly, and she can hardly believe this is the same man who said “You want to?” the first time she had asked when she would see him again.

“Get some sleep,” he instructs right before the line goes dead. He never did say “goodbye”. She finds it somewhat comforting. Like maybe if he doesn’t say it, then she will see him again.

It’s the small things that she holds onto that keep her going. Day by day. Minute by Minute. Second by second.

Before today, the last time Karen had seen him was when he asked for help finding a man named Micro, and even then she had been afraid of what he was going to use that information for. She was scared that her two hands would lead to more bloodshed, but more than that, she was scared for him.

He had come to her apartment and brought her flowers and made a joke about being a hippie, and to an outsider, it might have seemed normal. Like two old friends (with a bit of inexplicable history) catching up.

He had asked for help and she had agreed, but as he was leaving, she hadn’t been able to help herself. He was so strong and sturdy and when his arms came up around her too, the waves crashing onto her started to let up. She didn’t feel like she was drowning anymore, but then he had let go, and it had all come rushing back.

She asked him then, before he could escape into the night, what his end game was. What he was going to do when he could finally stop killing.

He hadn’t needed to think for a moment. "I didn't go into this life with a plan. I didn't have an end in mind when I set off down this road."

She knew what he was saying. That he didn’t expect to survive this…and even though that thought likely brought comfort to most of the city, she could feel bile rising in her throat.

“I’ve gotten my fill of seeing you like this, Castle,” she had sputtered, trying in vain to keep her voice steady. “I don’t want to have to see you covered in bruises and cuts anymore.”

He had finally met her eyes then, his expression turning somber. “I won’t come here anym-”

“You know that’s not what I meant, Frank.”

Her tone was harsh and agitated, but his name sounded soft on her lips. It took his breath away, how easily she could cut through his bullshit.

For one single, self-serving moment, he wishes he could see himself the way she seemed to. “I know. I know what you want me to say…but I don’t want to lie to you either.”

He never did lie to her. In a world where she couldn’t trust anyone, he was the one person she had come to rely on. His honesty, no matter how blunt or harsh. But not cruel. Never cruel.

Karen thinks back to the hotel and the look on Frank’s face when they finally made it into the elevator. She had convinced him to hold her own gun against her, so that he could escape without being caught. She could see the uncertainty in his eyes, even after taking the clip out, but she had worn him down.

Even if the clip had stayed in, she wouldn’t have feared for her life. Not with him right there behind her, his heart beating frantically against her spine.

For a man whose resting heart rate was probably in the teens, she had been surprised to feel the sudden uptick when the barrel of her gun pushed up against her chin.

But it had worked, and they had both gotten away. That was all that mattered. Not that she can still hear the ticking of Lewis’ bomb whenever she’s alone, or how she sees his splattered corpse whenever she shuts her eyes. She has lived for years with ghosts haunting her every waking moment, and a few more wouldn’t hurt.

She makes the executive decision to take a shower before heading to bed, and as she peels her clothes off in her bathroom, she tries not to think about how vulnerable she is making herself. Dark corners. All she sees is dark corners.

When she steps into the shower, the water washes away what it can, but after she’s dried off and in her pajamas, the silence is louder than usual.

“You have championed the common hero before, Miss Page.”

Sleep stopped coming easily the day her brother died. When her mom succumbed to cancer, the pain was unimaginable, but at least she had a support system. Other people to share the pain and make it manageable. After Kevin’s death, she was hurt and guilty and shunned by her town, and never again did she underestimate just how much more painful grief is when you have to bear it alone.

"But awful things happen to people everyday, and they don't murder people because of it."

She could practically hear Frank's voice in her head as she said those words over the radio. Don't goad him, Karen. Ease up.

She never did know when to ease up. If she had, maybe she wouldn't have been in that hotel at all today.

