[ continued from here. ]
When Foggy heard the office door open, he put on a smile and stepped out to greet Karen, who looked like she had her arms full. "Glad to see you survived the drunken detective debacle of Hell's Kitchen. Hope it wasn't too much of an issue."
When Foggy heard the office door open, he put on a smile and stepped out to greet Karen, who looked like she had her arms full. "Glad to see you survived the drunken detective debacle of Hell's Kitchen. Hope it wasn't too much of an issue."
Karen is juggling a paper bag full of bagels and a tray with three coffees as she comes in through the door. "I sort of feel bad for her," she admits as she hands over the tray of coffee and sets the bag down on the desk. "The police were just turning up as I was leaving." She's not in for a fun day. Still, she recognizes the signs well: you can't help someone that doesn't want to help themselves.
She pulls a wrapped bagel from the bag and shows it to Foggy with an arch of her brow. "Any guesses?"
She pulls a wrapped bagel from the bag and shows it to Foggy with an arch of her brow. "Any guesses?"
Karen doesn’t know Jessica very well. She’s sort of (if she’s being generous) prickly, but she tends not to hold that against people. She’s tenacious enough to just look past those barbed exterior fences. In her experience, there's often a lot more to someone than those quick impressions, and she has a hunch that the same holds true for Jessica. It helps that Matt is undeniably delighted by her.
She picks up some pot brownies from her neighbor, and though it takes several minutes of searching, she finds the movie on YouTube for $2.99. The Brave Little Toaster Goes To Mars. It's paused and waiting on her TV screen. What a way to spend a Saturday night.
When she answers Jessica’s knock at the door, she’s wearing jeans and an oversized tee shirt, her blonde hair piled back in a haphazard attempt at a bun. She greets the other woman with a half smile. “Beer or whiskey?”
She picks up some pot brownies from her neighbor, and though it takes several minutes of searching, she finds the movie on YouTube for $2.99. The Brave Little Toaster Goes To Mars. It's paused and waiting on her TV screen. What a way to spend a Saturday night.
When she answers Jessica’s knock at the door, she’s wearing jeans and an oversized tee shirt, her blonde hair piled back in a haphazard attempt at a bun. She greets the other woman with a half smile. “Beer or whiskey?”
The summer heat has Jess in a tank top and jeans (however, her big black boots are still there). She has a bit of sweat on her forehead, her own hair back in a ponytail. She has a look on her face like she has no idea what she's getting into-- because Jessica wears her heart on her sleeve. Or in a holster in her boot, but that sounds cheesy so pretend I didn't write that.
When Karen answers the door, Jess looks a bit overwhelmed until the question comes. "Both."
When Karen answers the door, Jess looks a bit overwhelmed until the question comes. "Both."
oh geez i switched to brackets, you don't have to match, i'm actually more used to the ohter way
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
unpleasantly
- 2019-08-14 02:05 (UTC) - ExpandIt's been a little more than a year since she last saw Frank. The few weeks after graduation before he shipped off had been a whirlwind - her job interviews and apartment search, his preparation. She'd written to him regularly as promised. Letters, emails, copies of her articles as they got published, care packages with snacks. One time she'd even slipped a picture of her in a bra into a letter. She looked forward to his replies.
So it had felt natural to offer to pick him up and let him stay at her place when he returned stateside for the first time. She's leaning on the hood of her beat up car watching the reunions with a smile on her face when she finally spots him emerging from the crowd. Her smile widens as she straightens up and walks through the parking lot to meet him in the middle. Her arms wrap around him, pulling him in close before she even says anything. "Look who's back in New York."
So it had felt natural to offer to pick him up and let him stay at her place when he returned stateside for the first time. She's leaning on the hood of her beat up car watching the reunions with a smile on her face when she finally spots him emerging from the crowd. Her smile widens as she straightens up and walks through the parking lot to meet him in the middle. Her arms wrap around him, pulling him in close before she even says anything. "Look who's back in New York."
A year of letters, emails, and the rare video call kept them in touch. Every time he heard from her, he wondered if the next time she'd tell him she'd met someone and was moving on, but it never happened. Frank was used to being ready for disaster, but for once, disaster didn't occur. The whole flight back, he figured the plane would have an engine malfunction or something crazy, but it landed safely and he was back in New York.
When he exited the terminal, he was in his fatigues and carrying a large duffel bag over his shoulder. It only took him a minute to spot her. Frank looked pretty good. He'd put on some more muscle in the last year and lost a bit of weight at the same time. Karen looked incredible.
As she approached, he smiled, and then her arms were around him. He dropped his bag and after a brief hesitation and put his arms around her, too. "I can hardly believe it." He just got off the plane, but the city felt both familiar and foreign at the same time.
When he exited the terminal, he was in his fatigues and carrying a large duffel bag over his shoulder. It only took him a minute to spot her. Frank looked pretty good. He'd put on some more muscle in the last year and lost a bit of weight at the same time. Karen looked incredible.
As she approached, he smiled, and then her arms were around him. He dropped his bag and after a brief hesitation and put his arms around her, too. "I can hardly believe it." He just got off the plane, but the city felt both familiar and foreign at the same time.
It's been over a month since Karen last made it to Josie's. She's been unbelievably busy finishing her coursework and field requirements for her PI license. Which, to be clear, isn't a complaint - she's been collapsing into bed exhausted every night, but she's never been happier. She'd loved working for the Bulletin, but something about work as a PI feels right. Having a mystery or a question dropped into her lap that she can untangle by pulling threads and following leads? It's right up her alley.
