A/N: This is it! The last story in this series! I hope you enjoy! Thank you so much for all of the comments and favorites; I really have no idea where this pairing came from, but here we all are. The title of this story comes from Bruce Springsteen's 'Cover me' because you know Frank's a fan.

Karen fought the urge to tug at the neckline of her best (only) black formal dress while she listened to Ellison as he talked to a potential investor. She hadn't worn this dress in what felt like years and had clearly lost weight since she bought it as it no longer clung the way it was supposed to and while the neckline was very modest, she felt it creeping downward with every passing second.

As Ellison greeted another businessman who had expressed interest in investing in the Bulletin, Karen gave into the urge and adjusted her dress, just in time for Ellison to turn to her as he said, "Mr. Larson, let me introduce you to one of our newer journalists, Karen Page. Karen, this is Thomas Larson, he owns one of the city's most productive brokerage firms and is tonight's host."

"I've heard of you, Mr. Larson," Karen said smiling politely, as she thought, And I've been looking into your financials for the last week. Someone is messing with your staff pensions and I'm pretty sure that you're crooked as hell but I have no proof.

"And I've been reading your articles, Miss Page," Larson said as he offered his hand for Karen to shake, which she did, albeit reluctantly. "You have a gift for words. And a way of getting to the heart of the matter."

"That's very kind of you to say," Karen said as she slipped her hand out of his.

"I do have to ask, though," he said looking thoughtful and she felt Ellison tense up beside her. "Do you think it's wise to be writing such, oh, what's the word? Inciting articles?"

"Isn't it the journalist's job to be," she paused, "insightful?"

Larson laughed and shook his finger at her. "Very good, Miss Page. I should know better than to cross verbal swords with a writer."

Holy crap, you are such a sleaze. I'm going to nail you to the wall when I find something on you, Karen thought while she smiled mildly and she shot Ellison a look who just laughed along with Larson.

"All I meant was," Larson continued, "it's an election year and I know papers are suffering from lack of readers, but is it wise to be writing articles that attack the people who, while they may have their faults, have still done wonderful things for this city and this country? You're stirring up a lot of people out there, Miss Page."

"The truth has a tendency to do that, Mr. Larson," Karen replied. "The Bulletin isn't a tabloid. I back my stories up with facts."

"Please, don't misunderstand me, Miss Page," Larson said holding up his hands. "I respect the Bulletin and I'm very interested in investing in it. I just would caution you to be careful. People are very susceptible to things these days." He cocked his head to the side as he looked at Karen and said, "Wasn't it GK Chesterton who said 'Life is one world, and life seen in the newspapers is another'?"

"And wasn't it Mark Twain who said, 'Never pick an argument with someone who buys ink by the barrel'?" Karen said smiling. "I'm not looking to mislead people, Mr. Larson. Simply give them the truth they're looking for."

Larson smiled. "Then I think we'll get along just fine, Miss Page."

"Excellent," Ellison said under his breath. "Karen, I think Roberta over there is trying to get your attention."

Roberta wasn't trying to get her attention, but Karen played along and smiled her 'good-bye' to Larson who just saluted her with his wine glass.

She sighed a breath of relief as she walked away and made a mental note to look deeper at Thomas Larson. She diligently swung past Roberta who was grilling a city councilwoman about the lack of public funds for the arts and made her way to one of the large windows.

The city was ablaze with its usual array of streetlights and she counted several large cranes along the waterfront. Movement on the street caught her eye and she looked down to see a taxi come to a screeching halt as some pedestrians raced across the road.

The hair on the back of her neck stood up and she counted to twenty, before blinking and told herself to stop jumping at shadows.

It had been a month since she last saw Frank. And by 'saw Frank', she meant the incident in the motel room. The one where he managed to give her the best orgasm she'd had in months with nothing more than his hand on her breast and his voice in her ear.

A purple Now and Later had taken up permanent residence in her purse; right next to a condom. And if that didn't signify wishful and, not to mention, reckless thinking, she wasn't sure what did.

As she rubbed her forehead, a voice said behind her, "I liked your article on the housing association."

Karen turned to see a pretty blonde woman wearing a gorgeous purple dress and a slight smirk on her face. She recognized her instantly.

"I liked your interview with the human rights attorney," Karen said to Trish Walker. "You're extremely good at getting people to talk to you."

Trish shrugged. "It's a talent. Half the time I think they think that if they keep talking to me, I'll sing the 'It's Patsy' theme song."

"Whatever works?" Karen said chuckling a little.

"That's slowly becoming my motto, actually," Trish said. Her eyes narrowed as she looked Karen up and down and Karen just arched an eyebrow in response. "You went after the city in your article, not the housing association, why? They were the ones who installed the faulty radiators."

"That was the superficial story," Karen said. "There was more to it than that. They had a story, too."

Trish nodded slowly. "Yeah, I think I get what you mean." She smiled suddenly, and it was a fierce, pleased thing. "We should definitely have coffee sometime. I think we may have a lot in common."

"I think you may be right," Karen said smiling back. "I'm always up for coffee. What brings you out tonight?"

"Oh, the station is always looking for investors," Trish said as they walked along the edge of the crowd, but Karen noticed that her eyes never strayed too far from Thomas Larson.

"Same," Karen said glancing at her. Deciding to go with her gut, she added, "My editor isn't happy about it, but I'm here because I think Thomas Larson is up to something."

