bakerstreet | music prompt

[ as it turns out investigative journalism suits karen, maybe too much, giving her excuses to be out all hours of the night in places she wouldn't normally be. like her own brand of vigilante justice as she tracks down the scum of hell's kitchen, armed with nothing but a pen and the truth. (don't know you know the pen is mightier than the sword, asshole.) and if she still keeps a .380 next to the pepper spray in her purse, then, well, that's just a precaution.

but the more she digs, the closer she finds herself coming across familiar handiwork, like clues left at a crime scene (or maybe warnings) — ones she swears are for her. so she starts leaving some of her own, urging her ghost to stop hiding. things get riskier and it's hard to say if she's throwing herself in the line of fire on purpose, hoping to finally get some kind of reaction; he wasn't biting yet, keeping his distance.

guess it's only fitting that he catches her off-guard at her own apartment. again. not yet inside, she could feel the presence encroaching behind her, while she dived into her bag, fingers groping for the grip of her gun. until she finally turned around. ]

Shit. Frank. [ a deep breath. she removes her hand and rakes her hair back before she presses it to her mouth, then her chest. ] Were you following me the whole time?

[ you know, says her who had been practically asking him to meet her, but that's a different story — so she tells herself. ]

[ if frank was thinking "you can do better" while reading karen's first piece and sipping coffee, than what he was actually pulling on was the same kool-aid as everyone else. the first time he comes upon a lost strand of haystack blonde hair, it's not evidence of chasing down another rehumanizing line about life in the concrete jungle. lure 'em in, take 'em out. only thing he can't tell is if she's doing it on purpose. he'll have to wait for the by-line on the tribunes next exposé.

the cartel is running low on willing recruits these days, with the surface tension of hell's kitchen nearly at its breaking point with vigilantes. they've taken to shaking down existing illegals for family information, offering to get their loved ones over the border if they'll mule drugs along the trip. the sort of offering you do where "no" is never actually on the table. won't take a meeting on their turf? they make a house call. but they're smart, they spread it out and they stay off other gangs' territory enough that they don't blip more than once on red's radar.

but they're idiots. they think unregistered immigrants fall in with the muggers, murderers and abusers, de facto. "wrong" for them is a bullet in the head or a chair leg repurposed as a stake. miss page, ever on the case, can explain to the blood-splattered innocents who remain whom his real targets were, or not. dead's dead either way.

bodies mount, the cartels' targets shock starts to out-balance their terror upon beholding him, and most disconcertingly of all, karen's so close on his heels she might as well be stepping on them. after retreating from the latest crime scene only minutes before she came upon it, he finally has to have a word with her, and trails her back to her new place. when she rounds on him, his hands remain at his sides even though-- ]

You should've drawn.

And almost plug you a second time? I'm starting to think you actually want me to.

[ though if "you can do better" was his response to her article, then maybe she might consider it. but in all seriousness "better" is what she's been going for here, especially where frank castle is concerned. even though he's done enough to make a name for himself without her help, and the people of hell's kitchen will continue to be divided on the issues about the growing number of vigilantes — hero or villain, savior or murder.

karen knows what side she stands on, but of course she can't just leave it there. (at least him showing up here at all answers some of her questions, while a thousand others start to formulate.)

but there's been enough thinking and lingering while she takes her stock of him — with the perpetual cuts and bruises she's come to expect — and the deserted hallway behind him, half-anticipating something to come down on them. so she turns back to the door, jiggling the lock the rest of the way open. this time, she invites him in. ]

Come on.

[ she sighs, holding the door in one hand while the other reaches back to hit the light switch. the place isn't special, or all that distinct from her last apartment, still just as small and quaint with its decorations. probably even less considering her track record of how many times she's had to replace it all. she spends more time at the office these days anyway. ]

[ frank cocks his eyebrows briefly, since he wouldn't mind finding out where karen page would aim on an unknown assailant. last time, she aimed right for his head, good and final. she also got near enough to be disarmed. she's a mottled civilian mess of inexperience and a raw preparedness that all but growls "not again." not his mystery to unfurl but a man has to wonder.

accepting the invitation, he steps in. it's a small place, instantly catalogued and compared to the building's exterior layout: two exits including the one he just walked through, three windows facing onto the street, at least one more (out of sight) would be looking onto the alley. he crosses to close the gaps in the curtains and ensure the sill leading onto the fire escape is latched. when everything checks out, he faces karen. ]

I'm starting to think you want it, too. The lead was still goddamn hot tonight.