And now, finally - finally - she's officially licensed. It takes all of her self restraint to not literally dance down the sidewalk, though she is smiling to herself as she walks.
By the time she arrives at Josie's, she's managed a sober expression and she greets Foggy with a silent look of defeat as she sets her purse down on the table. There's only a moment's pause before she breaks, a slow grin curling her lips as she says, "it's time to get that new sign made, Nelson."
And now, finally - finally - she's officially licensed. It takes all of her self restraint to not literally dance down the sidewalk, though she is smiling to herself as she walks.
By the time she arrives at Josie's, she's managed a sober expression and she greets Foggy with a silent look of defeat as she sets her purse down on the table. There's only a moment's pause before she breaks, a slow grin curling her lips as she says, "it's time to get that new sign made, Nelson."
Life is hectic and the speed with which it passes often makes Foggy feel as if he's steps behind and missing time. Hadn't it just been this morning Matt had moved into their dorm? Minutes ago that they walked into Karen's life? And seconds since last they parted (even if seeing her now makes it feels like years for how much he's missed her).
When she walks through the door of Josie's, there's no doubt in Foggy's mind (and never once had such a thing entered his thoughts); her success had been solidified the moment Karen had put her mind to it. He's expecting it. He's prepared for it.
"You know what? I sort of had a feeling you'd say that," Foggy muses and he tugs a folded paper from his jacket's inside pocket where it drapes over a chair and he offers it over when he comes in for a hug. "Not to brag, but I've had this ready since day one," he tells Karen, leaving her to investigate while he's waving to have her usual drink delivered to them.
What he's given over is the order form for the new sign to include her name, everything perfectly filled in with careful capitals and all the details set as Foggy's wont to do. Not a thing out of place. There should be nothing Karen needs to worry about to have this moment; it's meant to be all for her.
(If only Matt were here to see it, he wants to say, but he doesn't dare ruin this moment by uttering it. It's just a fact of life at this point, and they're both too loyal to walk away.)
"You know, congratulations are in order, but can I just point out that you nailed it?" For a second he's tried to keep it together, to exhibit decorum, but there's still some part of him that will never give up that exuberant childishness best expressed with his dear friends. "I'm so proud of you," he adds, dragging her back in for another tight embrace.
When she walks through the door of Josie's, there's no doubt in Foggy's mind (and never once had such a thing entered his thoughts); her success had been solidified the moment Karen had put her mind to it. He's expecting it. He's prepared for it.
"You know what? I sort of had a feeling you'd say that," Foggy muses and he tugs a folded paper from his jacket's inside pocket where it drapes over a chair and he offers it over when he comes in for a hug. "Not to brag, but I've had this ready since day one," he tells Karen, leaving her to investigate while he's waving to have her usual drink delivered to them.
What he's given over is the order form for the new sign to include her name, everything perfectly filled in with careful capitals and all the details set as Foggy's wont to do. Not a thing out of place. There should be nothing Karen needs to worry about to have this moment; it's meant to be all for her.
(If only Matt were here to see it, he wants to say, but he doesn't dare ruin this moment by uttering it. It's just a fact of life at this point, and they're both too loyal to walk away.)
"You know, congratulations are in order, but can I just point out that you nailed it?" For a second he's tried to keep it together, to exhibit decorum, but there's still some part of him that will never give up that exuberant childishness best expressed with his dear friends. "I'm so proud of you," he adds, dragging her back in for another tight embrace.
It's late enough in the evening that Karen is starting to worry that her message to Matt didn't go through. Of course, she has no way of checking, given that she is presently tied very securely to a chair in a warehouse down by the docks. Honestly, part of her is a little bit impressed. The last time she got herself into a predicament like this they hadn't even bothered to tie her up.
Granted, she'd be a little more impressed if her fingers weren't slowly going numb. Or the absolutely staggering number of crimes that this particular gang has been up to over the past few weeks. Karen's on their trail from an obscure angle - she's been working her way through the shell companies a real estate management group has been using, trying to find proof of money laundering. And this is a pretty sure sign that she was getting close, considering that they'd nabbed her off the sidewalk and dragged her out here for interrogation.
She lets out a sigh as the evident ringleader of this circus approaches again. Their interrogation methods had been all across the board - one of them threw a bucket of sea water at her at some point, and another hit her in the face hard enough that she can still feel the sting in her split lip. A wary look crosses her face when she sees the ringleader holding a wrench.
"Listen, I already told you how I got on your trail. You already know that I work with Nelson and Murdock. And - " she can just make out the unmistakable sound of glass shattering somewhere on the other end of the warehouse. Finally. The ringleader's head starts to turn and she yells "Hey! Eyes over here. You want to know everything I know? You're about to find out that I was telling the truth when I said someone was coming for me."
All things considered, it's great timing. But when Bucky rounds the corner, a look of surprise crosses her face that makes it very apparent that she'd been expecting someone else.
Granted, she'd be a little more impressed if her fingers weren't slowly going numb. Or the absolutely staggering number of crimes that this particular gang has been up to over the past few weeks. Karen's on their trail from an obscure angle - she's been working her way through the shell companies a real estate management group has been using, trying to find proof of money laundering. And this is a pretty sure sign that she was getting close, considering that they'd nabbed her off the sidewalk and dragged her out here for interrogation.
She lets out a sigh as the evident ringleader of this circus approaches again. Their interrogation methods had been all across the board - one of them threw a bucket of sea water at her at some point, and another hit her in the face hard enough that she can still feel the sting in her split lip. A wary look crosses her face when she sees the ringleader holding a wrench.