Trish stopped walking and looked at her. "Oh?"

Karen just nodded.

They stared at one another for a long moment before a smile slowly spread across Trish's face.

"I've been told that he's expanding his business," she said.

"Is he?" Karen said. "A lot of businessmen are doing that lately. It's funny how this expansion tends to affect their staff pensions."

Trish nodded. "Isn't it just? I'll never understand the draw to expand a business that's already doing well to incorporate more risky ventures." She paused. "Ventures of a juvenile nature."

Shit, Karen thought as her eyes narrowed and she glanced at Larson who was smiling at a wealthy donor who was known to be friend with the mayor. "I knew he was a sleaze."

"First class sleaze, but a sleaze nonetheless," Trish said as she snagged two flutes of champagne off a passing waiter. She handed one to Karen and asked, "Feel like a little tipsy trespassing?"

Karen grinned and took the champagne. "Always."

Ten minutes later, they were ensconced in Larson's study, looking it over as quickly as they could as there was no way security wasn't going to come for them after awhile.

"A guy like this thinks he's above it all," Karen said as she looked at the books on his shelves. "He'll hide something in plain sight."

Trish, from her position on the floor as she picked the lock on his bottom desk drawer, said, "I'm always surprised that some of these guys manage to get away with this shit for years all because they have a nice smile and donate to all the right causes."

"How'd you hear about this guy?" Karen asked as she looked around the room.

"A friend found his name in the contacts of a guy who was definitely into shady stuff," Trish said before she whispered a happy, "Yes! Lock-picking tutorial on Youtube for the win!"

Karen hurried over and they both stared down into an empty desk drawer.

"Seriously?" Trish said. "Damn it."

She closed the drawer and stood up. They looked around the room and Karen tilted her head as she looked at the far right wall.

"Hey, is the –"

"—room not quite right?" Trish filled in.

They glanced at each other and they strode over to the wall.

"If he has a secret passageway, I get to be Velma," Trish said as she pressed against the moulding near the corner.

"Deal," Karen said pulling books on the bookshelf. "You don't have the legs to be Daphne."

Trish snickered and as her fingers pressed something, there was a soft click.

They looked at one another and Karen hurried to her side. Trish took a deep breath and then pressed the spot again.

A section of the wall slid up and revealed four small screens.

"Oh, fuck," Trish breathed as Karen sucked in a gasp and covered her mouth.

On the screens were black and white camera feeds of children lying in cages.

"Son of a bitch," Karen said pulling out her phone and quickly taking pictures of the screens.

"Is there a way to get to them?" Trish asked. "Are they in the building?"

"No, they aren't," a smooth voice said behind them.

They turned quickly, Karen palming her phone and slipping it back into her purse.

Thomas Larson just smiled at them.

"I suppose I was inviting trouble," he said strolling into the room, "holding this party in my own home and inviting journalists. What is it they say about hubris?"

"That you've got one hell of a fall ahead of you?" Trish said through clenched teeth.

"Where are they?" Karen asked.

"I really would focus your energy on worrying about your own situation," Larson said leaning against his desk and lifting up a small remote which he aimed at the wall. The section slid closed, hiding the screens from view.

"So, is it human trafficking or just porn?" Karen asked, her blood boiling and she could practically feel Trish vibrating with anger beside her. "I mean, it's all pretty god damn incriminating, but which is it?"

"Incriminating?" Larson repeated. He chuckled and shook his head. "Miss Page, no one is going to incriminate me in anything. Do you know there are people with vast political sway out there enjoying my hospitality who begged for an invitation? I could parade any sort of atrocity out there in front and no one would bat an eye because they all want my magic fingers on their investment portfolio. I'm not going anywhere."

"You have children in cages," Trish said her voice shaking from her anger. "You really think you can get away with that kind of torture?"

"Yes, quite frankly, I do," he said straightening. "You have no proof of any wrongdoing. You go out there and find your nearest policeman and they'll laugh you out of the station." He smiled. "I made the largest donation in history to the March of Dimes last week."

"We can get proof," Karen said.

He shook his head. "And jeopardize your lives? The lives of your friends and family? The lives of everyone at the Bulletin and WNEX? I don't think so. You're smart girls. You'll keep quiet."

Karen glanced at Trish who glanced back.

"Now," Larson said clapping his hands together. "The two of you are going to come with me, back into the main hall, where you will listen to some what are bound to be terribly boring speeches, sorry about that, and you will not say a word." He nodded at the door and two large men filled the doorway. "I hope you don't mind, but I've brought some escorts for you. Now, shall we?"

He held out his hand and smiled at them.

Karen's hands clenched at her sides and with a resigned nod from Trish, she headed towards the door, Trish close behind her.

They walked down the hallway, in between the two security men and Larson just behind them.

"Enjoy the speeches," Larson said as he veered away from them. "And do help yourselves to more champagne."

Effectively, trapped by the two large men, Karen and Trish moved to the back of the large crowd, by the small sound booth where a man was making sure the overhead lights pivoted to shine on a small platform at the other end of the room. He tapped a button and made a gesture to Larson who headed to the microphone.

Applause filled Karen's ears and made her flinch as Larson walked across the stage to start talking to the crowd.

"Son of a bitch," Trish whispered harshly. "That dumb fucker."

"I took pictures," Karen said out of the corner of her mouth.

"I recorded him," Trish said sidling close to Karen. Karen looked at her in surprise and Trish just grinned back. "If I distract Larry and Curly, can you push Moe aside over there and play it over the loudspeakers?"