Sleep takes its time, but when it finally comes, she welcomes it with open arms.

~~~

A few more days pass and Karen slowly gives up on the hope that Frank will come by before leaving the city. She has a couple of days left on her week-long leave from work that Ellison mandated, but she’s already going stir-crazy. She wasn’t built for this. For rest and relaxation.

Another way that she and Frank are the same. They share that burn for the truth, for the answers to the questions that have been hidden from them.

One thing she doesn’t do is watch the news. She already knows what happened that day. She doesn’t need the world telling her she’s a victim or a perpetrator or something in between.

There’s a rustle on her fire escape and she jumps in her chair, before realizing who it is. She can’t remember if she locked her window, but it doesn’t matter, because a few moments later, Frank is standing in her kitchen.

“Hi Karen,” he greets her, his demeanor more guarded than usual.

“I’m glad you came,” she whispers, her hands itching to reach forward and hold him. “Thank you…for coming.”

He nods slightly, but there’s a sadness there too. “You shouldn’t thank me. I’m putting you in danger just by being here.”

Danger. That word has meant a lot of things to her, but right now, she can’t bring herself to feel it. He’s here - he’s actually here - and she wants to soak it in for what she anticipates will be the last time.

“What’s next for you?” she asks gingerly, her eyes scanning him as she tucks her hair behind her ear.

He follows the movement of her hand with his eyes as he ponders what to tell her. Any information in this world paints a target on your back, and he has gotten quite enough of putting her in danger.

She is one of the strongest people he has ever met, but she is the last person left in this world that he will do anything to protect.

But she knows that. What she doesn’t know is that she’s also his biggest weakness. That he has been fighting this battle for months, but every time he looks at her, he wonders what it would feel like to simply live. To put down his weapons and cease.

But that’s not who they are.

He doesn't have to think about what it could’ve been like if they had met before. Before that day at the park; before Kandahar; hell, before he'd even enlisted in the military.

Because that isn't who they are. They're not in a secret forbidden love story that will begin once the bad guys have been defeated. They are two people who found each other because they had to. Because it was the only thing that managed to keep them alive.

What’s next for him? Whose blood will be on his hands now?

“I have to find Billy,” he says, his eyes dark under the hood of his jacket, “so I can finish this.”

Finish. Neutralize. Eliminate. There have been a lot of different words he has used but they all mean the same thing. She doesn’t know if she has it in her to fight with him anymore. Anyway, the further in she has been dragged, the more she understands.

Besides, her supposed moral ground isn’t much higher than his.

Karen can remember that day in the prison like it was yesterday. Frank can too, no matter how much he would like to forget.

“Look Frank, I can’t judge you.”

He didn’t know how much she had meant that. The pretty little journalist who everyone expected to just stand back and write about the action instead of being in the thick of it.

She remembers how Matt had told her to stop acting like a kid, and how it had felt like a slap to the face, because she was many things, but she was not naïve. But she didn’t fight back, because his black and white view of who everyone was would never go in her favor.

So when Frank had said “maybe it’s not your first rodeo”, her life had exploded into color again. He saw her immediately for who she was. Not as a villain but as someone who had hurt and been hurt and who knew what it meant for there to be shades of gray in a world that always seemed so black and white.

She sees him now. Sees the pain written into his features, the weariness etched into the cracks and lines of his face. He sees the pain and apprehension outlining each of her movements, and he wants her to know that he would take it all way if he could. But that was always their problem.

He can’t.

He’s going to leave and nothing feels like it will be the same so when she steps forward, he doesn’t step back. And when her fingers reach up to brush his cheek, he doesn’t pull away.

She runs her thumb lightly over the cut on the edge of his mouth, and he doesn’t flinch, even if it hurts.

She takes another step forward and this time they’re chest to chest, face to face. She has pushed farther than she ever has before, but if not now, when?

But Karen doesn’t want to take more than he is willing to give, so instead of doing what her body is begging her to, she reaches up and wraps her arms around his shoulders, pulling him down for a lumbering hug.

He feels familiar in her arms, like maybe in some other life, this was natural. Like they would get to do this every day.

Just when she thinks he may pull away, he squeezes her tighter, and all of the broken pieces of her find their way back together again. They press together and the echoing loneliness between them feels just a bit smaller.

When she finally pulls back, she does it slowly, and just as she starts to turn her head, his lips find hers. He is so strong and solid, but his lips feel soft and warm against hers.

This moment feels too real and she half-expects her phone to ring or some other interruption to present itself, because there’s no way she’s finally getting what she has wanted for so long.

Her body feels malleable in his arms, like she’s molding herself into every crack and crevice of him. To fit into all of the places where he has lost a piece of himself. It’s like she’s saying I’m here. I’m in this with you. Whatever you don’t have, I’ll fill in. Whatever you can’t do, I will.

Eventually they both come to the same understanding and they pull back, but not all the way. He still holds her in his arms and she still runs her fingers down his jaw.

She can’t bring herself to let go just yet, but when the sound of a car honking filters up through her window, they spring apart.

This is it. She can feel it. It’s all about to end.

“I need you to be safe, Karen,” he tells her as he adjusts his jacket around his shoulders. “Don’t go instigating any more fights with terrorists over the radio or in your newspaper.”

He says the last part like it’s supposed to be a joke, but his heart isn’t in it. It’s just too real.

The "I love you" she’s been holding onto sits thickly in her throat, hanging on for dear life as she swallows it down. It’s not the time, but the longer she holds it in, the more she realizes it may never be.

He makes his way towards her window and she expects him to leave without another word, but then he pauses.

“Goodbye.”

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