Your heart belongs to a stray

[picturethat]

S T R A Y Taking in strays is, all in all, an understandable vice. The dips in between their ribs, those large and forlorn eyes, they can help you forget the claws and the teeth and the danger lurking beneath fur. But the habit's a knife edge; your efforts may not be rewarded with kindness (animal instincts aren't discretionary) and you may get bit despite what you've overlooked. A stray doesn't care about pity. All it can know is survival. These warnings apply to strays of the more human(oid) sort, too. But what may even more perilous with this type than any drawn blood is what you can get when they grow to trust you. You can earn their undying loyalty...or their love. Either from such a wild thing is a precarious path to go down, if you allow yourself to do it. Comment with your character, preferences, desired roles, etc. This meme has shippy undertones, but shipping is not required. Just mention if you absolutely don't want it. Reply to others. Thread!

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Frank Castle ☠ Daredevil

[doles]

m/f for shipping

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[Sounds like a situation these two could find themselves in?]

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( absolutely! he's an obvious stray, but open to either, ship or gen. )

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[He is so the definition of a stray! I'm good with gen or ship, basically taking it as it goes. :D]

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( sounds good! shall you start or shall i? )

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[I'm happy to! Let me know if this doesn't work!]

[Karen had taken to her job in the Bulletin like a bird to air. Though it was a cutthroat business in so many ways, her determination to investigate and drag out the truth was an asset here, instead of recklessness. Even if Foggy sometimes argued that it was reckless.

Karen was the last to leave the office, locking up and taking the shortest way home, the familiar steps quick and sure. However, when she got to her apartment, there was a draft that hadn't been there, and she slowly drew the pistol from her purse.

It was stupid to announce herself to a potential robber, or a mafioso who wanted to kill her over her latest piece on mafia ties to the harbor. Still, she cleared her throat and called out.]

Whoever's in here is about to get an assful of lead if I catch them.

[doles]

[ Firstly, Karen--well, he's not even going to start on the announcing yourself, or the assful forementioned. It's nice to see she's spunky as ever, though, despite her ever more dire circumstances. As always seemed to be the case.

Not as though he was one to talk, what with the constant manhunt for mass murderer Frank Castle, and his criminally inclined fanclub. They are trouble seekers, the both of them, even if she better wore the semblance of a life lived. His work has evolved, the focus expanded from the events that set him in motion. Scrubbing Hell's Kitchen of dirt was dirty work, and he had the commitment for it. Committed to the name that went with it. She surely saw the scathing articles about his most brutal acts. He wondered, sometimes. If she read them.

As promised, as of yet, he hadn't harmed an innocent person. It was a good record. Clean.

He remains paused around the corner, hearing the soft press of her shoes into the carpet. He made sure to keep that carpet clean when he entered through the window, cold rag pressed to his bloodied cheek. Even wiped his shoes off. ]

We need to work on your threats.

[pageandpages]

[As soon as Karen sees the tall form, she lowers her gun and exhales a sigh of relief and frustration. Of course it would be Frank. Even if they haven't talked since the cabin, since she supposedly cut all of her ties to him. Her articles might say otherwise.

And of course she reads the news about the Punisher. In some cases, though she's horrified, she's also silently cheering him on. That was something for a psychiatrist to deal with, though.]

We need to work on your manners. You couldn't have waited unt...nevermind. [The last word is soft and the ones that follow softer.] You look like shit, Frank.

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[ He makes an acknowledging sound, low and grated. A beat face might mean tragedy to her; means he's doing his job.

Frank stays where he is, though, glancing her down. He came here--well, he can get to why he came here, he has time enough. It's good to see her well. Frank's contributed to it as best he can, surveillance and preemptive distractions to any parties that might be riled by her articles. It's an inappropriate use of his resources, he's here for the city, not Karen Page and her instigation of every armed jack-off in New York, but it feels right. She's a good person.

She does not deserve this. ]

I can get you better window locks.

[ He hadn't busted up her current ones, he's not that much of an asshole - it'd just taken an old credit card and some window rattling. Very unimpressive. She should know better, he thinks, but that's not giving to the fact she's not like him ( not remotely ). Page shouldn't have to think like he does. Rounding corners with a trigger finger.

Wasn't that the point, after all? Ensuring that she doesn't live entirely in fear. ]

[pageandpages]

[Karen lingers, arm crossed over her stomach, palm resting on her other arm. It's a defensive gesture, but it's also worried. Frank comes here, looking like that ... He has to be alright, the other party has to be dead, but there's a reason why he's here.]