"What? Just like that?" Karen asked before ducking her head to look scared when one of the big guys glanced down at them.

Trish sniffled a little and lowered her head, too. "Yeah," she muttered, sliding her phone into Karen's hand. "Just like. That!"

With a quick kick of Trish's leg to the side, 'Larry' folded. Karen darted around Curly who grunted when Trish body-checked him hard enough so that he fell to his knees.

"Sorry to interrupt," Karen said breathlessly to the sound guy who blinked at her as she pushed him aside. "It's an emergency."

"What the hell are you doing?" he asked, as he caught sight of Trish kicking the security guy again. "What the hell is she doing?"

"You need to find another job," Karen said propping Trish's phone up on the panel and grabbing a microphone and flicking it on.

Larson's voice filled the room: Incriminating? Miss Page, no one is going to incriminate me in anything. Do you know there are people with vast political sway out there enjoying my hospitality who begged for an invitation? I could parade any sort of atrocity out there in front and no one would bat an eye because they all want my magic fingers on their investment portfolio. I'm not going anywhere.

Karen watched as the blood drained from Larson's face on stage and murmurs filled the room.

The recording continued: You have children in cages. You really think you can get away with that kind of torture?

The murmurs turned into gasps as Larson left the stage and made his way to the back of the room, heading in Karen's direction.

Yes, quite frankly, I do. You have no proof of any wrongdoing. You go out there and find your nearest policeman and they'll laugh you out of the station. I made the largest donation in history to the March of Dimes last week.

Ellison appeared in Karen's peripheral vision and when she glanced at him, he mouthed, "What have you done?"

Larson didn't stop heading her way even as the recording echoed in the hall.

And jeopardize your lives? The lives of your friends and family? The lives of everyone at the Bulletin and WNEX? I don't think so. You're smart girls. You'll keep quiet.

"I have pictures," Karen shouted moving towards Trish. She tossed her phone to Ellison just as Larson reached her. "There's a bank of screens hidden behind a panel in his study!"

"Thomas!" someone called from the crowd. "What is going on?"

"Jesus Christ," Ellison said scrolling through Karen's gallery, he then held up the phone. "Don't do anything rash, Larson. Not with this."

"You just couldn't keep quiet," Larson said with a calm smile on his face as he neared Karen. "You stupid, stupid girls."

Trish moved towards him, as he pulled out a gun and grabbed Karen by the arm.

"Fuck you!" she shouted as she jabbed her heel into his foot, but he just grunted and manhandled her so that the gun pressed against her temple. Closing her eyes in frustration, she stopped moving as the gun dug into her skin.

"Shit," she heard Trish mutter and Karen opened her eyes. The crowd stared back at them and she felt Larson tug her backwards.

"Well, everyone, it has been very fun while it lasted," Larson said. "But as you can see, something has arose that needs my immediate attention. So, if you will excuse me, I must-"

A crack rang out and the window behind Karen and Larson shattered. Larson yelled out and fell to the ground, dropping the gun and clutching his arm. Blood poured out between his fingers.

Trish grabbed the gun off the floor and aimed it at Larson. "Call the god damn cops," she yelled at the crowd.

Karen stared at Larson and then out the broken window.

A figure stood on the rooftop across the street, a white skull painted on his chest.

"Oh, shit," Karen said as someone yelled, "Is that the Punisher?"

She glanced at Larson who was getting to his feet and glaring at Karen and Trish. He made a move to run and thinking fast, Karen shouted, "Don't do it! If you kill him, we won't be able to find where he's keeping the children!"

The entire hall went silent, even Larson stopped and stared at Karen. Then with a snarl, he lunged for her.

Another shot rang out.

Larson crumpled to the ground, shouting as he grabbed for his knee. Karen gagged at the smell of the blood pouring out from the wound where Larson's kneecap used to be.

She covered her mouth and turned towards the window.

The figure was gone.

He listened. He didn't kill him, Karen thought wildly. Well, that was considerate of him.

She looked around the room as sirens wailed from the street below and police started to fill the room. Finding Trish, she walked over to her.

"The Punisher, huh?" she said when Karen reached her. "Screw coffee. I think we're going to need breakfast after this."

Karen just nodded and settled in for a long night of questioning.

After being questioned by first the officers, then the detectives, Karen made her way over to Ellison.

"Sorry about all that," Karen said to him.

"No, you're not," he said laughing a little. "You're getting a hell of an article out of this. Not to mention the fact that the Bulletin can now claim a connection to the Punisher."

"It's not much of a connection," Karen said quickly.

Ellison gave her a look and shook his head. "Don't lie to me, Karen. You don't have to tell me everything, that's fine. But don't lie to me."

"Right, okay," Karen said rubbing her arms. "This is me. Not lying, but not telling you everything." She paused. "I don't really know what to tell you anyway."

"Sure, you don't," he said. "Look, I'm going to the office where I am going to write this one up myself, because it's adds a personal touch that might be called gravitas in some corners. You, however, are going to go home and then come into work tomorrow where we will have a meeting to determine if it's a good idea for you to be our version of Lois Lane."

Karen frowned. "I'm not- That's so inappropriate on so many levels, I don't know where to begin."

"Which is why I'm giving you all night to think it over," he said. "Get some sleep."

She watched him walk away and wondered if her job was in jeopardy or if she was looking at a raise.

