Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

New York, Matt’s city, Foggy’s city, her city, was sinking, strangled in the suffocating grip of Fisk, who marched through his campaign to crown himself king.

Mayor Fisk.
Mayor Kingpin.

A sick joke that was becoming real.
Creeping into every mind, eating quietly at the hearts of men.
It was inevitable.
It was coming.

His crown would be forged from fear, his throne built from corpses.

And Karen didn’t know it yet, but Foggy Nelson was already one of them.

Karen Page stood at the center of her half-empty apartment, surrounded by boxes and ghosts. Foggy’s laughter still lingered on the walls. His tie lay neatly folded in a drawer she hadn’t had the strength to open. His blood still stained the memories that haunted her sleep.

Bullseye had put Foggy in the ground. Matt had followed, burying himself once more in the shadows.

And Karen was left alive which felt less like mercy than tragedy.

She had nothing left. No home to return to. No family. Only a few splinters of courage to leave before grief consumed her.

A memory came unbidden :

-"We are all lonely. I sometimes think that that is all that life is. We’re just fighting not to be alone.".

Karen felt alone.
And the feeling of being unwanted, again and again, was just as devastating.

She declined Matt’s last call without even looking. She couldn’t stand the sound of his voice. Not now. Not when she might shatter. Not when he had already chosen his pain over her. Again.

She had to leave New York. If she stayed, she’d freeze where she stood, in grief, in anger, in memories that gnawed and gnawed and never gave anything back. 

She reached for another box. But something glimmered at the window.

A shape. White. Delicate. Impossible.

Karen stepped forward, breath caught in her throat.On the sill lay a snowball, not merely packed snow, but sculpted, shaped. Around it, petals of ice sparkled as if dusted with stars. At the center, anchored like the very heart of winter, was a slender brown twig, humble and still.

A snow rose. Handmade. Careful. Fierce in its tenderness. Fresh.

Karen blinked and stepped closer.

Slowly, she opened the window. Cold air rushed in, cutting through the warmth, carrying something else. Darker. Older. Protective.

She lifted the snow rose into her palms. Cold enough to burn. Beautiful enough to wound.

Her heartbeat was a wildfire trapped in her ribs.

Frank Castle

Long gone. Or so she’d believed.

The Punisher was a ghost, said to have vanished into the bones of the world. But Frank Castle was never the kind to stay dead when the world needed him. When she needed him.

Her fingers tightened around the fragile rose. It would melt, of course, beauty always did.

But for a moment, it lived, stubborn against the cold.

Like Foggy had. Like she had tried to.

Then, something else appeared, carved delicately into the frost on the windowsill :

Wait

 She leaned closer, eyes tracing each fragile letter, uncomprehending at first. The world had narrowed to that single word. Wait.

She should leave. She was ready. She had to. She had no right to hope, no reason to stay. But if Frank had come back for her, she knew, she knew. Some battles demanded patience. Some waits were worth everything.

She let a slow, deliberate exhale out. Her fingers tightened around the snow rose, and she whispered to the winter air :

- “Okay..”.

Far away, Frank watched. He observed. He cared, in his own way. Invisible.

He loved her despite himself, the way some dark things must be loved, in secret, in shadow.

If he had loved her less, he might have approached her before the world darkened, before Nelson’s blood repainted the streets of Hell’s Kitchen.
Maybe he would have spoken more.

Tonight, all he had for her whisper was a murmur of his own, in response to hers.

- “Okay..”.

Maybe things could have been simpler. Just a collision, a fleeting affair, something small, insignificant, just to feel a little less alone.

But what had happened had bound him to Karen Page in a wholly different way. A mutual affection strengthened through all sorrows.
The only person he had leaned on since his life had shattered.
The only person who could support him through every pain.
The only person with whom he could be one, utterly, silently, in unspoken memories, until the inevitable moment of separation, each parting harder than the last.

Without Karen Page, there would have been no new empty spaces, no need to fill them. She was the last dream he could hold onto, the one that shielded him from nightmares. The last chance to be something other than a monster.

After a few minutes, Frank stepped back, promising himself he would return, forcing himself not to look at her too long, as if she were the sun, the sun he hadn’t dared gaze at in so long.

Flashback — Blood in the Snow

Queens was a warzone that night. His warzone. Like every night.

Frank moved through it. He couldn’t know that somewhere else, another war had just begun and a heart had stopped ; Foggy Nelson’s.

For months, Frank had been hunting Isabella Gnucci, tearing her empire apart street by street. Gunfire. Screams. Her screams. Her men’s screams.

He had become something else in this total war, a living execution order. Fighting. Pushing back. Starting over. Almost by habit.