You came by to check on my locks? Something I should be worried about?

[Something? How about everything? Nothing is right. Not with Matt playing vigilante, Foggy working for the big dogs, and Frank destroying everything set in his path.]

[doles]

I'm handling it.

[ It's meant to be reassuring, sort of. If you're going to have a wall between you and the world, Frank Castle is ideal. ]

You got coffee? [ It's a demand to distract, as much as an actual desire for something to get the taste out of his mouth. He can read her body language, he gets it. He's not what anyone in this city wants to see right now. The bleeding feels like it's stopped, so he flips the rag around, tries to find a semi-clean bit to wipe the rest of his face down.

See, presentable. ]

[pageandpages]

[Well, alright. If Frank is handling it ... she still wants to know. She's Karen Page. Does he really think that's going to work?]

Yeah. Yeah. [She nods and unwinds herself, moving towards the coffee maker, brushing past him. He smells like violence, all blood and smoke. She grabs the coffee and makes quick work of it, like she's done this a million times half-awake. She has.]

Do you need a first aid kit? I've got one. In the bathroom. [As the coffee starts to percolate, she watches him, then lowers her gaze.]

Why did you come back?

[doles]

[ He doesn't reply to the first aid question. He's more than equipped to handle his medical care, though the offer is--the concern is nice. Rare. He turns to follow her with his gaze, studying. It's never easy to say-- ]

Wanted to apologize.

[ It's not that he doesn't have the humility for apologies, it's that he doesn't need them. Frank doesn't act without surety, without confidence in his choices. It kept him from paralysis, the kind the Devil of Hell's Kitchen seemed always in the throes of. ] Should've been between me and him. You, being there. That was a mistake. [ Having to risk Karen in the diner, the crash, not intervening before she made it to the Blacksmith. Forcing her to stagger away from him in the woods, knowing he forced her hand.

He'd shattered her hopes for a righteous outcome, he'd seen it. ]

[pageandpages]

[The apology ... Karen can't help but feel like that's not Frank Castle. He doesn't apologize, not unless he means it, since the man's filled with such a certainty about everything he did ...

It was one thing they had in common. Well, until Karen felt the guilt and the crippling doubt.

She looks up to meet his eyes, hers narrowing quickly in thought before she shakes her head.]

I put myself in that position. I didn't know, not until seeing the picture of the guy from your unit. I thought, how could I be so stupid?

[The smell of the coffee fills the kitchen, dark and rich, reminding her of how he used her as bait in the diner. Somehow, she didn't hold that against him. Not as much as someone else might have.]

If you hadn't been there, Frank, I'd be dead. [In that, she sounds sure. Had she hoped he'd make another decision? Bring the Blacksmith to justice? She'd hoped that Frank could turn the corner, be saved from himself, whatever bullshit that had been. No. You couldn't be anyone but who you were, right?]

[doles]

[ He sniffs, a familiar motion with the sting of broken nose after broken nose. He glances at the ceiling. It sounds more tired than he means to. ] You're not stupid.

[ He'd known the man; practically a fucking father to him, could have been godfather to his kids, a patient guide for his mess of a life at eighteen. He had known the man responsible for gutting his family with bullets and smoke, and had lived with it in ignorance. Karen Page saw it in a photo, Frank Castle needed a brick to the face before he pieced it. He catches himself balling up the rag in his hand, stuffs it in his jacket pocket without meeting her eyes. ]

Smarter than anyone I know. [ Given, the company he keeps is less savvy, but it would hold true in most circles he thinks. She was clever, thorough, worked through patterns like a seasoned investigator. ] Anyway.

Sorry I put you through it.

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[Karen knows it has to be more than that. Was it eating at him that badly, that he had to come here and apologize to her, now of all times? She turns and leans up to a cabinet, pulling out two mugs that look like they were bought at a thrift store (they were) and sets them down, lingering for a moment before turning around.]

Thanks. [She picks up one of the mugs, toying with it, moving it between her fingers, before she pauses.] I never said thank you. For saving my life. I feel like I owe you that. [And she hadn't been thinking about saying thanks when she'd been yelling at him that they were done, that he was dead to her. Looking back, it was a shitty thing to say, but she'd been desperate.]

[doles]

No, you don't. This isn't-- [ He didn't come for a good feels all around group rehearsal. He doesn't need accolades for almost killing someone, then reversing order. ] I don't need anything from you.