[ that might be a question better answered by james wesley, if he were to ask, and honestly she's still wondering when he might. the confession's been there, a few times, on the tip of her tongue, but it's the conclusions that might come after that stop her every time.

the door gets locked and bolted behind them, and her purse dropped unceremoniously on the nearby coffee table. her coat comes off as she watches frank, appreciating his diligence — probably learning more about layout of her own apartment than she has. she's not sure why that should make her feel safe.

but when he mentions the lead, karen finds some of herself again. she tries (and fails) not to look too proud of that fact, biting the inside of her cheek to force down the smile forming. ]

I know, right? [ her hands adjust on her hips, flexing and gripping a little firmer as she clears her throat. she shakes her head slightly. ] Uh, sorry. I mean, it's not like you're one to call in an anonymous tip.

The tip is that if you get any closer to this one, the next Page piece in the Tribune'll be an obit. [ she's right: subtlety isn't his game, which is why he's visibly riled even while he tries to work himself down. they're dangerously close to stepping on each others' toes out there. it's enough without her looking so damn pleased about it.

frank glances to his right, at nothing. he may be dead to her, but he never promised to write her off the same way, and she should know better than anyone the exact kind of pain the punisher can't handle. even if hell's kitchen needs her, even if he wants it to be her to break the story -- it should be from a safe distance. expanding the gap between the two of them, not narrowing it. naturally, he works the whole of that sentiment into a sturdy and easily-mis(?)read-as-condescending, ]

I was telling you to fall back.

[ karen doesn't tell him she can handle herself, knowing he wouldn't insult her like that, but the same tired disbelief still manages to makes its way across her features. the risks were part of the job (just like his, which she has own obvious reservations about) — in fact, they're what got her the position in the first place. and he should know the more pushback she gets, the harder she will try to break through it. ]

Yeah, well, I don't want to have to write someone else's either.

[ maybe the problem is that he's so clearly not dead — to her. as much as she talked a big game in that regard, it's been difficult to let that really be the case. it doesn't necessarily means she forgave him for what he chose that night, all the different parts of her it ended up breaking; but it won't make her forget the frank she knows either, that's still here.

without any kind of hesitation, and only a few steps forward, she closes more of the gap between them. ]

You know I can't do that. So help me then.

I'm helping them. [ karen is his equal in height when she has her heels on, giving neither the higher ground in the battle of wills and hardass stares. up close, the bags under her eyes are evident under the smears of makeup that have thinned throughout the day. she's working her ass off. no surprise, but a kick of admiration for which he continues to refuse to designate a space inside himself. his gaze drops to her feet, brown grime creeping over the toes of her shoes. ]

You get that? Right now, you're not a target. The second you are-- [ fists flex on their own. he swallows with a jumble of words in his head ricocheting like gunfire. he focuses his eyes on hers, lines up the sights, makes it easier for breathing. ] These guys, they've got no stake in this city right now. They've got nothing to lose.

[ she knows that, more than anyone; karen can't argue against it and she doesn't want to. if anything it makes her want to fight harder for him— for his cause. methods are still a little (a little, karen?) sketchy, but the punisher isn't the bad guy. the trial's been over for a while, the headlines have spoken, but there's a part of her that can not, and will not, let it go.

but it's that same push and pull again, the promises of protection and then warnings to stay away. her stubborn refusal meets his, gaze unwavering. the silence stretches on for a few moments while she chews on his words (ones admittedly she's heard before). he's not telling her anything she doesn't already know, but it's a point taken; both sides of their arguments hold merit.

this could go on all night, so she concedes. or rather compromises. ]

Fine, fine. [ another head shake, a huff of determination. ] But, come on, can't you give me something? Frank. Anything?

[ frank accepts the stalemate as a win, insomuch as they'll ever manage with each other. there's no dissuading karen once she's set herself to something, as far as he knows. his shoulders slouch from the breadth of his exhalation. he reaches into his jacket and pulls a folded paper from the breast pocket. ]

Took this off a body tonight. [ he offers it to her as is, speckled with brown blood. ] Targets. Most have been hit already. But this-- [ the next, frank intends to be there when the cartel comes knocking. it's the writing crammed into the margin that's the real get. from eavesdropping, it's obvious they're trafficking in the usual street drugs, but there's a designation next to the gutierrez name that sounds borderline pharmaceutical. ]

They're moving something with the heroin. [ it's too early to tell, but he's got an itch of a notion that the heroin is a red herring. ]

[ her body seems to mimic his, inhaling deep and letting out a sigh of relief; posture tight and then loose, grateful and satisfied (for now) that he's not shutting her out completely. she'll take it. paper in hand, she moves to the small kitchen, switching on another light to get a better look at the names — trying not to focus on how many are lost now, that'll show up in the papers tomorrow — and the scribble beside them. it's hard to make out but the meaning is clear. ]

Oh my god, this is ... [ not good and still incomplete, obviously. she might have to do some digging, but it's right on the mark. ] This is huge. Do you know when?

