Author's Note: Timeline is season 1-2 of Punisher (Karen & Frank moments). Season 3ish of Daredevil, which I based more off the comic book vs the show. This is my love story of Frank & Karen. I wrote this for love of Kastle! It's been a looooong time since I wrote anything and decided that I needed a little action and romance in my life again- and who better than Kastle!

**Story starts 6 months after Frank's rejection of Karen in season 2 of Punisher. His timeline is different from the show in this & Karen's timeline is mixed in with season 3 of Daredevil with Bulls-Eye & Fisk.

Warning: It's angsty, romantic, emo, dark, will have violence and sex.

Feel free to comment- but mostly, enjoy.

Chapter 1: A Devil of a Death

This is what death feels like, Karen thought.

She attempted to inhale as her heart leapt in her chest and her pulse pounded in her ears. Her mind began to slow down and focus solely on the pain in her stomach, while her body seemed to be speeding up. Blood pumping, oxygen pushing through her gasping lungs, sweat gathering at the back of her neck and feet tingling.

She always wondered how she would die. Maybe it was because the profession she'd chosen. The friends she kept. Or just being born to eventually die. We all die, she thought, now is my time.

A sudden shooting pain vibrated through her body, bringing her out of her thoughts and back to the place where she had fallen—slumped against the church alter. The warm tile of the church pressed against her lower back and legs, as she kicked out her feet weakly in attempt to sit up, except she couldn't. Not with the maroon cane skewering her insides.

She swallowed, tasting blood, unable to look down at the mortal wound.

"Karen!"

She heard his scream—his cry of anguish. But it didn't resonate. It didn't sink in like it should have. It felt distant and somehow surreal. Karen could only feel the pain. She was the pain.

Wasn't she suppose to feel shock? Wasn't her body and mind suppose to protect and shield her from this horrific agony she was experiencing? She vaguely recalled an article she read where stomach wounds were the most painful way to die. She cringed, holding back the tears, willing herself to stay awake—alert. The need to close her eyes felt like the most powerful pull in her life, like an anchor being pushed off a boat into dark waters. Sinking. Sinking deeper and further into the dark.

Without any ability to control her body, she slipped further down the alter and letting her body go slack.

She didn't hear him come to her, only suddenly she felt his strong hands slipping over her body and cradling her against his black shirt. He wasn't the Daredevil—he was a vigilant—Hell's Kitchen, with the help of Fisk has villainized Daredevil. Painted him as a murderer, a terrorist. Yet he was none of those things. He was the light this city still needed, no matter how hard Fisk attempted to snuff him out.

When Matt came back from the grave, he surprised them all. What Karen knew in her heart was that Matt would never give up Daredevil—even if it killed him. She respected his choice, mourned his death and left her ruined heart on the sidewalk as she went to work. Karen was not fated for Matt, no matter how hard she had tried at first to be with him. Matt was fated for the Devil.

"Matt…" she said huskily, her voice choking on the blood filling her mouth.

"It's all right… you'll be fine…" He said, yet she heard the shock—the terror edged his voice. She never knew Matt Murdock could feel fear. The vigilant of Hell's Kitchen that somehow dodged bullets, stopped bad guys with his fists and brutal kicks, the man that once took down Fisk and would do it again one day. The hero of a city that at times, didn't deserve him. She looked up at him now, into the black mask of the man she had once loved.

His face abruptly turned from aguish grief to contorted rage. Grief and rage. She had seen this expression before, but never on Matt… on someone else. Someone she suddenly—desperately wanted to see in this moment. Someone who she wasn't suppose to desire—to want—to know—to need. Someone who was too dark for this world, consumed by the very darkness that destroyed him.

Frank…

"I…" she tried to speak. But the words gurgled on her tongue.

Karen felt instant regret. Regret for not living as fearlessly as she did as a journalist. She embodied bravery and courage, grit and endurance when it came to her profession. Yet her personal life—she was a failure. She was achingly alone. Coming home to an empty apartment with nothing waiting for her but the warm screen of her laptop and a couple cold beers in the fridge.

She yearned for connection. Burned for it. Yet did nothing. No that's not true, her mind protested, I tried… I tried with him—with Frank, but he didn't want me.

Images of Frank came crashing down on her like a hard-hitting wave. She should've done more. Should've said more to him. Should've been honest with herself. Guilt racked her, as she bled out on the church tiles, wishing she could go back in time and kissed Frank Castle in the elevator. The day he saved her life, again. And the day she saved his from the police. They made a good team.

She pictured that day all so clearly, as if it were yesterday and not a year ago. She saw it now—his dark eyes filled with vulnerability and with… wanting. She remembered her body tensing in unexpected desire. They had just been through Hell together and all she wanted to do was close the space between them and kiss the lips that haunted her dreams for months. But she didn't. Instead he tilted his forehead into hers, somehow acknowledging he wasn't ready—she wasn't ready. The wanting growing taunt between them until she pushed away from him, unable to be so close to his fire, knowing it would consume her the second she touched it. It had been so long… so long…

She was desperate for his strength now. Frank could survive anything. So could she, she supposed. Heartache was a pain no words could describe. She somehow survived Frank's rejection, slipping further into her work, taking on more dangerous cases, as though looking for an excuse to not keep just surviving. Maybe she had wanted this. Her death.