He no longer cared about the scars, the dirt, the darkness rage left in him. None of it mattered anymore.

He didn’t sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, the same ghosts came back. Maria. Lisa. Frank Jr.

- “Go get ’em, Daddy !”, the words of his son still woke him, as if innocence itself had given him the order to kill.

Sometimes it was another voice.

- “You’re not a monster. You’re not.” Karen Page. Always trying to pull him back toward the light.

A cruel trick of his mind. A reminder that his heart still had something left in it that wasn’t rotten. And every time he heard her, shame came with it ; because he had let his heart soften, allowed himself to love again. Despite their dead. So he stood up, went back to the streets, trying to silence the man inside him who screamed her name.

That night, he went back to his hideout in the underbelly of New York. No one would find him there. A place hidden in the dark underground tunnels of the city. Four walls lined with guns. A stained mattress. Nothing alive. Just war. A mirror of his soul.

By reflex, Frank opened a bottle. Didn’t matter if it was to drown pain, clean a wound, or both. Pain was the only thing that stayed. He drank, hissed when the liquor hit his split lip.

In the background, one of the radios on his workbench crackled to life. Same old crap. Headlines about Fisk. His political crusade.

Frank snorted a few words for himself :

- “That prick thinks he’s Caesar. Whole damn city’ll kiss his ring now.”.

Then the anchor’s tone changed, that voice reserved for the worst news. Frank wasn’t really listening until a well-known name was uttered.

- “Breaking news: Franklin ‘Foggy’ Nelson, attorney and partner at Nelson, Murdock & Page, was found dead tonight. Shot by a masked gunman…”.

His breath stopped dead in his chest. The names collided in his head. The memories with them.

- “Multiple casualties and critical injuries reported. Daredevil was seen at the scene…”.

The bottle slipped. Shattered. The sound swallowed by the radio’s static. Whiskey spread across the concrete, like spilled blood.

Like Foggy Nelson. Dead. Somewhere in Hell’s Kitchen.

Panic came first. His fist slammed the wall. Blood dripped through his fingers. He laughed, a raw, broken sound full of madness. She could be dead too.

Everything he had tried to protect could be gone. Again. Only the silence of the night remained, and the endless taste of grief.

Rage took over. Chaos followed. Furniture overturned. Mattress. Weapons clattering. He needed to destroy everything around him just to quiet his head.

On the floor, the radio still crackled through the static :

- “Her associate, Karen Page, was seen at the scene. She is currently speaking with police.”.

Frank grabbed the radio with shaking hands. He dropped to his knees, rocking back and forth, clinging to that fragile voice coming through the small thing in his hands, hoping for one more word of hope.

- She’s alive, he told himself. She’s alive.

But the mind was a traitor. He could see her in his head, standing alone in the wreckage, taking stock of what was left. She’d lost everything tonight. Maybe a piece of herself. And he hadn’t been there. He had left her.

Something shifted inside him, a fight between the man and the Punisher. An old rage returned. Made by affection, desire, need of protection.

He closed his eyes for a long moment.

Tonight could have been the last chance to see her, to hear her voice, to hold her one last time.

If he’d known the world could go on without her while he still breathed, he would have told her the truth ; that he loved her too much to let that happen.
That he couldn’t live in a world without her in it.
If he’d known, he wouldn’t have assumed she already knew that his heart still beat harder every time she was near.

When he opened them again, his look was different. Sharper. Brighter. Alive.

Frank Castle had surfaced again, back in control, master of his choices. The Punisher buried, for now.

The pain hardened into resolve.

He had to see her. Find her. 

The room wasn’t empty anymore. Karen Page was everywhere.

Chapter Text

Frank Castle stood across the street.
No skull tonight. Just black clothes, clean shave, hair trimmed. A face he barely recognized, the ghost of a man he’d once been.

It had been fourteen days. Four hours. Forty-five minutes. He’d counted every moment since he’d seen her find the rose.
Seen her fingers brush the snow.
Seen her eyes, hollow, worn, drowned in grief, flicker with something fragile. Hope.
Or the memory of it. Of him.

He shouldn’t be here. He knew that. It was too dangerous. He had cleared the perimeter for days, taken out every threat close enough to breathe near her. He had a few hours, maybe days, before Ma Gnucci’s men found him. Enough time to face the only demon he feared.
Himself.

Snowflakes clung to his collar as he crossed the street and stepped inside the building. Each stair creaked like a verdict already delivered. His pulse quickened ; what if she refused to open the door ? What if she’d changed her mind ? Too late for that. His hand was already knocking.