[ guess it all depends on what the timeline is that they're working with — yes, they. this has hooked karen in an all new way. they've gone from tracking bodies to possibly having a way of saving them. however, the crime scene is starting to make more sense, same with what has frank so anxious about it. ]

Knowing you, you already plan to be there, don't you?

[ they know he's closing in, which means hastening their plans if they don't want to abort them. the defiance with which they've operated so far leads him to doubt they'll go to ground. if they did, he'd find them. he doesn't play like the devil, catching one rat and sending the rest scurrying. kill them all, salt the source. if it turns out to be beyond his reach, karen might be the perfect person to scorch the earth. her diligence and curiosity draw her to risk, to the point that it might as well become her. there's no commanding or containing that. what he can do is keep his eyes trained on her blindspots. ]

And that means you won't be. [ he's not quite asking, but he sure as hell ain't telling. she's got a different mission now. chasing down chemical formulas and mad scientists may require more charm than raw intimidation. they can both use more information on what exactly they're dealing with.

now he's noticed the blood on his fingers, he crosses to the kitchen corner, only a few paces distance. frank nudges the tap with his clean wrist and rinses his hands. the water is clear a moment later; he shakes the excess from his hands after turning the faucet off. a bit presumptuous, maybe, but better than leaving her with blood smears on the doorknob to clean up. ]

[ she scoffs quietly, turning to lean back against the counter. of course she won't be, but she's not making any verbal promises to him. for the moment it's fine, her mind is already off down a new trail, knowing exactly where to look when she goes to the office tomorrow, who to go shake down. (she'd go right now if she wasn't pushing 24 hours and it being the middle of the night.)

the sound of the faucet breaks up her thoughts. too caught up in the buzz of it all — she's starting to understand what it's like for frank, not on the same level, but the relentless push, to not stop until it's finished. she shakes her head, trying to pull back and switch gears. ]

Oh, uhm. Here. [ she reaches behind her and then hands him a small hand towel — not like her apartment hasn't been dirtied with blood before. it almost strikes her as odd that he would ever be so considerate, until she remembers being in his own home, how normal it was. ]

Do you need anything? Sorry, I didn't even ask. I could make some coffee?

[ frank accepts it, flattening it to his palms and pulling his fingers through so they come away clean except for the stubborn gunshot residue caked into the fine lines of his hands. the sky's dark and it's well past 08:00 and while he may often need the boost at this hour, she shouldn't, especially if she's not going to be keeping up with him. ]

Here I thought you'd at least be sleeping during the day. I need you to get some rest, okay? [ his tone is soft, can't help that, but he suppresses any of his own personal concern. it's practical advice: he needs to be confident that she's as alert as she can be out there. caffeine is a crutch compared to six hours of solid sleep. ]

[ karen watches him wipe tonight's work from his hands, reminding her again of what he chose—chooses to do. they're both heading toward the same end goal but getting there by going down very different paths. (but is it really? that different?) then her eyes drift down, and she tucks some of her hair behind her ear. clearly she's been avoiding the clock; it would be hard to even find one in her apartment. ]

Don't you know, crime never sleeps. [ and neither does this city. but he knows that as well as she does.

when she looks up again, she sees some of that familiar reassurance. like he's reading her all over and she's left trying to catch up to what she missed, what she gave away. how he can still know so much about her. not that lack of sleep is a hard thing to expose, but as always with frank, it's more than that. ]

It's fine, I will. I don't think I can remember the last time I had a full night's sleep anyway. Pretty sure I'm immune at this point.

[ her edges are smudging with this life she's taken on. the kind of living most have thrust upon them, page has sought out and jumped in with both feet. or it could be a little column a, a little column b. personal touches around her apartment serve to remind him how little he knows about her: her home town, how she came to hell's kitchen, even her age. but he knows karen, too well at this point. a cut and run contrast, yet he hasn't moved toward the door. ]

Try and stay away from the pills. [ a last piece of unsolicited advice is excuse enough to remain there for just a minute longer, leaning into her natural light like some dirty weed. ] Prescription or over-the-counter, fogs your head and it's a quick hook.

[ unconsciously counting the stains on her hand towel, he offers it back half-folded. ] Take care of yourself.