"Listen, I already told you how I got on your trail. You already know that I work with Nelson and Murdock. And - " she can just make out the unmistakable sound of glass shattering somewhere on the other end of the warehouse. Finally. The ringleader's head starts to turn and she yells "Hey! Eyes over here. You want to know everything I know? You're about to find out that I was telling the truth when I said someone was coming for me."
All things considered, it's great timing. But when Bucky rounds the corner, a look of surprise crosses her face that makes it very apparent that she'd been expecting someone else.
Someone was definitely coming for her but it probably wasn't the person that shows up. And he actually looks a little surprised when he sees her, thinking that he'd be alone with these men. But no, she's there and, if he's not mistaken, she looks like she's trying to wrangle control from the leader of these men.
He doesn't let the surprise last long, not wanting to be caught off guard by anyone. Instead, he moves closer, stepping in front of her and trying to keep her hidden with his body.
"There a way out of here behind you?"
They can talk about the who's and the what's later. Right now, they're outnumbered and while he thinks he could probably deal with that, she's an unknown factor that he doesn't want to get hurt because of his tendencies.
He doesn't let the surprise last long, not wanting to be caught off guard by anyone. Instead, he moves closer, stepping in front of her and trying to keep her hidden with his body.
"There a way out of here behind you?"
They can talk about the who's and the what's later. Right now, they're outnumbered and while he thinks he could probably deal with that, she's an unknown factor that he doesn't want to get hurt because of his tendencies.
After a busy morning that only exacerbated the state of her hangover, Karen is looking forward to the prospect of drinking tea and commiserating with Alfred. It's not always easy for her to open up - her life is a shit show, and getting dragged into the storm has gotten people killed or hurt more times than she cares to think about. But she can recognize an open door for what it is.
A stop at the grocery store on the way back home delayed her just enough that she can hear a knock on the door up ahead as she steps out onto the third floor of her old but well tended apartment building. "Hey," she calls with a smile, fishing her keys out of the pocket of her jacket with one hand, a bag of groceries balanced in her other arm. "Sorry, I hope you weren't waiting long."
She unlocks the door and lets him in, bumping it shut behind them. "Come in, there's a coat hook by the door there. How's your day been?" She flips the lights on, bustling around to get the bag of groceries in the kitchen and her jacket and purse squared away. The apartment itself is small, but she's made good use of the space. There aren't any personal pictures up, or really any knickknacks. There's plenty of books, and a scattered pile of work on the coffee table that make it clear how she usually spends her evenings.
"So, uh, I only had Lipton tea," she informs him as she moves over to the kitchen island, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear as she gives him a look that's equal parts amusement and self deprecation. Reaching in to the bag, she pulls out two boxes of Twinings tea. "Let's see - Winter Spice or Earl Gray?"
A stop at the grocery store on the way back home delayed her just enough that she can hear a knock on the door up ahead as she steps out onto the third floor of her old but well tended apartment building. "Hey," she calls with a smile, fishing her keys out of the pocket of her jacket with one hand, a bag of groceries balanced in her other arm. "Sorry, I hope you weren't waiting long."
She unlocks the door and lets him in, bumping it shut behind them. "Come in, there's a coat hook by the door there. How's your day been?" She flips the lights on, bustling around to get the bag of groceries in the kitchen and her jacket and purse squared away. The apartment itself is small, but she's made good use of the space. There aren't any personal pictures up, or really any knickknacks. There's plenty of books, and a scattered pile of work on the coffee table that make it clear how she usually spends her evenings.
"So, uh, I only had Lipton tea," she informs him as she moves over to the kitchen island, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear as she gives him a look that's equal parts amusement and self deprecation. Reaching in to the bag, she pulls out two boxes of Twinings tea. "Let's see - Winter Spice or Earl Gray?"
It's easy for Alfred to find his way back to Karen's place, unlike her, he was practically sober when he left last night after making her pancakes. He tries to give her some extra time before coming by but somehow still winds up beating her there and when he hears her come out of the elevator he turns and throws her a little smile.
"Nah, just been here a tick." He says, his cockney accent rolling lazily off his tongue and he steps aside so she can unlock the door, keeping an eye on the bag of groceries in case any should spill out as she maneuvers the door open.
"It's been all right." Probably better than her day went seeing how he doesn't have a hangover but he doesn't mention that as he hangs up his coat. He then turns towards her, looking at the two boxes of tea with a little smirk.
"Earl Grey will do nicely, thank you."
"Nah, just been here a tick." He says, his cockney accent rolling lazily off his tongue and he steps aside so she can unlock the door, keeping an eye on the bag of groceries in case any should spill out as she maneuvers the door open.
"It's been all right." Probably better than her day went seeing how he doesn't have a hangover but he doesn't mention that as he hangs up his coat. He then turns towards her, looking at the two boxes of tea with a little smirk.
"Earl Grey will do nicely, thank you."
[Karen Page is exhausted. Running on fumes, even. She's got a deadline coming up for The Bulletin, and a case she's been looking in to for Matt and Foggy that seems to defy all logic. Part of her suspects that the article and the case are going to end up related. It just feels like exactly the kind of 'fuck you' the universe has in mind for her.
The line to get up to the counter at the coffee shop feels interminably long, but she sticks it out, firing texts back and forth with Foggy while she waits. It's cold outside, and New York's streets are heaped with the gray slush that piles up on every curb and corner after a good few weeks of winter. She's bundled up against it, in her long coat, pant legs tucked into waterproof boots. Her long hair is piled up underneath a knit hit. At the back of her neck, just poking up over the collar of the coat, are the tallest spires of the little castle that's been inked there since her 18th birthday.