Eventually, she realized that Trish was standing next to her.

"So," Trish said casually. "Waffles?"

Karen thought for a moment, then said, "Yeah, I could eat."

Half an hour later found them in a diner a few blocks away from the Larson place, an entire pot of coffee on the table and big plates of waffles and hash browns in front of them. Karen had already managed to demolish half of the food on her plate and was pretty much just biding her time until Trish decided to start the interrogation. Going by the way Trish was slowing down and not hacking away at her waffles like a mad woman, Karen figured the questions were about to start.

She poured herself another cup of coffee.

"I kept up with the trial," Trish said around a mouthful of waffle. "You were part of his defence team."

"For what that ended up being worth," Karen said nodding.

"And you stayed…friends?" Trish asked.

Do friends help other friends achieve orgasm? Karen thought wildly before sighing and shrugging as she said, "Something like that?"

"Okay," Trish said before shovelling more food into her mouth.

Karen stared at her. "Okay? Just okay? That's it?"

"I don't judge," Trish said simply.

"You have an entire radio show based on the fact that you judge," Karen said.

Trish just grinned at her and started to say something, but her phone buzzed on the table. She checked the number and then answered with a, "Hey, I'm fine. Just your run of the mill asshole with delusions of grandeur."

Karen snorted and attacked her hash browns.

"I'm at that diner with the good waffles, if you're out and about," Trish continued on the phone. She glanced at Karen. "I'm even making a new friend. She's got the same taste in friends that I have."

Karen paused with a fork in her mouth and arched an eyebrow at Trish who just winked at her.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Trish went on. "Get over here and have some waffles." She hung up and smiled at Karen. "A friend's joining us."

"Okay," Karen said and she'd just reached for her coffee when the bell over the door jangled and a slim woman with dark hair and a beat-up leather jacket came in.

"You just can't go to nice cocktail parties like regular people," she said striding over to Trish. "You have to go to ones where the host is a human trafficking dickhead. Scootch over."

Trish grinned up at the woman and said, "The other cocktail parties are boring. At least this one ended in an arrest. And a new friend." She nodded at Karen. "Karen Page, this is Jessica Jones."

"Nice to meet you," Karen said as Jessica just nodded and helped herself to Trish's remaining waffle.

"It's not really, but hi," she said before rolling up the waffle and shoving it in her mouth. "You're the journalist, right?"

Karen nodded. "And I know your name…do you work for one of the law firms downtown?"

Jessica nodded. "Yep. On occasion."

"My friend Foggy Nelson mentioned you," Karen said. "Said if you need something found out about someone in this city, you were the person to talk to."

"Girl's gotta make a living," she said around a mouthful of food. "So, you two bring down the asshole of the hour?"

"With some help from Karen's boyfriend," Trish said.

Karen choked on air. "Holy shit, wow. No, not my boyfriend. Jesus."

"Who's her boyfriend?" Jessica asked.

"The Punisher."

Jessica stopped eating and looked Karen up and down. "Ambitious. Wouldn't have pegged him as your type."

"He's not –" Karen broke off and glared at Trish. "You know, it's bad enough that my editor called me Lois Lane earlier tonight, please don't- Frank's not my boyfriend. It's—"

"Complicated?" Trish and Jessica said in unison.

Karen dropped her head in her hands.

"I just want to point out that the guy isn't exactly known for showing mercy and he very much did not kill someone tonight because you told him not to," Trish said.

"There's a first time for everything," Karen muttered before raising her head to look at them. "And don't think I'm not going to get the silent treatment for the next month because of it."

"Wow," Jessica said. "You two are actually something? I might be impressed. I've seen the jarhead around. Looks like he's packing some decent girth."

Karen dropped her head back into her hands.

"Look," Trish said laughing, "the real reason I said to come by wasn't actually to give Karen a hard time over her questionable relationship choices, because, you know, I don't judge." Both Karen and Jessica snorted, but Trish continued, "We need to find those kids. You know the cops aren't going to be fast enough. Karen, show Jessica those pictures."

Karen handed her phone over to Jessica, who scrolled through them

"Warehouse," she muttered. "By the docks, most likely. I know those windows, actually."

"How long will it take us to get there?" Trish asked.

"Not us," Jessica said standing up. "I'll call when I'm done."

"Don't you fucking dare," Trish said as she scrambled out of the booth

"Too late," Jessica called over her shoulder. "Nice meeting you, Lois."

Karen watched her go and then turned to Trish who was glaring after Jessica. "You're going to let her go on her own?"

"You know how your boy manages to make every shot count and apparently defies death?" she asked.

Karen nodded.

"Let's just say, Jessica has his kind of luck," Trish said sitting back down. "Now. Let's talk about how you and I are going to save the world."

"I think we're going to need another pot of coffee," Karen said.

After another two hours of conversation that left Karen exhilarated and exhausted, she stumbled into her apartment just as morning dawned slowly across the city. She shrugged off her dress and told herself that she'd sleep for an hour and then go to the Bulletin to fight for her job. After crawling into bed, she opened her laptop to check the news to see if the children had been found.

Sure enough, a warehouse near the docks was being raided by the police after a drawn-out gunfight between the warehouse guards and a lone gunman had drawn the police's attention.

Well.

Karen worried her lip.

Looked like Trish's friend might have been a bit late to the party.