The last time she saw Frank—he denied her. Bruised and battered lying in another hospital bed, Frank refused to hear her, refused to listen and take in what she said to him. He seemed broken anew and nothing could pull him back from the edge. Not even her admitting her feelings for him.

Her heart burned with a void less ache as she could still feel his rejection like it was yesterday. He was so consumed with his darkness, he couldn't see the light before him. A way out—with her. Tears slipped down her cheeks.

There was a shouting from outside—a man's taunting, cruel voice. The man that threw the cane at her with supernatural accuracy. Hitting his target, every target, to kill. Bulls-Eye. She shuddered, remembering the feel of the cane stab her in the gut and the feel of it now lodged deep into her stomach. The assassin, hired by Fisk, had stolen Matt's Daredevil suit and had been killing people in the city for days now. Matt had been pursuing him when they came into the church to fight. The church where Karen had been following a lead on a kidnapped child and possible sex trafficking ring.

She had literally been in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

Matt turned his head slightly, hearing Bulls-Eye beckoning him out—wanting the fight—wanting the Devil. Let the Devil out…

Except Matt would never kill. He didn't cross that line. He couldn't. Not like Frank. The man that breathed darkness and fire and spat it back out with a bullet.

Karen felt the shift in Matt as he cradled her head, stiffly kissing her forehead. She knew, felt it in the tension held taunt in his muscles, he wanted to take his rage out on the man that had killed her. Because, she was dead. This was it.

She stared up at him blankly, feeling the darkness pull at her, asking her like soft whispers to close her eyes and slip into the black. The black, empty nothingness that called to her like sirens. Slip into these dark waters—it's okay—we'll make the pain go away…

She reached up with the strength she had left and touched his forearm. "Go…"

"I can't leave you."

"Yeah… you can." She whispered, blood staining her lips. She suddenly realized that her other hand was gripping fiercely at the cane, as though to pull is out. But she couldn't. Not while he was here, she thought. Once he left her side, she'd yank it out and bleed out in this church. This godly place. If only she believed in God. Then maybe she'd believe in the miracle of being saved in this moment. But the harsh, cold reality of it—no one could survive this.

And she certainly wouldn't die with Daredevil's cane inside her. She didn't want him to blame himself. It wasn't his fault. She wouldn't die being killed by Daredevil.

Frank's face startled her as it flashed before her memory like a beacon in the darkness surrounding her. Karen let out an agonized moan because she would never see him again.

Frank… you son of a bitch… I should've kissed you…maybe you wouldn't have denied me so easily…

Matt slowly lowered her back against the alter, careful not to hurt her anymore. She saw the tears slip from beneath his black mask. He cried for her. She didn't realize he cared that much. He never showed it. And when he finally did tell her the truth, when he finally stopped lying, it had been too late. Her heart was too broken to heal from what happened between them. Her hope for having anything more than a friendship was long gone.

Funny, she realized, she had fallen in love with two very different men in her lifetime. One, who she considered was a lost boy in the dark, trying to give himself purpose and passion by becoming the protector of a city in crisis. The other… she inhaled weakly. He was the darkness and sought justice with murderous violence. Matt the hero, Frank—the villain.

Her love life in article form could win a Pulitzer, she thought harshly, tears streaking down her cheeks.

Matt stood over her, withdrawing completely from her.

"I'll stay with her," an old weathered voice said from behind him. A nun emerged from the shadows. She had taken cover between the pews when the fighting had started. She had a kind face, Karen thought.

"Thank you, Sister Maggie." Matt whispered. "I'll come back for her…"

"I know. Go—that monster deserves your justice."

Matt looked down at her once more. He seemed to want to say something—conflicted and shaken—yet the Devil seemed to deny him his voice as he abruptly turned and ran toward the double doors of the church. Ready to unleash his wrath—his Hell.

The second the doors slammed shut, the nun gazed down at her and the wound. She seemed to sense that death was near for her and took her hand, squeezing firmly. "Don't you even think about it, Miss Page. I won't allow it. And neither will God. Not in his house." The nun's reassuring words were hollow and meaningless to her now. Sister Maggie paused, turning her head to shout, "Luca! Come out of hiding, boy. It's safe and I need you."

Karen felt herself being pulled deeper… deeper. She would die amongst strangers. Her throat clenched as tears ran uncontrollably now. She had nothing left to give or live for.

It had been so long since she had loved or been loved, that she had forgotten the feeling. Neither man she had fallen in love with had loved her back. Maybe something was wrong with her for loving the unlovable. Maybe because she feared that truth about herself. That no one wanted her. No one loved her. Her family didn't. She had nothing and no one to lose. The only time a man loved her… she stopped the thought before it started. No, she would not think of him, not now, not in her time of dying. He didn't deserve her final thoughts.

Her hand gripped around the cane. The darkness comforted her now…the whispering sirens telling her to give in and let go… Without thinking, Karen ripped the cane from her body and let out a scream. She didn't want the world to think Daredevil killed her…

Sister Maggie's shadowed face was the last she saw before slipping off into the arms of death's sirens, deciding she had enough pain in one lifetime. A heart could only take so much.

TBC