She greets the barista with a tired smile.]
Hey, can I get a large hot coffee? I'd take it in a bucket if they come in that size. Do you have any apple pie left?
[The woman apologizes, but her eyes automatically shift to look over to the seating area as she says "sorry, hun, someone else just grabbed the last piece a few minutes ago."
Karen turns her head to follow her gaze and nearly laughs out loud because it's Frank. Because of course it's Frank. She hasn't seen him in - what - fifteen years? Not since that last fight. Before he went off to the service. Before Kevin died.
A lifetime ago. It all still feels like it happened yesterday.
The woman clears her throat and starts with "uh, anything else - ?" before Karen turns back to her with a quick smile.]
Yeah, sorry. Just the coffee and a blueberry muffin. Thanks.
[She taps her card to pay and then moves over to the end of the counter. Now that she knows he's here, she's just - so aware of the space he takes up in the coffee shop. The exact table he's sitting at, his back against the wall. The same way she'd always been able to look up at the exact moment he walked into a room, or find him in a crowd. Like there's a magnet that snaps them back together.
Maybe this is the 'fuck you' the universe actually had in mind for her after all.
Coffee in one hand, paper bag containing a muffin in the other, she turns and unerringly meets his eyes from across the space. All the sound falls away, and just the corner of her mouth twitches a little as she dips her head in acknowledgment. She looks down, her grip on the bag shifting, brows furrowed as her weight shifts from one foot to the other. Part of her wants to just - take off, out the door, down the street. Maybe flip him off as she goes. But she's not that girl anymore, or rather...some part of her is always going to be that girl, but she has a better handle on her temper now. Knows how to wield it to do some good in the world instead of just wrecking havoc everywhere she goes.
She blows out a breath and quickly crosses the room, deftly weaving between the other tables and the people moving around so she can arrive at the one he's sitting at. Her voice is low, amused, with a hint of that what are the odds? somewhere in the tone when she speaks.]
Hey, Frank.
The line to get up to the counter at the coffee shop feels interminably long, but she sticks it out, firing texts back and forth with Foggy while she waits. It's cold outside, and New York's streets are heaped with the gray slush that piles up on every curb and corner after a good few weeks of winter. She's bundled up against it, in her long coat, pant legs tucked into waterproof boots. Her long hair is piled up underneath a knit hit. At the back of her neck, just poking up over the collar of the coat, are the tallest spires of the little castle that's been inked there since her 18th birthday.
She greets the barista with a tired smile.]
Hey, can I get a large hot coffee? I'd take it in a bucket if they come in that size. Do you have any apple pie left?
[The woman apologizes, but her eyes automatically shift to look over to the seating area as she says "sorry, hun, someone else just grabbed the last piece a few minutes ago."
Karen turns her head to follow her gaze and nearly laughs out loud because it's Frank. Because of course it's Frank. She hasn't seen him in - what - fifteen years? Not since that last fight. Before he went off to the service. Before Kevin died.
A lifetime ago. It all still feels like it happened yesterday.
The woman clears her throat and starts with "uh, anything else - ?" before Karen turns back to her with a quick smile.]
Yeah, sorry. Just the coffee and a blueberry muffin. Thanks.
[She taps her card to pay and then moves over to the end of the counter. Now that she knows he's here, she's just - so aware of the space he takes up in the coffee shop. The exact table he's sitting at, his back against the wall. The same way she'd always been able to look up at the exact moment he walked into a room, or find him in a crowd. Like there's a magnet that snaps them back together.
Maybe this is the 'fuck you' the universe actually had in mind for her after all.
Coffee in one hand, paper bag containing a muffin in the other, she turns and unerringly meets his eyes from across the space. All the sound falls away, and just the corner of her mouth twitches a little as she dips her head in acknowledgment. She looks down, her grip on the bag shifting, brows furrowed as her weight shifts from one foot to the other. Part of her wants to just - take off, out the door, down the street. Maybe flip him off as she goes. But she's not that girl anymore, or rather...some part of her is always going to be that girl, but she has a better handle on her temper now. Knows how to wield it to do some good in the world instead of just wrecking havoc everywhere she goes.
She blows out a breath and quickly crosses the room, deftly weaving between the other tables and the people moving around so she can arrive at the one he's sitting at. Her voice is low, amused, with a hint of that what are the odds? somewhere in the tone when she speaks.]
Hey, Frank.
( Five things litter the table in front of him. A cup of coffee, a slice of pie, his cell phone, a stack of paper with long printed legal jargon on it, and a pen. His thumb's been brushing the corner of this stack of papers for the past twenty minutes, but his eyes have been distant, unfocused, somewhere else. Looking at anything but the words. Thinking.
Until the universe decides to shoot his ability to think stone cold dead with a bullet made out of blue eyes and blond hair.
For a second, he swears he's seeing things. For a second, he isn't sure — it's been so goddamn long, she looks different, but she also looks the same. In one breath, one rush of feeling, it's fifteen years ago and it's a day ago; it's forever, and it's no time. It's then and it's now.
And hand to god, he expects her turn and just walk out. Not so sure what he'd have done if she had. Would he have let her go? Gotten up, jogged after her? Come back to this same stupid coffee shop the next morning hoping to catch her again? Probably for the best he doesn't have to examine the answer to that too closely, because she makes the choice for them and closes the distance.
His fingers curl around that stack of paperwork, the broad musculature and thick coat on his forearm absently covering the contents of it, unintentionally shielding it from view. )
Karen.