She closed her laptop and curled up to try to get some sleep. Something on her window caught her eye as she started to drift off. Squinting, she realized it was a piece of paper shoved inside the windowpane.

She crawled over to open the window and grab the note. It was a small piece of paper and when she unrolled it, it just said: You should have let me shoot him.

"Fuck," she breathed. "Yeah. Definitely not speaking to me after this."

Being Trish Walker's friend turned out to either be one of the best things that had happened to Karen or one of the worst. On one hand, thanks to Trish and Jessica Jones' uncanny detecting skills, Karen never had to scrabble round for a story. On the other hand, Karen missed sleep and every bit of her body ached from the self-defense training Trish insisted upon.

One particular evening, she found herself standing outside Trish's apartment and noticed someone familiar peering up at the building with an uncertain look on her face.

"Claire?" Karen called.

Claire Temple looked over and smiled a little even as she rolled her eyes. "If you tell me you're here because Jessica invited you, I honestly won't be surprised."

"Trish invited me, actually, but it's sort of the same thing," she said as she walked over. "You know Jessica?"

"Turns out I'm a magnet for all the oddballs that hang around Hell's Kitchen," she said. "I haven't met Trish yet." She eyed the building. "Nice place."

"Tell me about it," Karen said as they headed inside. "Beats my studio, that's for sure."

"Journalism doesn't pay as well as lawyering?" Claire asked.

"Well, it pays, but not exactly well," Karen said with a sigh. "And every time I think about moving, something comes up and I never manage to look."

Both of them realizing that the other knew about Matt Murdock's alter-ego had happened with a surprising lack of trouble. Karen had stopped by to let Claire know about a threat to the clinic that Frank had given her a head's up on and Claire had just sighed and asked, "Matt tell you to come by?"

"No, actually, someone else," Karen had replied slowly, but then said, "Why would you think that Matt… Oh."

"Yeah," Claire'd said with a roll of her eyes. "Please tell me you already knew and I didn't just blow his cover?"

"No, I knew," Karen said smiling slightly. "Let me guess, you've stitched him up?"

"Far too many times."

Therefore, Karen wasn't surprised when they were in the elevator heading up to Trish's apartment, Claire said, "Saw him last week. He looked…tired."

"He always looks tired," Karen said on an exhale. "How much did you have to patch him up?"

"Only three stitches this time," Claire said as she shrugged. "Don't know why I keep letting him inside."

"I do," Karen said chuckling.

"Oh, God, so do I," Claire said snickering. "Christ. I'd ask 'how is this my life?' but I forbade myself to stop asking myself that because it was becoming a habit."

"Tell me about it," Karen said as they walked out of the elevator and knocked on Trish's door.

Jessica opened it and smirked at them both. "Of course Claire and Lois already know each other. This city is too fucking small."

"Lois?" Claire asked.

"Don't," Karen said shaking her head. "I can't even being to explain it."

"She's cozy with the Punisher," Jessica said as they walked inside Trish's apartment.

"Oh, well," Claire said dropping her bag on the floor next to the sofa Jessica had flopped onto. "That's…interesting?"

"It's something," Karen admitted. "Not that he's talking to me lately."

"Still sore you made him hold back?" Trish asked as she walked in the room. "Men. They're such babies." She smiled at Claire. "Nice to finally meet you. Heard you have a way with rubbing alcohol."

"You should see me with a set of sutures," Claire said smiling back.

Trish grinned and they all sat down when Jessica asked, "So, why did you make me bribe Claire here with margaritas?"

"Hey," Karen said frowning. "You didn't bribe me with margaritas."

"No, I bribed you with a story," Trish said. "I think we can all say that we are somewhat, um, aware, that there are some very capable people running around Hell's Kitchen right now and I thought it would be a good idea for us to just – hang out."

Jessica snorted from her prone position on the sofa and Karen knew Trish enough by now to know that they are not at her apartment to just hang out and that she had something planned.

Karen and Claire exchanged glances again and Claire said, "I think you better bust out those margaritas before we go any further."

"Seconded," Karen said.

An hour later and two pitchers filled with alcohol and lime down, Trish finally got to the point.

"I just think that there are two sets of people out there right now," she said. "There's the guys in spandex downtown and there's everyone else." She poked Jessica in the thigh who just flipped her off. "Now, the guys downtown have their own fight on their hands with aliens and Congress and it's only a matter of time before that fight makes its way here."

"What are you suggesting?" Karen asked.

"Just that we keep our ears to the ground and be ready for the fireworks," Trish said. "And if I happen to have the odd show that discusses vigilantes and you have the odd article that does the same…"

"More so than we already do?" Karen asked tapping her finger against her empty glass.

"Plus," Trish went on, "maybe dropping hints in the ears of some of the people we know that teaming up-"

"Oh, Christ," Jessica muttered.

"-might not be a bad thing," Trish said over her.

Claire snorted and Karen shook her head.

"Yeah," Karen said. "I don't think they're into 'assembling', Trish."

"They may have to be," Trish said poking Jessica again. "Because something's big is going to come. It's inevitable at this point."

"More aliens?" Claire asked.

"Or worse – the government?" Karen added. She thought for a moment and then sighed. "Shit. You're right."

"I know," Trish said smugly. "And I don't expect miracles." Jessica laughed out loud. "I just want to keep people safe."

"Sooo," Claire said. "You want us to just, what? Listen? Make suggestions to stubborn people who are really bad at taking direction?"