[ karen pushes away from the counter, head down, hair sliding forward despite so many attempts to tuck it back. barely even two steps and she's crowding his space. she takes the towel from him into both hands, subconsciously wrapping a corner of it around her finger.

funny, him saying that to the girl who's held a gun (and pulled the trigger) one too many times now; the girl who probably has still had more sleep in a day than he's had in a week. she wonders how much he speaks from personal experience — she's no model citizen either with the empty liquor bottles one could find at any time in her apartment. ]

Maybe I'm not the one who needs that advice.

[ her gaze turns up, realizing now how close she stands. she can see the crook of his nose, how many times it's no doubt been knocked out of place. but she still looks straight to his eyes, tired with an honesty to them. ]

You could stay. [ the forwardness of the suggestion isn't lost on her, but there's still a too-long pause before her clarification. ] If you need the rest. I might actually sleep better.

[ she's being kind with that "maybe," a thought he wishes he'd reserved for the offer that follows. "kind" doesn't cover that. "stupid," if he's pulling a white fang. ill-advised, subjectively, but it would make perfect sense to her if what's keeping her awake is as much fear as her relentless pursuits. ]

You're scared. [ he searches her face, as if he could see the shape of her dreams the same as her skull. (he's seen the inside of it in his own nightmares, brains speckled across shreds of hay blonde hair until all the strands are soaked blood black.) it's not what's out there she's gotta fight with once she's made it home and battened the hatches. he doesn't know what shadows keep her company, so he doesn't know how many were created by him.

the breath he takes is large, to suit a sigh he only wants to direct inward so when he exhales, it's made even but comes out choppy through his nose. he pulls his cap off and drags calloused fingers through his flattened hair. ] An hour, yeah? Go on.

[ her lips part to protest, a natural defense — the words 'i'm fine' and 'i can take care of myself' practically an automated response. (her nightmares are large and looming and frighteningly fisk-shaped, punctured with holes left by her brother and a dark swallowing guilty conscious. maybe 'scared' can be the right word to use sometimes.) but instead of justifying her reasons to frank, which she doesn't need to, she purses her mouth and nods. leaves it at that. she'll take the extra hour.

then she takes a few articles of clothing into the bathroom with her, where the water from the sink starts to run. she doesn't wash her face so much as she splashes it with water and wipes away some of the leftover makeup smudges. it's not easy to clean this city off you.

karen leaves frank to situate himself in her apartment — the concept is suddenly foreign to her as she tries to imagine where he might sit or stand or find himself drawn to. there's limited options anyway. she exits wearing black stretch pants and a dark cotton top. ]

Don't suppose drug trafficking makes for good bedtime stories.

[ left to himself, frank develops a peculiar empathy for those guns left lying out in the open in otherwise peaceful homes. welcome, arguably necessary, and dangerously out of place. the lingering summer heat thickens fast with all the windows sealed; he shrugs out of his jacket for his own comfort, and works off the skull-stained kevlar for both their sakes. the symbol -- christ, he's one of Those now -- is visible from under the folded jacket, vest propped up in an empty linoleum dining chair.

frank drags the other to the centre of the living room. with the back to the wall, he's equal distance from the door and the windows. between his hands, the combat knife in his boot and the beretta holstered on his thigh, he thinks he might actually be able to relax for sixty minutes. when karen reemerges, his muscles lock up on instinct and he sits up straighter, crossing his arms over his chest. exertion has soaked the fabric of his shirt to his skin while the fresh, light cotton billows off her jagged shoulder blades.

she's as delicate as he's ever seen her and he's already mentally renegotiating with himself: two hours, or until she falls asleep. she doesn't need to know (or she knew from the start). ]

I don't recall making that kind of promise.

It was worth a shot.

[ it takes her a moment to finally spot frank, her eyes having been directed toward the deserted kitchen first — just his vest remaining, and the same skull she spent hours pouring over once. strange how these things come back around.

maybe even stranger is frank, centered in the middle of her living room in that single solitary chair. he almost looks like a watchdog, set a few feet away from the edge of her bed. she decides not to comment on it, instead finding something endearing in the concept. not that she expected him to actually dish out more information on the hit if he was agreeing to stay; the idea of an actual bedtime story was even less likely.

karen crosses the room, sitting on the side of her bed with one leg drawn up. ]

I, uhm– [ she closes her eyes, scrunching her face for a moment. ] I used do this particular thing to get myself to fall asleep. You know they tell you to rewind your day and remember all the mundane details— but doing that just reminds you, you'll have to get up soon and do it all over again. Right? So, uhm, I would try to pick out like three things that I liked, or I don't know, made me feel good, and I would try to go back, remembering as much as I could about that moment. Break it down and hold onto it, so it'd end up being the last thing on my mind and I — well, hopefully — dreamed about it. And then I'd remember it, and wake up to feel it again.