( It's a returned greeting, the hey is implied. His fingers twitch; the corner of the paper creases. What the hell's he supposed to do with his hands? Or his mouth, for that matter?
Probably try saying something, asshole. )
Been a while. You look good.
( He's shooting for polite; hard to say if he hits the mark or overshoots it. )
Until the universe decides to shoot his ability to think stone cold dead with a bullet made out of blue eyes and blond hair.
For a second, he swears he's seeing things. For a second, he isn't sure — it's been so goddamn long, she looks different, but she also looks the same. In one breath, one rush of feeling, it's fifteen years ago and it's a day ago; it's forever, and it's no time. It's then and it's now.
And hand to god, he expects her turn and just walk out. Not so sure what he'd have done if she had. Would he have let her go? Gotten up, jogged after her? Come back to this same stupid coffee shop the next morning hoping to catch her again? Probably for the best he doesn't have to examine the answer to that too closely, because she makes the choice for them and closes the distance.
His fingers curl around that stack of paperwork, the broad musculature and thick coat on his forearm absently covering the contents of it, unintentionally shielding it from view. )
Karen.
( It's a returned greeting, the hey is implied. His fingers twitch; the corner of the paper creases. What the hell's he supposed to do with his hands? Or his mouth, for that matter?
Probably try saying something, asshole. )
Been a while. You look good.
( He's shooting for polite; hard to say if he hits the mark or overshoots it. )
[From here.]
Got it in one.
The number of times I've done a worse six hours is too high to mention without already having a beer.
It doesn't even acronym well.
Maybe something a little punchier. Like the "wanna talk cheesy to me?" It only goes up on the menu between 3 and 5 AM.
Got it in one.
The number of times I've done a worse six hours is too high to mention without already having a beer.
It doesn't even acronym well.
Maybe something a little punchier. Like the "wanna talk cheesy to me?" It only goes up on the menu between 3 and 5 AM.
(From here.)
[His grin is infectious, her own smile widening as he approaches. It smells ridiculously appealing out here on the sidewalk, and inside the restaurant is bustling but mercifully not too crowded. The question is met with a laugh as she wraps her arms around him, pulling herself in closer for a tight hug. Karen has always been compassionate, and tends to be unthinkingly affectionate with the people she trusts. One of her hands rubs his shoulder, a silent acknowledgement of glad you made it back before he leans back. She doesn't know the details of his work, and she knows better than to ask. But she knows enough people that have been in various branches of the service to read between the lines.]
I languished.
[Her response is delivered with dry humor, but she's still smiling as she pats her hand against his arm, leading them in to the restaurant. It's so gaudy inside - all the bright red and yellow and orange - but it's the exact right kind of gaudy. It just looks sort of kitschy and charming. She's eyeing the menu for a moment as they join the queue at the counter, but she looks back over at him with a nod.]
Running on coffee and fumes, but that's how I function best. We've got a new case. Nothing too crazy, but I've been chasing leads all over the place. I'm hoping for a breakthrough soon.
[Largely because she's like a dog with a bone when she's on the trail of something. The fact that she's taking time off to eat a meal and not just continuing to chip away at it in her living room is nothing short of a miracle.]
How long are you going to be in town for?
[His grin is infectious, her own smile widening as he approaches. It smells ridiculously appealing out here on the sidewalk, and inside the restaurant is bustling but mercifully not too crowded. The question is met with a laugh as she wraps her arms around him, pulling herself in closer for a tight hug. Karen has always been compassionate, and tends to be unthinkingly affectionate with the people she trusts. One of her hands rubs his shoulder, a silent acknowledgement of glad you made it back before he leans back. She doesn't know the details of his work, and she knows better than to ask. But she knows enough people that have been in various branches of the service to read between the lines.]
I languished.
[Her response is delivered with dry humor, but she's still smiling as she pats her hand against his arm, leading them in to the restaurant. It's so gaudy inside - all the bright red and yellow and orange - but it's the exact right kind of gaudy. It just looks sort of kitschy and charming. She's eyeing the menu for a moment as they join the queue at the counter, but she looks back over at him with a nod.]
Running on coffee and fumes, but that's how I function best. We've got a new case. Nothing too crazy, but I've been chasing leads all over the place. I'm hoping for a breakthrough soon.
[Largely because she's like a dog with a bone when she's on the trail of something. The fact that she's taking time off to eat a meal and not just continuing to chip away at it in her living room is nothing short of a miracle.]
How long are you going to be in town for?
Edited 2025-02-23 14:39 (UTC)
[Karen enters the bar like someone's following her. Slips in through a door opened just wide enough to get through, and makes a beeline right for the bar. Head down, moving quickly, not looking around to see if she recognizes anyone. It's a shitty little dive, but it's not her shitty little dive. If this were Josie's, things would be going a lot differently. She'd just get behind the bar and duck down and Josie would put the trusted regulars on high alert.
So instead she hastily takes off her coat and hat, holding them on her lap as she gets onto a wobbly stool. Her purse is on top of the pile, and one of her hands is gripping her purse like a lifeline. Her shoulders are tense, but she's got her eyes fixed on the mirror behind the bar. Making sure no one is coming up behind her.
The bartender gives her a weird look and she grimaces. Laughs a little.]
Sorry, I must look crazy. Uh, I thought I saw my ex outside. He's bad news. Didn't want to run into him.
[It's a lie, but the bartender looks sympathetic. Karen asks for a water that she's not going to drink. The bartender puts it in front of her and she gives a quick, tight thanks. Her phone is in one hand, the other still gripping her bag, thumb moving quickly across the screen as she fires off a series of texts.