[ He steps in closer, looking her in the eye for sincerity's sake. Also, ] Except coffee, I'll take that.

[ Let's be real, anything she's got is better than the dimestore crap he's been living on. ]

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[Karen's not trying to lure Frank into a kumbaya corner, but she wanted to say it. She's had her life saved a few times in the last few months and sort of feels like she's due some sincere thanks to those responsible.

She meets his eyes, then smirks. Coffee. Of course.] Right. [It's done, so she turns, mug in hand. It's hot, so she takes care in pouring the cup, then extending it to him. Her own is going to be doctored a little, but she remembers that he takes it black.

Karen's quiet for a moment as she fixes her coffee. What does she say? She knows how his mission is going - she hears it on the police scanners, the articles that others write, that she writes. She can't ask anything that's normal.]

You're ... uh, bleeding again. [She winces, grabbing a clean dishcloth and wetting it, moving over to press it gently against his forehead. It's not coddling, just an automatic instinct.]

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[ He'll take it cold, tepid, boiling, however she has it. Accepts it with a grateful nod, and watches her work at her own cup. It's sort of mesmerizing, watching someone enjoy a small luxury in the midst of a lot of shit. It was human.

It was very Karen Page.

He flinches when she comes at him with the dishcloth, only for the sake of it's clean and he's a damn mess. The last thing he needs is leaving little reminders of the madness outside in here with her. He lets her, though, if only for a moment, so as not to be a total ass. The touch is jarring. He fumbles with putting the mug down, to catch her hand, try to extricate the cloth from her gently. ]

I got it.

[pageandpages]

[Human was a good word to describe Karen. She's only human. There was perhaps nothing that was inhuman about her, except perhaps her ability to care. And her ability to attract trouble.

Karen could give a shit about the cleanliness of her dishcloth. It won't be the first time something's been covered in blood in her apartment. It won't be the last.

She lets him take the cloth, fingers lingering for a moment before she pulls them back.]

Yeah. Guess I should see the other guy?

[doles]

You should definitely not see the other guy.

[ Spoken with a touch of morbid humor, of course, an exhale. She's seen the kind of carnage he leaves behind. Disemboweling men on shattered coffee pots was not the visual to start or end her day. If she's lucky, she'll never have to witness it again.

If she's not, he'll at least ensure she comes out the other side of it.

He holds the towel in place with one hand, swigs coffee with the other. Sniffs again, eyes on the mug. ]

I won't waste too much more of your time.

[ Except when he comes back for those window locks, because he damn well will. ]

[pageandpages]

[Duly noted. She raises her eyebrows then nods, her expression saying it all. She knows full well what Frank Castle is capable of, many times over. Hurting people, but also saving lives.]

You're not wasting my time. I had zero plans for this evening, so patching up a friend is ... well, something I'm used to.

[She gives him a wan smile, lifting her own coffee, but not taking a sip.]

Why here? Why did you come here?

[doles]

[ There's a lot to process in that statement - he knows she means Red, but whether she knows is not his secret to tell ( despite what utter bullshit that secret-keeping would be ). Murdock could be a real shitbag, he could tell. Secondly, putting the word friend to it isn't dishonest, but damn if it isn't a new definition on the books.

He certainly doesn't deserve it. He makes a low, acknowledging sound in his throat, and drains a swallow of coffee. ] You know why.

[ She's the equivalent of a tire fire for trouble. She's a good influence. She can talk to him like a human being and not a semi-automatic with a head. There were as many selfish reasons to be here as to never come back. ]

You're not safe.

[pageandpages]

[Karen knows. She knows now. She's still not forgiven Matt -- she can hold grudges -- but it explains a hell of a lot. And Foggy! She'd given Foggy an earful, too. It stung that two of her best friends had lied to her for so long. Since their friendship began.

Shit like that really got under her skin.

When Frank says that, so sincere it makes her heart ache a little, she can't help the soft rueful chuckle she exhales as she looks towards the ceiling.]

Oh good. I thought it was something serious.

[doles]

[ The mug clinks as he sets it down. ] Hey.

[ It's a call to attention, gentle, but gravelly in the way he just is at this point. Coffee, gunsmoke, and sleepless nights do not improve his exterior and interior. He tilts his head, to catch her gaze, lowering the towel. The same sincerity carries in the latter. ] Got people lookin' out for you.

You'll be fine. [ His hands busy themselves with folding the towel up, bloodstain concealed. For real, though-- ] After I fix that window.