Once. Twice. Three times.
Each hit heavier than the last, like fate tapping his shoulder, whispering : you found her. You won’t walk away unscarred this time.

The door opened. Karen looked at him without surprise. She had been waiting.

She was pale, silent, breath caught in her throat.
Her gaze lingered on him, shifting from daily grief to anger. To pain. A fury carved out of heartbreak so deep it could drown him.

Frank stopped breathing, didn’t move.
Her eyes, Jesus, those eyes, didn’t need words to tell him everything.
Every mile he’d put between them.
Every wound he’d left her to carry alone.
Every selfish lie he’d told himself, saying he disappeared to protect her.

His gaze dropped, almost involuntarily. Shame was heavy enough to bend him. Karen’s tears slid slowly down her face. Silent. That was worse. So much worse.

Two years she’d maybe believed him dead choosing to vanish without a single trace.
Two weeks since her heart had been ripped out watching Foggy die, Matt vanish.
Two minutes since she was staring at the man she’d buried, standing there like a broken apology.

He raised his eyes painfully :

- “I’m sorry, Karen. I’m so damn sorry.”.

Something cracked across her face. Not forgiveness, impact. The sound of his voice hit her like a blow she hadn’t braced for.

She opened the door wider without a word ans stepped back. A gesture of grace, or maybe defiance : come see what you let die, Castle.

He entered quietly, surrounded by boxes, empty shelves, and this damn ghosts.
Nelson, Murdock & Page.
Another dream. Another family buried.

Frank knew words meant nothing here. Language couldn’t fix ruins. Anything he said would just make the hole deeper.

By instinct, he moved closer, slow, trying to break the invisible walls one at a time. She backed away, hand raised, protecting herself from the kind of pain only Frank Castle could bring.

- “Don’t do this, Frank. Don’t come near me.”. Her voice was torn apart, her tears falling faster.

Frank didn’t listen. He kept moving. He didn’t know how to stop.

- “Frank, stop. You’re just another damn ghost…”. Another step.

- “Don’t you dare…”.

His hand closed gently around her arm.

- “I said no !”.

He felt her resistance snap under his fingers. She hit him once in the chest, by reflex, by pride, then collapsed. He caught her. His arms wrapped around her with a tenderness that struck them both.

At his touch, she broke. The grief tore out of her, unstoppable. A pain too big for one body. Karen clutched his clothes, like holding him was the only proof he was real, like letting go would mean losing him again.

Frank held her tighter. Silent. His hands steady. His breath uneven as she drowned against him. Beneath his ribs, his own sorrow growled, and with every one of her tears, he swallowed his own, sharp, burning, sitting just behind his eyes.

- “I’m here,” he murmured into her hair.

- “I’m here. I got you.”.

His forehead pressed to hers. He wondered how he had gone so long without breathing the same air as her. How he had survived this long without her. How he had buried it all.

He wanted to tell her the truth : I think I love you. I love you too much to hear you cry like this. I always think about you, and I know I shouldn’t. I know love is just a scream into the void for me, that forgetting is inevitable, that I’m cursed to leave again. And that by tomorrow, you’ll hate me even more, and everything we’ve shared, every line we’ve crossed, will be dust.

- “Ssh… Karen, please. Listen to me. I’ll take care of you, okay ?”.

A promise he had no right to make.
I left you. I failed you. Not this time.

She didn’t answer. She stayed in his arms. Finally let herself fall into something familiar.

Around them, the apartment was half empty. So were their lives. But this moment was real.

Two broken souls holding onto each other, their hearts now made of the same fragments of grief.

Karen was exhausted. There was still a trace of defiance buried deep inside her, somewhere beneath the wreckage, but now she was silent.
She let herself be still. Let herself breathe. Let herself drift, just for a few minutes, relieved to feel safe in Frank Castle’s arms.

There was nothing left in her to fight with. No logic to chase, no accusations sharp enough to reopen old wounds. She didn’t want to fight him. Not tonight. She didn’t want answers, explanations, regrets or reasons.

She wanted warmth. Proof of life. Contact.
She wanted to feel that someone was still for her.
That someone had come back for her from the heart of hell.
That she wasn’t completely abandoned.

Frank carried her without a word, one arm beneath her knees, the other firm against her back.
Without hesitation, she let him, her arms slipping around his neck, her head resting against his chest. She let herself be carried, light, almost weightless, hollowed out by grief.

He set her down gently at the edge of the bed. Pulled a blanket over her, the last protection he had to offer. She lay there, silent, curled on her side, knees drawn to her chest, clutching the pillow as if waiting for him to say something.