[ her hand drops to her neck and squeezes the tense muscles there. suddenly unsure if that was the best story to share to fill the silence. talk about burying the lede. ]

Guess that's harder to do these days.

[ he can dimly recollect strategies like that from a lifetime and a half ago. a doctor or a tape, maybe both, from all the way back in his early twenties. after lisa, before frank junior. after schoonover took him under his wing and well before making lance corporal. memories float up like flotsam and he lets them drift away again, mingle with the fresh debris of his home, and sink. ]

So start with one. [ that's already a tall order, in his opinion. it hasn't been an uneventful day for her but maybe a good-looking barrista remembered her name or she saw a dog or something. a dull thud from the hallway draws his attention to the door. the noises that follow are domestic doorway rustles and the click of a latch, faint enough he'd miss it if his senses weren't still keyed up. he looks back to her, cracks his neck along the way with a slight tic of his jaw. it seems like he's on the 25th hour of his day, one of the first that hasn't been wholly dedicated to tracking his target. could be he's looking forward to hearing one good thing in karen's voice. three would be greedy. ]

[ karen watches frank, similarly on alert but for different cues. (the noises of the apartment still get her sometimes too, like those times she's mistaken someone trying to break in for a neighbor having trouble across the hall.) she watches for his reactions, a sign not from the punisher but from him — to see if he might power down and open up. his suggestion to her seems like a start. ]

Yeah? Okay, um. [ she presses her palms and fingers together, resting them against her lips in thought. her mind shuffles through the days events like a rolodex. it should be easy, right? pick out one thing from the day, one that'd be worthy of going back over detail by detail, reliving in her head until she drifts to sleep. it should be something she can take hold of, gripping tight until morning. unfortunately, what comes to mind is more of an average, everyday occurrence that others in this city might take for granted. she drops her hands, and there's a confidence and clarity in her expression again. ]

Okay, this is going to sound totally stupid, but the sunset. I'm usually stuck in the office around that time, but tonight— you know, before I trailed you to our crime scene. [ she smiles a little, huffing out a quiet chuckle. ] I actually got a chance to notice it. That perfect time when the city just starts to light up, and there are streaks of red and orange across the skyline. Things almost feel ... peaceful for a second.

[ more about the feeling than the sight, gorgeous as it is, she wants to remember there are reasons — good ones — to keep fighting. ]

Despite everything, I still love being here.

[ though he doesn't need much sleep, he's stern about keeping a rhythm to it and his schedule keeps up through sunset and sunrise. the only note he ever takes is layered in deep inside his brain, a vigilance synonymous with waking. there are more cops on the street, more criminals, and more intrepid reporters narrowly weaving in between the two. he must have looked at it, really looked at it, once or twice, but that he doesn't remember.

if it were out there now, all that orange light would be lost dripping down the building faces and soaking into the concrete visible from her lower storey apartment. concrete only revealed in streaks of neon light in the mottled black night. no stragglers outrunning dusk, no stars through the smog. ]

You came to New York looking for peace? [ the loop of his arms has loosened. he works cracks out of his knuckles with his fingers interwoven, forearms braced on his knees. he's not surprised, because he knows karen sees a challenge and sinks her teeth in. he's not derisive, because he knows it wouldn't shake her. yeah, he knows.

she lied to him in those woods. ]

No, of course not. [ she lets out an incredulous laugh, shaking her head. pulling her other foot up onto the bed, she sits with her legs tucked in beside her. his jab changes her tone and posture, less careful, more casual — slouched forward a little, head tilted. ] If I wanted that, I never would've left Vermont.

[ new york was supposed to be a lot of things for her, but ended up being something totally different — in some ways for the better, in some for the worse. exposing more fears, but playing on her strengths. uncovering corporate scandals, getting mixed up with the mob and, apparently, housing vigilantes, none of it was what she set out to do. where she's at now, she can't ever imagine walking away from it. you do this and i am done. that's it. he's right, and she hopes he'll never make her say that (she knows what it'll lead to).

she doesn't like ending the thought there. ]

But it's nice to remember red isn't just the color of blood.

[ she wets her lips, looking toward her window, darkened by the curtain with only a faint glow behind it from the street lights and billboards. her hair slides forward and makes a similar curtain across the side of her face. ]

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wow sorry idek

apologize for what * A *

for nothing then (▰˘◡˘▰) [ word vomits on ]

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