"I never said it was going to be easy," Trish said with a shrug. "And it's not like you guys aren't already hip-deep in this mess, so really, where's the challenge?"

Even though she could see Trish's point and even agreed with it, the idea of telling either Matt Murdock or Frank Castle that they should consider joining forces made Karen want to laugh hysterically, but she just settled for pouring herself another drink.

"Right, okay, think it over," Trish said. "And on to agenda item two – all of you need better apartments."

The other three ladies groaned and Jessica finally sat up.

"I don't know about Claire and Lois, but I'm perfectly happy where I am," she said. "Let it go, Trish."

"I can't afford anything else," Claire said. "The clinic I'm working at is horrible with their shifts, so I'm not going anywhere."

"I don't have the time to look for something," Karen said. "And my place is fine."

"It has bullet holes in the walls," Trish said.

"It's called shabby chic," Karen said witheringly. "Jesus, read a magazine."

The laugh Jessica emitted was loud and raucous and Claire just snickered into her drink while Trish narrowed her eyes at Karen.

"You're moving, Page," she said.

"Make me, Walker," Karen retorted.

In the end, Trish actually did make Karen move. If only so that Karen could get her to stop sending her property alerts every two seconds.

The new place was only a block away from her old one, so she managed to move quickly and, hopefully, under the radar.

On her last night in her apartment, she sent Trish on her way, but happily accepted the bottle of red that Trish left as a 'You're Finally Leaving This Crappy Apartment for a Slightly Less Crappy Apartment', and sat herself down in front of the remaining piece of furniture, her bed.

She was two glasses down when the footsteps sounded outside her door. The exact same footsteps that she'd been hearing for the last three weeks.

This time, though, she wasn't going to let him just walk away.

"Would you just get in here," she said out loud.

The footsteps stopped and she could almost feel his exasperation through the door. Karen just took another sip of her wine and waited.

He opened the door, and his eyes found her immediately and narrowed.

"You're the most reckless person I think I've ever met," he said as he closed and locked her door behind him.

"I highly doubt that," she said holding up her glass. "Drink? There's coffee, if you'd prefer."

He squinted at her. "Are you drunk?" He caught sight of the boxes and a suitcase propped up by the wall and went still and his face shuttered. "You leaving?"

"No, and yes," she said softly.

He glanced at her.

She rolled her eyes. "No, I'm not drunk, merely pleasantly buzzed. And I'm moving. I've got an apartment a few blocks over. Apparently, bullet holes aren't good for my Feng Shui."

He snorted and went to already filled coffee maker, the only appliance left on the counter, and poured himself a cup. "You oughta move more than a few blocks away. You oughta get the hell out of this city."

"Yeah, well, I've never been all that good at doing what I 'oughta' do," she said getting to her feet. "Any reason you decided to stop by, Frank?"

"Well, some mouthy blonde invited me in," he said smirking at her over the rim of his cup. "Hard to turn that kinda offer down."

She downed the last of her wine and asked, "So, you're not pissed off at me anymore?"

"No," he said lightly. "I'm still pissed off. I'm still really fucking pissed off. But I also know that getting pissed off with you is like fighting the ocean. It's only a matter of time before you send some kind of wave my way that brings me to my knees, so may as well give in and go with the flow."

She blinked at him and he just stared back at her, his eyes reflecting the streetlights outside.

"I think that may have been a very sweet, if backhanded, compliment," she said. "Thank you?"

"If you're taking that for a compliment," he said, "then, no offense ma'am, but you should get out more."

"Too busy," she said setting her wine glass down on the counter and going back for the bottle. She bent over to pick it up and was hit by a wave of pure awareness that he was watching every single move she made. The idea that perhaps they could finish what was started in a motel room a month ago nearly bowled her over. She inhaled slowly as she grabbed the bottle and slowly straightened. Walking back to the counter, she noticed his eyes twitch away from her as he took a long drink of his coffee, clearly burning his tongue as his nose scrunched as he swallowed. She blamed the way she watched his throat muscles work on the wine.

"Yeah," he said a bit hoarsely. "Saw that you and Trish Walker have buddied up. She seems…driven."

Karen laughed. "Oh, yeah. That's an excellent word for her. In fact, she has this grand idea that all of the Hell's Kitchen vigilantes should consider talking to each other instead of just throwing punches."

He snorted and shook his head. "I ain't exactly a joiner."

"That's what I told her," she said pouring the wine into her glass.

"She knows you know me?" he asked, his voice going low as his body stilled.

"Everyone knows I know you," she said quietly, cradling the wine glass in her hand. "I kind of exposed our, um, acquaintance when I yelled at you that night."

He set the coffee cup down on the counter with a sharp clack that made she jump and look at him.

"Wow," she said staring into his eyes. "You really are still pissed off, aren't you?"

"Do you know how much of a fucking bull's eye you painted on yourself that night?" he asked quietly. "You're not a stupid person. In fact, I would have gone so far as to say that you were one of the smartest people I know, but that night has made me question that fact a hell of a lot. I kill people, ma'am. And those people have friends. Friends who don't really like it when I kill their little buddies. They will come after you."

"They were coming after me already," she said setting her glass down on the counter. "I'm got my own set of enemies, Frank. And if my enemies happen to overlap with yours, well, that's what happens when you live in this city."

He stared at her in disbelief and then chuckled, before he stepped into her personal space. Karen's head tilted back as she kept her eyes on him, but he just kept staring at her while she did her level best to not let her heart beat out of her chest.

