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”Please, please don’t shoot him!!”
Karen holds her hands out in front of her, trying to talk sense into Lewis, who has his gun pointed directly at her. She’s been close to death once or twice before, but there’s something about staring down the barrel of a pistol that adds an extra level of fear. Karen’s heart is pounding in her chest and her blood runs cold when Lewis cocks the weapon. Everything is happening in slow motion, and Karen thinks I knew it would end this way because you dive into the line of fire enough and that’s just what you get. She wonders if it would be better to close her eyes.
Suddenly, before she can, there’s a blur. A shot rings out and Frank drops like a stone in front of her. Karen feels frozen in place, arms outstretched, and she stares down at Frank’s prone body in horror. There’s blood seeping out of him, pooling on the floor, gathering in the fabric of her dress. Bile rises up in her throat.
“Frank!” She gasps, and he turns his head slowly, unnaturally, to look at her. His mouth forms words but no sounds come out, just blood blood blood. She reaches towards him just as several more shots ring out, and his body is littered with more bullets. Lewis is laughing. Karen screams.
Frank’s stare remains on her even in death.
Karen wakes up in a cold sweat. The wind coming from the window curls around her, raising goosebumps on her arms. She stares at the ceiling and tries to slow down her breathing.
It’s just a dream. Just a dream. He’s okay.
Karen sits up and pushes her hair behind her ears, shivering. Usually her nightmares are of Matt, buried under a building, helpless. Or Fisk escaping prison and coming for her, fingers choking the life out of her. This time, she had dreamt of Frank, and she can’t seem to get his lifeless stare out of her mind. She strains her ears and hears him in the next room, breathing slowly and evenly. The clock on her nightstand reads 2:13am. He’s still asleep.
For several weeks now Frank had taken to crashing on her couch. He never explained why and she never asked, just content to have someone there with her to chase away the loneliness. Karen stands and pads softly to the window, shutting it as quietly as possible. She’s exhausted, but sleep is out of the question now. She hesitates, debating, but eventually sneaks out of her room and into the living room. Frank is laying on his back, and she can just barely see his features in the moonlight. Nevertheless, she’s comforted by his presence. She closes her eyes, trying to match her breathing with his. If she can just slow her heartbeat and get her thoughts under control, maybe she can fall asleep before sunrise. She stands there quietly until Frank rustles, and when she opens her eyes, he’s watching her.
“What’s wrong?” He asks softly.
“Nightmare,” she whispers, and she’s relieved at the gentleness in his gaze. There’s a flash of her nightmare, of his blank eyes, and she closes her own quickly. “Just—just a nightmare.”
Frank hums knowingly. “Want to talk about it?”
He’s sitting up now, looking at her with a mixture of patience and curiosity. He knows she has nightmares, he must hear her cry out, but she’s never shared them with him, just as he hasn’t with her. Her gaze crawls over his darkened features, the five o clock shadow on his face, the tired bruises under his eyes, the firm line of his mouth. She sighs and takes the cushion next to him, pulling her robe tighter around her.
“That day in the hotel.” She stares at her lap, swallowing thickly. “When Lewis shot at me, and you took the bullet. I dreamed that you-...” She takes a calming breath, and she’s amazed at how hard it is to even think about. “I dreamt that you just…died. And he kept shooting you and—and I couldn’t do anything to stop it.”
She’s surprised when Frank slips his hand into hers. “I’m okay,” he tells her when she meets his gaze. “We’re both okay.” The low rumble of his voice is reassuring and she rests her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes.
“Yeah,” she agrees, and they lapse into a comfortable silence. Frank rubs his thumb over the back of her hand soothingly.
“I dream of us havin’ dinner,” he says after a long time, and his voice is so soft she almost misses it. “You, and me, and the Liberman’s. Sometimes Curtis. Sometimes me and Maria, and the kids.” He falls silent and Karen leans back to look at him, waiting. The apprehension on his face makes her heart twist. “Everyone’s laughin’ and talkin’, havin’ a good time. But uh...then these Marines come in. And they’re dressed to the nines, you know. Masks ’n shit. And I’m tied down. Then they just start—start shooting. And I can’t—“
His voice breaks and he looks away, squeezing her hand tightly. She squeezes back just as tight, pouring as much comfort as she can into the gesture. Karen has never met someone who can bring out the emotion from her like Frank can. She’s not sure if it’s his situation, or their unspoken bond, or simply because of how close they’ve become; all she wants is to tell him everything will be okay. Instead she presses her forehead to his shoulder and waits it out as he tries to control his breathing. Eventually she feels the tension drain out of him.
