This begins in Daredevil season 2, but will eventually continue into the Punisher. Will follow most of canon, but Frank deserves a little domestic bliss.

Chapter One. Black Coffee

Cassandra Nash walked slowly behind the counter at the diner in Upper West Side Manhattan, right on the border of where Hell's Kitchen would begin. She looked clearly exhausted, her concealer barely doing any help to mask the bags under her eyes, with her dark blonde hair in a messy bun, several strands falling into her face.

She worked as a waitress to help cover the fees at Columbia, but she was in her last two years of the Robotics PhD program (she was young for a student who was almost done with her PhD, only being twenty-eight, and would be three years younger then when the average PhD student would be done). She had a Masters in Mechanical and Electrical Engineering, and she knew as soon as she was done, she was potentially looking at working for Tony Stark — she clearly had the smarts and the ambition. It was really only a matter of time. To add to it, her mother was a retired S.H.I.E.L.D agent (living comfortably in Orlando), and perhaps Cassandra had a bit of a pull in that area too.

Ace's Diner was quiet, especially during that time of night, but the diner had certainly grown on her, as she had been working there since she was twenty-four (which might be a reason she was still there, patiently waiting to be done with school to leave). Cassandra was alone, other then the one busboy, and the chef, and no one would come to relieve her until the morning shift began. She was relatively used to this — working nights to pay for her books and off-campus apartment. She also tutored younger students and helped manage the on campus library in her off time (which also helped her focus on her projects/homework).

The bell over the door rang, catching Cassandra's attention, her eyes flickering from her Robotics textbook to the patron who had walked in. He was tall, with a dark blue sweatshirt zipped all the way up, along with the hood, but she could see the baseball cap on underneath it. She found him slightly suspicious, but shrugged it off. Her mother had trained her from an early age, briefly wanting her daughter to follow in her footsteps, plus self-defense would never be a bad thing (especially in New York City).

Cassandra walked slowly towards the man who had entered, who took a booth in the back. She barely got a word out when he told her that all he was interested in was black coffee. And a lot of it. She complied, bringing back the coffee pot that had freshly brewed coffee as its contents. She poured it slowly, eyes flickering over him, trying to catch any of his features that it seemed he was hiding under the cap.

She returned to her textbook, pouring herself a cup of coffee. There was no was she was going to last the night without it. She was leaning over the counter, her back to the chef's window, and facing the entrance — the mysterious patron was down to her right, and she could see him watching her briefly through the corner of her eye. She paid him no-nevermind, reading through the chapter she was pretty sure she knew by heart at this point. But she has never earned anything less then a B+ during her time at Columbia, and she intended to keep it that way — always aiming for top marks.

The man cleared his throat and her honey colored eyes flickered over to him. He had his coffee cup on the edge of his table, and she can only guess that it was empty. She sauntered back over to him, and that was when she caught sight of the bruising around his left eye socket. Cassandra was only briefly caught off guard, and instead of reacting to it, she only offered a small smile.

She placed the coffee pot down onto the table after pouring him a cup, not even saying a word as she left it at his table. He smirked before she walked back to the counter, turning the page, taking a sip of her coffee (after adding both cream and sugar). She did not really notice what the man was doing, or that he is simply staring out the window, lost in his own head. Nor did she notice that the busboy had fallen asleep in the kitchen, while the chef watched Netflix on his laptop. Weeknights were usually always this dead, weekend nights were where it really depended; sometimes there was a bunch of drunk/hungover civilians coming in for late-night snacks and coffee, or they were as dead as weeknights. Either way, Cassandra went with the flow — even though she did prefer the nights she could study and get paid for it.

A cop car pulled up on the opposite side of the road, both officers needing a caffeine boost. Cassandra smiled as they entered, not even noticing as the mysterious man kept his head down, but with all his focus on the two officers. Both were general regulars during the night, but Cassandra barely remembered their names.

They were both female officers, which had Cassandra's respect the first time she met them. Ortiz was the older of the two, having two children and a husband in accounting, while Blake was newly married to a ballet dancer.

Cassandra was quick to pour them each a cup of coffee from the only remaining pot behind the counter. She did not falter, even if the authority would be intimidating to just about anyone. She supposed it was because she grew up with a mother who was in a similar boat that she reacted easily to the women, trading boring small talk to pass the time.

Ortiz and Blake were discussing the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, which had Cassandra's interest. Vigilante types had always fascinated her; she practically begged her mother to tell her anything and everything she knew about the Avengers. Opinions differ widely when it came to the issue of the Devil of Hell's Kitchen — you either thought he was a vigilante, borderline hero, or you thought he was a criminal. And while the thought of having someone currently roaming the streets, protecting civilians, puts Cassandra's mind at ease, even a little. Not many care too much about the "little guys" or your everyday New Yorker. She, however, does not disclose her opinion to either of the officers, walking the line between both opinions, a tactic she had learned from her mother.

They paid and left, each only having a cup, and she took both mugs back to the kitchen, looking slightly annoyed at D.J., the sleeping busboy. When she returned to the counter, she noticed that the man left, the coffee pot completely empty (she did not see him pour the remaining contents into a thermos), but there was a twenty on the counter beside his cup. Coffee was not nearly that expensive, so she had gotten a decent sized tip.

Cassandra returned the coffee pot to behind the counter, discarding the used cup into the sink, before returning to her textbook. Her cellphone buzzed in her apron, and she placed it on the counter, seeing a text message from her friend Eliza.

Study session tomorrow? it read. Eliza was on the path to a Chemical Engineering PhD, and even though the women would not be studying the same material, it was still nice to have company.

Bring pizza? Cassandra sent back.

Her phone buzzed moments later, Of course!

Cassandra smiled, beginning to filter through her social media. Just another brief distraction from the slow night, and there was nothing of particular interest.

By the time Vera came to relieve Cassandra, along with Nathan, she was just about to pass out. Her trip home was relatively short, either a very quick subway ride and a block to walk, or about a seven minute walk. She only took the subway if she was running late, or if she was particularly exhausted, like she was that day. Her apartment was tiny, her dining room and living room smashed together, the couch barely fitting into the space (she did not even own a dining table for this reason, instead eating at her coffee table). Her kitchen was small, but it was really all she needed, as she did not cook often. The bathroom was tiny, but it had the necessities, and that was really all Cassandra required. Her bedroom barely fit her full sized bed (it's smushed into the back, stretching to be touching both walls) and her dresser. It had a tiny closet however, which was nice enough for her.

Cassandra set the alarm on her phone for class and climbed into her bed, falling asleep moments after closing her eyes.