Frank knelt beside her, close enough to feel her breath, and placed a hand against her cheek. A sigh escaped him, quiet, weary, threaded with fear.

Karen finally looked at him in the dim light.
Fatigue carved deep into his face. New scars cutting through the old ones she knew by heart.
His eyes were red. Haunted. He had cried, too.
Good.
That meant there was still a man left beneath the war. A heart not completely buried under blood and rage.

He looked darker than before. A man who had spent too long alone with the ghosts that hunted him in the dark. But he had survived. Somehow, in all that chaos, Frank Castle was still there.

And she was too tired to try to understand what that meant.

So she chose truth, because lies had never belonged to whatever they were.

- “I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered.

Her voice cracked, barely a breath.

- “I’m glad you’re okay, Frank.”.

The words hit him hard, stirring something buried deep. She saw it : the collapse inside him, the guilt devouring what little was still standing.
He dragged a rough hand across his face, shook his head, eyes locked on hers like he was drowning there.

- “I should’ve been there,” he rasped.

- “I should’ve stopped it…”.

She caught his hand before he could spiral further.

- “Don’t do that,” she breathed.

- “Not tonight. Please. Just… stay.”.

His throat tightened. His hand tightened around hers, as if holding onto that fragile moment where neither of them was really ready for the other’s presence.

- “Okay,” he murmured.

Then softer, almost breaking :

- “Okay.”.

He couldn’t stand waiting anymore, feeling her hand in his and still meeting absence at his fingertips.

He speak to himself : she’ll push you away tomorrow, Castle. She’ll throw words at you sharp enough to split bone. She’ll bring the sky down on your head for everything you’ve done.

It didn’t stop him. He wasn’t afraid anymore of breaking vows, of crushing his soul in her arms, of offending the dead. He was only afraid of having to leave again.

So he stopped thinking. Just moved. Shrugged off his jacket. Slid in beside her, slowly, careful as if the bed were still sacred ground. Another forbidden line crossed.

With a timid glance, he offered her his arms.

She didn’t hesitate. She accepted them, without regret, letting him pull her close.
He built around her a fortress of warmth and flesh, holding the world at bay, the same world that had already destroyed her.

- “You can sleep now,” he whispered into her hair.

- “I’m not going anywhere.”.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, soft, certain. Then held her tighter, as if the night might steal her away if he loosened his grip.

Karen sank into him. Like falling into a memory. Like slipping into the last thing she still knew how to trust.

Chapter Text

Karen woke before dawn.
Her fingers were clenched around the fabric of his t-shirt. A small jolt, not panic, just the shock of feeling him still there.

Frank wasn’t asleep. Of course he wasn’t.
He hadn’t moved, hadn’t closed his eyes.
One arm wrapped around her, the other draped across her waist, his hand resting near her heartbeat like a guard dog listening for danger.

His thumb drew slow, absent circles along her arm, unconsciously.

He didn’t look at her. His eyes swept the room, the walls, the shadows. The soldier in him had never really left, he’d only learned how to stay quiet.

Karen studied his profile, the worn sharpness of it, the quiet endurance. He was here, but somewhere else too. Somewhere cold. Somewhere violent.

She swallowed, her voice barely a ghost in the dark.
— “Where are you, Frank? Where have you been all this time ?”.

He didn’t flinch.
He leaned his head back until it hit the wall and stared at the ceiling.
— “Everywhere but here,” he said, voice frayed thin.
— “As far as I could go, I guess.”.

The truth hung between them, heavy, absurd, cruel.

She exhaled.
— “Why ?”.

His eyes closed.
A breath. Then another. As if every word scraped something raw inside him.
— “Because I was terrified,” he whispered.

An admission, bare, broken.
— “Terrified of losing you. And I lost you anyway.”.

The words fell, dead, at their feet.

— “I guess, I didn’t want to drag you into the dark with me. I wanted to protect you from it. Keep you clean.”.

His voice cracked, sharp and unguarded.
— “And I still failed.”.

Guilt was eating him alive. Karen pushed herself up slowly, delicately, and cupped his face, forcing him to meet her gaze.
— “Frank. Look at me.”.

He resisted .A flicker of vulnerability gleaming in his gaze. He wanted to hide from her, hide the sadness in his eyes.

— “You’ve got a lot to atone for,” she murmured.
— “But Foggy’s death isn’t on you. You can’t protect me from the world.”.

His vision blurred into a mist, colored by the tears he struggled to hold back. Shame tightened in his chest, stealing his breath.
— “It was my job,” he said quietly. “I made a promise to myself…”.