The bar is full, but not crowded. Somewhere behind her, a man comes in through the door and moves in along the wall. There's something dark in his expression. Determined. He carries himself like he's armed. Like he has a vendetta.
Like he's patient enough to wait for the blonde at the bar to let her guard down and move somewhere without witnesses.]
So instead she hastily takes off her coat and hat, holding them on her lap as she gets onto a wobbly stool. Her purse is on top of the pile, and one of her hands is gripping her purse like a lifeline. Her shoulders are tense, but she's got her eyes fixed on the mirror behind the bar. Making sure no one is coming up behind her.
The bartender gives her a weird look and she grimaces. Laughs a little.]
Sorry, I must look crazy. Uh, I thought I saw my ex outside. He's bad news. Didn't want to run into him.
[It's a lie, but the bartender looks sympathetic. Karen asks for a water that she's not going to drink. The bartender puts it in front of her and she gives a quick, tight thanks. Her phone is in one hand, the other still gripping her bag, thumb moving quickly across the screen as she fires off a series of texts.
The bar is full, but not crowded. Somewhere behind her, a man comes in through the door and moves in along the wall. There's something dark in his expression. Determined. He carries himself like he's armed. Like he has a vendetta.
Like he's patient enough to wait for the blonde at the bar to let her guard down and move somewhere without witnesses.]
[ From her peripheral, a quiet, ]
Karen?
[ How's that saying go. In all the gin joints in all the world?
Levi's with a small crowd in the back. It's a motley crew: David, a Korean immigrant who's trying to earn his M.D; Eliza and Joaquin, middle-aged hippies who finally put down roots, decided that even an arts degree would get them places; J.D, an englishman, who doesn't take the same Intro to Creative Writing class they all do but does take the same Art History class Levi does. There are other faces, too, younger and less varied in age — a brunette talks animatedly with her hands, delivering a punchline that makes them all laugh. Her crowd and her outing, no doubt. Young enough to think that a bar in this neighborhood is cool and cheap and authentic, rather than possibly dangerous at all.
It's not a threat that Levi catches immediately. By chance, almost, as he takes a handful of empty glasses up to the bar. Operational awareness only takes you so far in a full place like this. A brown quarter-zip, jeans — Levi doesn't look like he's armed with anything other than a familiar black notebook that sticks out of his back pocket.
In the reflection behind the bar, the guy moves. Pretends, in part, to hover near some old jukebox. Levi shifts his weight minutely so that he's standing directly behind her, temporarily blocking the direct approach. His gaze cuts from Karen's mirror image down to her face. Casually, he slings one arm over the bartop — at ease, settling in, the way any guy might do with a woman at a dive.
The frown on his face isn't so casual. Something in the angle of his jaw visibly tenses. ]
What's going on?
[ He'd reached out, clumsily, a couple days ago. Made plans to study on Wednesday.
Meeting up like this wasn't quite on the agenda. ]
Karen?
[ How's that saying go. In all the gin joints in all the world?
Levi's with a small crowd in the back. It's a motley crew: David, a Korean immigrant who's trying to earn his M.D; Eliza and Joaquin, middle-aged hippies who finally put down roots, decided that even an arts degree would get them places; J.D, an englishman, who doesn't take the same Intro to Creative Writing class they all do but does take the same Art History class Levi does. There are other faces, too, younger and less varied in age — a brunette talks animatedly with her hands, delivering a punchline that makes them all laugh. Her crowd and her outing, no doubt. Young enough to think that a bar in this neighborhood is cool and cheap and authentic, rather than possibly dangerous at all.
It's not a threat that Levi catches immediately. By chance, almost, as he takes a handful of empty glasses up to the bar. Operational awareness only takes you so far in a full place like this. A brown quarter-zip, jeans — Levi doesn't look like he's armed with anything other than a familiar black notebook that sticks out of his back pocket.
In the reflection behind the bar, the guy moves. Pretends, in part, to hover near some old jukebox. Levi shifts his weight minutely so that he's standing directly behind her, temporarily blocking the direct approach. His gaze cuts from Karen's mirror image down to her face. Casually, he slings one arm over the bartop — at ease, settling in, the way any guy might do with a woman at a dive.
The frown on his face isn't so casual. Something in the angle of his jaw visibly tenses. ]
What's going on?
[ He'd reached out, clumsily, a couple days ago. Made plans to study on Wednesday.
Meeting up like this wasn't quite on the agenda. ]
[All things considered, it's a pretty normal day. For Karen at least. For her, normal means she gets a good five hours of sleep. Has a quiet morning. Reads the news on her tablet. Stops to get coffee and bagels before she heads into the office, because it's her turn to remember breakfast.
She's working on a case with Foggy this week, tracking down leads regarding a shitty landlord that recently branched out into commercial properties. He's obviously cutting corners, maybe even bribing officials to pass inspection. It's not a particularly exciting case, but she doesn't hate that. Sort of relishes it, actually. She likes the long hours spent pulling permits and cross referencing equipment purchases.
It's late afternoon when she parks outside of one of the recently acquired shithole buildings. She decides it's not technically breaking and entering when there's nothing to break and lets herself in. Her purse is locked up back in her car, with her folder of research tucked inside. She's got her mace in one hand and her phone in the other as she moves through the space, taking pictures.
The first sign that something's wrong is the sound of a loud collision. The 'rammed into a building' kind. But it's New York. She's in Hell's Kitchen. That's kind of just a regular Tuesday at this point, which...should probably be more concerning than it is. But it's far enough away that she doesn't feel the need to get moving yet.