Eventually, he said, "It doesn't bother you, does it? The fact that every creep in the borough could show up on your doorstep looking for retribution?"

"It means I'm doing something right," she said, her voice steady even if her breathing wasn't.

"You fucking people and wanting to do good," he said looking weary all of a sudden. "You're a pain in my ass, ma'am. I wish you'd get out of this."

"No, you don't," she said smiling a little. "In fact, I'd go so far as to say that you like me here."

"Fucking shouldn't," he said, and her breath caught in her throat as she watched his hand rise in her peripheral vision. Rough, warm fingers lightly touched her temple and trailed along the side of her face, over her cheek, and down the column of her throat. She shivered when his hand stopped and he splayed his fingers over her collarbone, his thumb resting gently in the notch at the base of her throat.

Then his hand was gone and so was he as he moved towards her door. Karen stumbled and stared after him.

"Get out of this," he said roughly to her over his shoulder. "Don't be stupid and get out before you get killed. Find someplace nice and safe and stay there."

Anger, pure and incandescent, swept through her and her hands curled into a fist.

"Stop telling me what to do," she said through gritted teeth. "And stop assuming that you know what's best for me."

"It's not some assumption," he said turning around to face her. "It's the god damn obvious thing to do. You're in danger, you get out of it. Any idiot knows to do that. Get out and get normal before it's too late."

"It's already too late!" Her voice cracked and she knew she was about to spill it all and there was no way she could stop herself. "That man? The one I told you I killed?" Frank's eyes snapped up to hers and she smiled bitterly. "His name was James Wesley. He was Wilson Fisk's right-hand man right up until he took me to an abandoned warehouse and threatened me, my friends, and my family and put a loaded gun on the table." Her vision wavered and for a second she was back there, in that dank and cold warehouse staring at Wesley's smug face. "I grabbed the gun and when he said I couldn't do it, I did it. I pulled the trigger. I pulled it seven times until the bullets were gone and he was dead." She closed her eyes. "There's no 'normal' for me anymore, Frank. It's too late for 'normal'."

The apartment was quiet and still after she finished speaking and, like she always did when she remembered what she did, she half expected Wilson Fisk to step out of the shadows and put his hands around her throat and squeeze. Instead, she just heard Frank breathing a few feet away.

Karen opened her eyes.

He stared at her with understanding and something else, something like regret, perhaps, in his eyes.

"Don't pity me," she whispered. "I made a choice and I'd make it again."

"It was the right one," he said, his voice thick, and his words soothing in a way that she hadn't realized she'd wanted to hear. "But, fuck…all the more reason to get out."

"No. No, I can't just ignore what I did. I sure as hell can't walk away. And God, do you think that I want a picket fence and the nice home?" Karen asked. His eyes flickered to hers and then away. Karen's chest ached. "Oh, god, you do. You want it for me."

"No. No, I don't want it anymore," Frank said looking anywhere but at Karen. "I can't."

"But you think I should want it," she countered.

He paused but then said, "Yes."

"Right." Karen took a breath. "Ignoring the sexism inherent in that idea, listen to me. Frank...I don't want that. I don't."

He finally met her gaze and gave her a look.

"Hey, I won't deny that I have, in the past, wanted to have a quiet life and it's not like I couldn't have had it," Karen said. "I didn't have to say something at Union Allied. Hell, I didn't have to move to this city. I made a choice a long time ago that this was it for me. That my life wasn't going to be a cookie-cutter perfection, because it'd be a lie. I'm not meant to have that. And I'm fine with it."

"People fucking shoot at you, Page," he said loudly. "Two guys tailed you for five blocks the other night before you lost them. A month ago, some fuck in a tuxedo held a gun to your head!"

"I know! I was there," she said. "And you know what? It terrifies me. It scares the shit out of me. I don't want to die, Frank. I don't have a death wish." She closed her eyes. "Okay, I don't think I have a death wish, but I want people to know the truth."

He shook his head. "You should get out."

"Do you honestly think that I can't?" she shouted. "Do you think this is some bizarre kind of self-imposed Stockholm Syndrome? You think I'm trapped?" She shook her head. "I could get out if I wanted to. Hell, I could march myself down to the police station right this second and tell them that the god damn Punisher has been lurking outside my door for the last three weeks."

His head shot up and he went still as he stared at her.

"Oh, yeah," she said knowing she had his attention. "They'd have me out of here before you could say witness protection program. But, I don't want it." She stared up at the ceiling. "God, do me the courtesy of believing me when I tell you this."

His hands clenched at his side as he just continued to stare at her and realization struck. Her heart stuttered in her chest and the ache intensified.

"You don't want me to want this life," she breathed. "Because if I want this, it means you have the go ahead to continue."

"I don't need your permission to go at these people," he said, his voice low and dangerous.

"Not that," she said breathlessly.

He looked at her and something in his eyes begged her not to say it.

"If I tell you that I want this life; that I'm prepared to deal with whatever is thrown at me," she said keeping her voice steady even as her breathing sped up. "It will also mean that I'm prepared to want you."

He flinched.

"Do you need me to say it?" she asked helplessly. "I can say it, if you need me to. Frank, I want yo-"

His mouth covered hers before she could finish her sentence. She made a sound low in her throat and grabbed at him, pulling him as close as she could. They stumbled where they stood, both surging against one another, and neither giving up their ground.