She cut him off softly. No anger. Just exhaustion.
— “It was never your job to carry my life on your back.”.

His jaw locked. He knew she was right.
He didn’t believe it anyway. That was the tragedy of him. Karen gazed at him with sorrow. He bore so much pain, so much weight, that she longed to reach him, to forgive him for his silences, understanding with perfect clarity all that he was made of, aware of the demons he chased and those that haunted him in return.

Something shifted then.
No more words. No logic. No defense.
Just grief, longing, and the unbearable truth that Frank Castle still had a place in her heart.

Karen was too tired to build walls anymore.
She leaned in and kissed him, slow, simple, honest. She only way to tell him : I understand you, I truly know you, and thank you for coming back for me.

A tremor went through him, as if something finally broke open inside.
He whispered her name, barely a breath. His hand found the back of her neck, pulling her closer, seeking her like air.

After a pause, resting his forehead against hers, he remained silent. 

The taste of her mouth too fresh in his memory. He needed to taste it. Again. 

So he kissed her back, deep, reverent, afraid she might disappear if he stopped. Her fingers curled into his shirt. Their foreheads met again, breaths tangled, hearts pounding in sync. 

Frank eased her gently onto her back. His fingers slipped along her collar, blue fabric soft beneath his touch, relief blooming in him. The relief of being allowed to touch her freely.

Button by button, he revealed the pale skin beneath, tracing every curve that appeared before him. She didn’t look away, her blue eyes locked on his every movement, wondering f it was truly real.

— “Frank…”. 

Her voice was an invitation to act. A thing he didn’t deserve, a call he couldn’t refuse. 

He pressed his forehead to hers, his breath shaking against her lips.

— “If I touch you,” he whispered, “I don’t know if I’ll remember how to let go.”.

Karen cupped his cheek, her thumb tracing his scars, the map of everything he’d survived.

— “I don’t want to be alone,” she breathed. “And I don’t think you do either.”.

The warmth of her skin burned through the last of his defenses, and for a moment, he forgot what distance even meant. He swallowed hard as she crossed her legs around his waist and straightened her body to match his. He was supposed to be in control of this situation. But not with her, half naked in his arms. It felt so good to have her against him, to feel her skin so warm against him.

When her arms slipped around his neck, panic flashed in his chest. He looked at her, searching for reason, for a line to hold onto. But there wasn’t one.
But this. This was too much. Dangerous.
There was no future here, only the illusion of one, the quiet before another grave for their dream.

—“What are we doing, Karen ?”. A final attempt, one last escape he was reluctant to take, before stepping into the forbidden.

—“I don’t know.” she whispered.

But she didn’t let go. She stayed, her breath trembling against his, eyes filled with something fierce and certain. She began to pull off his shirt, panting, the last barrier between them to finally be skin to skin.

Now she was begging him. She was simply asking him to stop lying, to stop backing out. Her eyes were filled with love and excitement.
Don’t lie to me anymore, they said. Don’t run.

And before he could say another word, she pressed her lips to his. Everything inside him broke loose. He was going wild. Her warm breath then escaped in slow, deep sighs, as she gently kissed the nape of his neck, beginning to move their bodies in unison, perfectly synchronized. 

Frank let out a groan of pleasure.

He finally gave in, kissing her back, without restraint, one hand in her hair, the other pulling her even closer. He took a deep breath, and she suddenly rolled onto her back. He kissed her down to her waist, gently sliding off the rest of the clothes she was wearing.

Her hips melted into his hands, and he fought like a madman to keep his composure. His hands and lips slid lower, letting Karen's body tremble. 

It felt as though she had always been his. And her body would remain his for as long as he wished to keep it. 

She didn't know what was happening. Neither did he. They had no control over their's bodies anymore. They clung to one another. Like two shipwrecked souls clinging to the last piece of shore after the world had gone under.

Two spirits stitched back together by grief, trembling under the weight of everything they had lost, and everything they still were, despite it all. And God help them, because for the first time in so long, being together felt like breathing again.

As he covered her with pleasure and tenderness, he deliberately ignoring the weight of truth threatening to burn him alive.
As he soothed her sorrow, as he gave shape to what they had always been, two magnets destined to collide, unable to forget, unable to look away, Frank prayed, to whatever force might still be listening, that this moment wouldn’t turn to ash by morning.

He had sworn never to drag Karen into his hell.
He had clawed his way out of it for her, and here they were.

And already, the pain of tomorrow was rising in him, the pain he would inflict on her when he’d have to leave her alone, and the deeper pain of what she would leave in him, unraveling the knots of his past, imprinting her body and her name into his, a mark that would haunt him long after he was gone.