“I hear you, sometimes. Sometimes you say that bastard’s name. Fisk.”
She’s deflecting when she pulls away and stands, going over to the window. His eyes burn holes into her back and she crosses her arms tightly. “I dream he kills me. Chokes me, over and over.”
“Why? Why would he?”
She debates making something up. She thinks about just telling him it’s nothing and trying to go back to bed. He deserves the truth. She turns to look at him. “There’s something I’ve never told—anyone.” The words fight her, try to stay locked away. She forces them out through gritted teeth.
And now she’s got his attention. He seems to understand the look on her face because the next thing she knows he’s got the scotch out and they’re seated on the couch. She takes a swig from the bottle and cringes. Frank watches her as he takes his own drink. He doesn’t say anything. Karen looks at anything except his dark form, outlined in moonlight.
“Fisk sent his guy after me. His name was James Wesley. He took me to this...abandoned warehouse. Threatened me. Put his gun on the table between us.” Karen takes another drink, closing her eyes. She can’t bear to see Frank’s expression. If this ruins things between them, she doesn’t want to see the moment when he realizes she’s a monster. That she’s one of the ones he hunts down. That she might be deserving of punishment, too. “He threatened me, threatened my friends. And when he was distracted, I took the gun.”
Frank is deathly quiet beside her. She plows on, pushing the words out. “And I was—I was so scared Frank. He was toying with me. And I just—I took the gun. And I shot him. I shot him seven times.”
She feels the tears fall with a dulled sense of awareness. “I threw the gun in the river. And I never told anyone. And now I’m terrifiedFisk knows. He’s got to know. And he’s going to kill me.”
Frank’s fingers tug the bottle from her hands, and he sets it aside. She opens her eyes as he reaches out, brushing the tears from her cheeks. He’s got a dark, intense look in his eyes. “He wont touch you, Karen.”
Whatever she expected him to react with, that was not it. Her lip trembles and she feels the emotion swelling in her chest. Confusion makes her stumble over her words. “Frank, you don’t understand. I killed someone.”
“You defended yourself.” Frank frowns at her like he can’t understand how she’s misconstruing the situation. “He would have killed you, so you got him first. End of story.”
Karen is speechless, shocked into silence. Of all the people in the world, she should have known Frank would react this way. She put off telling Matt, and now he was dead. She can never tell Foggy, he wouldn’t understand. He would try to make it a legal dilemma. But Frank—Frank knows. He understands that sometimes, you have to be preemptive. Karen blinks at him silently, and takes the bottle when he offers it to her.
“You don’t think…”
“What?” His eyes are smoldering coals in the darkness.
Karen hesitates. “You don’t think I’m a bad person?”
Frank laughs, but the sound is raw. “Karen, Jesus. You couldn’t be a bad person if you tried.”
The relief Karen feels is enough to make her weep. She takes a drink instead and starts to feel light-headed. “What about Fisk?”
Frank looks away, like he’s far away in thought. “I’ll handle Fisk. You’ve done enough. Him and I, we have a deal.”
Karen doesn’t want to know. She doesn’t ask. She just nods and sets the bottle down on the coffee table, standing. Frank takes her hand reassuringly, briefly, but she tightens her grip before he can pull away. “Come with me.”
His expression is wary. “I don’t think…”
“Please, I just…don’t want to be alone.” She feels silly asking, but the thought of laying there alone in the darkness makes her heart start to beat a little quicker. She drops his hand and starts towards her bedroom, and relief crashes down on her when she hears his soft footsteps following her.
She settles on her side of the bed, and watches as he takes the other side, movements slow and cautious. When he’s settled, he turns to look at her and searches her face. “Does this help?”
The exhaustion is already taking over. She smiles tiredly at him. “Does it help you?”
Understanding crosses his face and he nods. A wane smile pulls at his lips. “Look at the sad pair we make, huh?”
She can’t help it; Karen reaches out and presses her fingers to his jaw, tracing the stubble. He watches her intently. She nods and lets her fingers drop onto the mattress between them.
“At least we’re a pair, huh?”
This time the smile is real, and he takes her hand, wrapping her fingers with his own. “Good night, Karen.”
She’s already closing her eyes, but she offers another genuine smile.
“Good night, Frank.”