Eventually, Karen surrendered and started to stumble backwards towards her bed. Frank caught on and used those large hands of his to palm her thighs and lift her up so that her legs could wrap around his hips. There was a jolt when his knees hit the edge of her bed and Karen let gravity do most of the work as they tumbled back on her bed. His weight was delicious on top of her and she arched her body into his as his mouth moved roughly on hers and her hands worked to get his jacket off.

He lifted his hands off her long enough to rip his jacket off and help her pull her shirt up and off. His mouth immediately went to her breasts, suckling and nipping through the fabric of her bra. She reached behind her to unsnap her bra, desperate to feel his mouth on her skin. Once it was undone, he pulled her bra away and threw it somewhere. She moaned low in her throat as his tongue traced fast circles around her nipple before he suckled hard.

Her nails caught on his skin as she dragged his t-shirt up and off and she pressed kisses to as much of his skin that she could reach, his collarbone, his pectorals, his throat. She closed her eyes and licked a line along his jugular and her toes curled when she felt the vibration of his groan under her tongue.

His hands moved up and down her sides, finally settling on her waist and he hooked his fingers in the waistband of her yoga pants and got to his feet, pulling her pants off her legs. She lay sprawled on her bed in the middle of her empty, boxed up apartment and stared up at him. He swallowed hard and then made a face.

"What?" she asked, startled at the sudden change in mood and moved to cover her bare chest.

"No, no," he said reaching down and pulling her arm away from her chest. "I just… I don't have anything."

Karen stared at him for a moment and then laughed. "Check the side pocket of my purse." He looked so relieved, she laughed again as she said, "And lose the pants while you're at it."

The fact that he managed to lose his boots, pants, as well as rifle through her purse at the same time spoke to his highly efficient ways and when he turned back to her, utterly naked and holding a condom as well as the infamous purple Now and Later, Karen thought she might pass out.

She bit her lip as he walked over to the bed and held up the piece of candy.

"You kept it?" he asked, dropping the condom on the bed beside her hip.

She nodded.

Frank took a deep breath and Karen just watched him. He dropped the Now and Later next to the condom and went down on his knees. Karen's lips parted as he slid his hands up her bare legs and cupped the backs of her knees. With a smooth tug, he pulled her to the edge of the bed.

"You're moving, right?" he asked, leaning in and ghosting his mouth over the crease of her inner thigh.

"Yeah," she breathed.

"Then you don't have to be quiet, do you?" he asked.

It took her a moment to realize what he was implying, and by the time she figured it out, his thumbs pressed against her lips, opening her wide and his mouth was on her, his tongue delving inside.

It took an embarrassingly short amount of time before she arched her back off the bed and came so hard, her vision whited out. She flopped back down to the bed and for the first time in a long time, she laughed with giddy abandon. Her hand reached down and found the top of Frank's head and curled her fingers into his hair.

"Get up here," she said. "Oh, God. Come on, up here."

"Gimme a minute," he said against her skin, his tongue still lazily dipping in and out of her before he flicked it against her clit.

"No," she said pulling on his hair. "Now. I want you in me, for God's sake."

He lifted his head and let her pull him up the length of her body. She lifted her head to meet his mouth and their kiss was sloppy and she spread her legs situating herself just beneath him. He ground his hips down and they groaned into each other's mouth at the feel of how wet she was and how hard he felt against her.

He had the condom on and was poised to slip inside of her but he paused, and said, "You can close your eyes. If you want."

Karen stared up at him incredulously. "Why the hell would I close my eyes? I'm not going to—" She blinked. "I mean, if you want to close your—"

He thrust inside of her and her words turned into a gasp. Her eyes watered with how good he felt and she just stared up at him.

"Wide open," he said before pulling out and thrusting in again. "Better hold on, ma'am."

Karen held on.

Afterwards, they sat up against the headboard of her bed and shared the Now and Later. Karen rested her head against his chest and his arm curled around her bare shoulders, his hand dragging slowly up and down the length of her arm. She curled her leg up over his legs and he hummed a little as she cuddled closer.

Karen looked at her soon-to-be former apartment and tried to categorize what she was feeling.

Well and truly fucked, in all the possible definitions of the word, floated to the top of her mind.

She turned her head into Frank's chest and murmured against his skin, "I want to go down on you next time."

His hand stopped mid-drag on her arm, but then he said, "Your mouth, ma'am."

"That's what I was planning on using, yes," she said as she smiled, loving the feel of his skin against her lips.

His dick twitched under her leg and she looked up at him, but he shook his head. "Ignore that. It's just being optimistic."

"Nice to know there's a part of you that can still feel optimistic," she said chuckling.

"Oh, yeah," he said pressing a kiss onto her head. "He's always looking up."

Karen burst out laughing and Frank's chest rumbled with chuckles beneath her.

"Oh, we have to do this again," she said, still laughing.

His hand paused again and then resumed touching her, and he said, "Not the greatest idea, I gotta say." Karen tensed at his words, but he went on, "But, like I said, you're an ocean, Page. And I'm not the fool who's going to try to fight the ocean."

"We'll figure it out," she said, relaxing once again and yawning. "Mmm, I need to give you my new address."

"Nah," he said easing them both down the bed to lay flat, but making sure she remained curled around him. "I'll find you."

Karen fell asleep with a smile on her face.

He was gone when she woke up the next day, but she wasn't worried. Like he said - he'd find her.