And then she hears a jarring crash right outside, followed by the echoing peal of a horn.
Frowning, she turns to look back towards the grimy, half boarded window. She picks her way over to it, and when she goes to put her hand on one of the boards, she realizes that she's starting to dissolve. Her hand is going first. Trailing away into dust as her phone clatters to the floor.
And then there's not even time to panic. Her heart beat barely has time to kick it up a notch.
She's just gone.]
She's working on a case with Foggy this week, tracking down leads regarding a shitty landlord that recently branched out into commercial properties. He's obviously cutting corners, maybe even bribing officials to pass inspection. It's not a particularly exciting case, but she doesn't hate that. Sort of relishes it, actually. She likes the long hours spent pulling permits and cross referencing equipment purchases.
It's late afternoon when she parks outside of one of the recently acquired shithole buildings. She decides it's not technically breaking and entering when there's nothing to break and lets herself in. Her purse is locked up back in her car, with her folder of research tucked inside. She's got her mace in one hand and her phone in the other as she moves through the space, taking pictures.
The first sign that something's wrong is the sound of a loud collision. The 'rammed into a building' kind. But it's New York. She's in Hell's Kitchen. That's kind of just a regular Tuesday at this point, which...should probably be more concerning than it is. But it's far enough away that she doesn't feel the need to get moving yet.
And then she hears a jarring crash right outside, followed by the echoing peal of a horn.
Frowning, she turns to look back towards the grimy, half boarded window. She picks her way over to it, and when she goes to put her hand on one of the boards, she realizes that she's starting to dissolve. Her hand is going first. Trailing away into dust as her phone clatters to the floor.
And then there's not even time to panic. Her heart beat barely has time to kick it up a notch.
She's just gone.]
( He does construction again these days. Now that the kid's gone, now that he's back out of all this shit again, he needs somewhere else to channel that excess of anger and violence and that need to exhaust his body. Turns out nothing quite satisfies him as much as slamming a sledgehammer into shit on repeat. It's not as bad as last time; he doesn't work himself bloody, he doesn't stay quite as late overtime bounding at concrete walls. He talks to the people around him from time to time. Likes a few of them, even.
So when the yelling starts, it's legitimately concerning. It's the sound of a jackhammer going wildly off the rails, of power tools dropping and consequently pinging around the room toward unsuspecting nearby pedestrians, who catch a saw blade to the foot or a stray from a nail gun. He thinks wildly at first that they're being attacked, and he grips his hammer, eyes searching out the man he plans to take it to, only to see three people disappear into ashes one after another after another.
And then he sees the people on the street begin to go. And cars begin to crash. And yelling, and people frantically pulling out their phones, and the next thing he knows he's moving, his own phone already pressed to his ear, calling a phone that sits in a dropped handbag, ringing away, answerable by nobody.
He'll look back on it and think about how stupid it is that he never even for a fleeting moment considered he might wind up ashes, too. It was just never gonna happen, he's not the one who dies.
In the coming days, he considers blowing his brains out once or twice. Just idly. Just because it'd be easier than having to feel it again, that grief, that all-consuming grief, and all the stupid regrets, and all the wasted time, and how fucking absurd it is that he spent years away from her to keep her alive, only to have her die to an act of God or an act of alien or an act of nature, whatever the hell it is. How she could've died to anything just the same way; car crash, some asshole on the street, cancer, anything, and he'd feel just as much stupid regret for all the wasted time.
People talk about them like they're coming back. Frank's not so sure. He doesn't get people back, but Murdock has all the hope Frank's missing, so he just waits and he just wait a little longers. He asks about where she'd been going, where she was when it all hapened, and he's fucking furious when nobody can give him specifics — but Nelson offers up a suggestion that's good enough for him to follow through on, and eventually, he finds her purse.
Pete Castiglione uses his seven-fifty credit score to buy the building. It's cheap, because there's an abundance of housing these days, and the place was a shithole already anyway. He turns all that construction experience into fixing up the place, and then he turns that place into a goddamn war bunker, and he keeps her purse and he leaves that gun in her purse and he nearly beats the shit out of Murdock when he tries to take her shit 'back to her place' even though her place won't exist in another year or two.
Time passes.
He's finding just a little longers are harder and harder to come by, and so he works to keep himself distracted. God knows there's an abundance of it these days, with people taking advantage of the chaos. But then, there are also fewer criminals to put down when he does find the work, so it's over twice as fast.
It's a sad thing to admit, that Hell's Kitchen has never been cleaner. That there's some argument to be made for the truth, the proof of concept, that abundance is the antithesis to crime and violence. But Karen's gone, so fuck that, he doesn't give a shit what point it proves.
Maybe if he'd known she was coming back today, he'd have shaved. )
So when the yelling starts, it's legitimately concerning. It's the sound of a jackhammer going wildly off the rails, of power tools dropping and consequently pinging around the room toward unsuspecting nearby pedestrians, who catch a saw blade to the foot or a stray from a nail gun. He thinks wildly at first that they're being attacked, and he grips his hammer, eyes searching out the man he plans to take it to, only to see three people disappear into ashes one after another after another.
And then he sees the people on the street begin to go. And cars begin to crash. And yelling, and people frantically pulling out their phones, and the next thing he knows he's moving, his own phone already pressed to his ear, calling a phone that sits in a dropped handbag, ringing away, answerable by nobody.
He'll look back on it and think about how stupid it is that he never even for a fleeting moment considered he might wind up ashes, too. It was just never gonna happen, he's not the one who dies.
