Featuring appearances by my two favorite superheroes (the Punisher's great, but he isn't one of them).

Fall again, and Frank wants nothing more than to catch a glimpse of Karen. He'd be lying if he didn't admit to clambering up that rooftop down the street from her apartment just to check up on her without disturbing her life. The scope of a rifle points at her closed curtains, and Frank drinks in the sight before him: a window box, withered flower stalks poking up from the sodden dirt, wilted petals framing the whole display.

She can't be waiting for him still. Must just be her way of sprucing up the place. But Frank's heart beats double time at the sight.

Her curtain doesn't stir. Frank reluctantly disassembles his rifle at the end of an hour once his fingers go numb. The last trace of summer is long gone, and he needs to warm up with a drink.

This bar is dark, the counters grimy. Perfect for an uninterrupted drink. The only patrons out this late are a couple of guys playing darts, the remnants of a bachelorette party leaking feathers and squeals, and a couple keeping to themselves at the end of the bar. The man looks familiar, a yellow shirt peeking out of his sweatshirt. When the woman by his side catches Frank's stare, she frowns and starts whispering. Her leather jacket reflects the neon beer signs scattered across the walls.

The glass Frank's brandy comes in has a half-preserved lipstick print on the rim, a souvenir from a earlier patron. He's tired of talking, though, so he doesn't call the bartender back. He simply spins the glass around and takes a sip to ease the pain. The shoulders ache under the weight of the city without Karen.

The tinkling of glass draws Frank out of his daze. He glances behind him to see a blonde woman adjust her pink veil. Stupid bachelorette party. Another sidecar or two and he won't be able to hear them. So he empties his drink and orders another.

The couple on the end of the bar scowls at the racket, too. Frank feels a sense of camaraderie in their shared agony. Probably came here to drink quietly and were interrupted by a bunch of squealing women. It's not even a Friday night. Is that a penis straw in one of the ladies' cups? Frank shudders and starts in on his next drink.

The tinkling of glass sounds again. A voice rises above the chatter. "To Marci." He'd recognize the conviction in that voice anywhere. Swiveling, Frank finds Karen holding up a tumbler and swaying on top of a stool. "May your life as a lawyer's wife be lucrative."

The blonde with the veil laughs and the women cheer before clinking glasses and drinking up.

Frank freezes. He's imagined meeting Karen again so many times, but he never pictured it happening like this. Here. He also didn't account for the pain. Her voice cuts open his veins, punctures his scarred heart. Slowly, he pulls up his hood, not ready to catch her eye. He needs time to think.

But time has never been on Frank's side. He watches over his shoulder as Karen spots the couple at the bar from her vantage point on the stool and beelines towards them after being helped down by a friend. Frank prays his beard is thick enough to hide him from her view and hunches over his brandy.

"Jessica," Karen says. "Is that—?"

The woman in the leather jacket winces at the intrusion. "God, you're talking so loud you're giving my hangover a hangover."

The man besides her chuckles. "Good to see you still alive, Karen."

One move could blow Frank's cover. He keeps his eyes locked on the brandy even though his mind begs him for one glimpse of her up close. How much has she changed in the year he's been gone?

To his dismay, Karen slumps into a stool. A few flimsy pieces of wood are all that separate her and Frank. "How are you guys holding up?" she asks.

Leather Jacket snorts in reply.

"That well, huh?" Karen says.

"Still figuring shit out," the man sighs. "But always moving forward."

"Who's that guy?" Leather Jacket says. "Been staring at us all night."

Out of the corner of his eye, Frank watches the woman point a finger at him. Karen turns, following the finger. So much for subtlety. He tugs down his hood and reaches for his wallet. Time to get out of here.

He sees the punch coming before it lands. His arm hardly stings, but there it comes again— another and another, one for each day he's been gone.

When the barrage of blows slows, he looks up. Inches away from his face, Karen glowers at him. "Where were you?" she says. "You can't just go off and leave me like that!"

What else is there for Frank to do but grin? "Have you been talking to Lieberman?" he mutters, earning another punch.

Karen's knuckles are as bright red as her cheeks. She's struggling to form coherent thoughts. "Where— what— why are you back? Why now, all of a sudden?"

"I missed you."

He deserves this punch and the next. All of them, really.

"What a shitty thing to say!" But now she's crying and gasping and her smile's so big that Frank thinks he might go blind if he looks at it too long. She flings herself around his neck, almost bowling him off his stool, but Frank holds her close.

"I'm a mess tonight," she apologizes, gesturing towards the bachelorette party in the corner.

He knows she's just bashful, a little tipsy and overwhelmed by his reappearance. Yet this girl that's got him frozen in time, unable to move forward beyond her, has nothing to apologize for. "Karen," he says, and in that moment, it's just the two of them in the bar. "Nothing in the world can stop me from wanting you."

She brushes his cheek as if to make sure he's real and not some fiction from a bottle. "I thought you were gone forever."

At this moment, Leather Jacket coughs, dry and forced. "We feel obligated to remind you that this is a public bar."

Far too public. Frank's imagination takes over, dreaming of featherbeds and kisses as the lights go out. Ignoring the couple intently listening in, Frank stares at Karen. "My place is a couple blocks away."

She smiles, but it's too grim to be mistaken for mirth. This Karen does not laugh, but there's dark satisfaction etched into the wrinkles on her forehead. She's waited for him, and he's finally here, and she's not about to let him go.

"Let's get out of here," Karen says, and when she does, Leather Jacket gives a grudging nod of approval.

Her companion, the tall hooded man, murmurs something that sounds like, "Sweet Christmas. Can we get going, too?"

Frank drops a couple bills on the counter and pulls Karen to her feet, wrapping her in his overcoat and guiding her to the door. Wolf whistles from the bachelorette party pelt them on the way out. Karen waves them off with a roll of her eyes.

Then it's just Frank and Karen, setting off to finish the night they deserved but that Frank couldn't face last autumn. Her hand slips into his and he's grounded with a single touch.

Their frenetic pace slows the farther they walk from the bar. Satisfied no one's coming to stop them, Frank stops walking altogether. Karen turns, a question on her lips, when he leans in to show her exactly how much he's missed her.

Her arms crawl around his neck, and his hands find their way to her hips, and then they're rocking back and forth in a hug that moves to the beat of their hearts.

Finally, Frank hears that invisible music Maria was always dancing to. It calls to him as Karen murmurs his name into his chest. It beckons him to pull her close and keep swaying. It's deep blue and golden and weaves throughout the New York night sky until it envelopes them in a cloud of opportunity.

"Come on," she says, and when she tugs loose from his embrace, Frank knows their dance is far from over. His apartment building is just around the corner. They take the stairs two at a time, hands locked together until they reach his door.

Once Frank locks it behind them, they're well and truly alone. He drops his pack.

Now they're swaying, cheek to cheek, tangled in each other. The room could burn down and Frank's not sure he could tear himself away. It's crumbling in on them, everything they worked so hard to ignore. If this is destruction, then Frank gives himself over willingly to whatever pain the future holds for them. Tonight, he's dancing, and it's never felt so good.