In the coming days, he considers blowing his brains out once or twice. Just idly. Just because it'd be easier than having to feel it again, that grief, that all-consuming grief, and all the stupid regrets, and all the wasted time, and how fucking absurd it is that he spent years away from her to keep her alive, only to have her die to an act of God or an act of alien or an act of nature, whatever the hell it is. How she could've died to anything just the same way; car crash, some asshole on the street, cancer, anything, and he'd feel just as much stupid regret for all the wasted time.
People talk about them like they're coming back. Frank's not so sure. He doesn't get people back, but Murdock has all the hope Frank's missing, so he just waits and he just wait a little longers. He asks about where she'd been going, where she was when it all hapened, and he's fucking furious when nobody can give him specifics — but Nelson offers up a suggestion that's good enough for him to follow through on, and eventually, he finds her purse.
Pete Castiglione uses his seven-fifty credit score to buy the building. It's cheap, because there's an abundance of housing these days, and the place was a shithole already anyway. He turns all that construction experience into fixing up the place, and then he turns that place into a goddamn war bunker, and he keeps her purse and he leaves that gun in her purse and he nearly beats the shit out of Murdock when he tries to take her shit 'back to her place' even though her place won't exist in another year or two.
Time passes.
He's finding just a little longers are harder and harder to come by, and so he works to keep himself distracted. God knows there's an abundance of it these days, with people taking advantage of the chaos. But then, there are also fewer criminals to put down when he does find the work, so it's over twice as fast.
It's a sad thing to admit, that Hell's Kitchen has never been cleaner. That there's some argument to be made for the truth, the proof of concept, that abundance is the antithesis to crime and violence. But Karen's gone, so fuck that, he doesn't give a shit what point it proves.
Maybe if he'd known she was coming back today, he'd have shaved. )
Edited 2025-03-01 10:20 (UTC)
One of your favourite things, is it?
Oh I'm sure I'll get into plenty but I can usually get myself out of it.
Oh I'm sure I'll get into plenty but I can usually get myself out of it.
Okay, see, I wouldn't have said that, but it does sort of make sense to me now that you mention it.
[ It's a while before he reaches out again.
Neither of their faults. They're two ships passing in the night for a couple weeks: texts that get answered on opposite ends of the sleep cycle, peppered in with pictures. A snap of a dog in a stroller ("And I thought California was weird."), a glimpse of a small but full crowd at some bookstore poetry reading ("Cool crowd."). They meet up again for pizza in an establishment a lot more reputable in Brooklyn, and afterward, Levi hands her a cobalt-glazed mug with a self-conscious shrug, a muted laugh: he made it, but at least it's a little more durable than glass is.
He never does, really, talk about anything else. The dreams, that night. How he'd folded into her in her kitchen, like some starved plant bowing towards the sun.
It's a cool day when they set out. The rental's non-descript, some black SUV, with their duffels in the backseat. Levi drives with the window down, one hand on the steering wheel, the other lightly resting against his own jaw. The radio's on. It plays some song about second chances and love. Two coffee cups sit in the holders.
The sights outside the window have been trees for a couple hours now — a nice reprieve, from skyscrapers and concrete. Levi shoots a sideways look at Karen in the passenger seat, the line of his mouth flickering into a smile. ]
You've never been to Tennessee?
[ Not that Levi's been all that much. Still — he's never had a reason to chase out a lead like this, either. ]
Neither of their faults. They're two ships passing in the night for a couple weeks: texts that get answered on opposite ends of the sleep cycle, peppered in with pictures. A snap of a dog in a stroller ("And I thought California was weird."), a glimpse of a small but full crowd at some bookstore poetry reading ("Cool crowd."). They meet up again for pizza in an establishment a lot more reputable in Brooklyn, and afterward, Levi hands her a cobalt-glazed mug with a self-conscious shrug, a muted laugh: he made it, but at least it's a little more durable than glass is.
He never does, really, talk about anything else. The dreams, that night. How he'd folded into her in her kitchen, like some starved plant bowing towards the sun.
It's a cool day when they set out. The rental's non-descript, some black SUV, with their duffels in the backseat. Levi drives with the window down, one hand on the steering wheel, the other lightly resting against his own jaw. The radio's on. It plays some song about second chances and love. Two coffee cups sit in the holders.
The sights outside the window have been trees for a couple hours now — a nice reprieve, from skyscrapers and concrete. Levi shoots a sideways look at Karen in the passenger seat, the line of his mouth flickering into a smile. ]
You've never been to Tennessee?
[ Not that Levi's been all that much. Still — he's never had a reason to chase out a lead like this, either. ]
[Life is busy. Because that's the way life always is.
She appreciates the smattering of texts. Sends him back a few of her own. A picture of a tome crowded aisle in a second hand bookstore. ("Next time we're both free.") A selfie of her in the office, looking somehow both amused and annoyed, a vivid pink glop of frosting on what had previously been a clean blue dress shirt. The offending donut in hand. ("Breakfast betrayal.") The pizza meet up is nice. The mug is even nicer, and she's genuinely touched when she realizes that he made it. He gets a picture of her morning coffee in the mug, too.
They don't talk about that night, but she thinks about it. It had, by all accounts, been a terrible night. But she feels closer to him after it.
Karen likes driving. Likes being in cars, too. Sometimes it feels selfish, that the accident with her brother didn't ruin driving for her. But that guilt is far from her mind for once as she sits in the passenger seat with her own window cracked a little, half humming to herself as she reviews her notes on the case. There's something relaxing about the feel of the wheels humming over the pavement. About the company.
They chatter a little bit every so often, but the quiet is a nice break from the bustle of the city. When he asks about Tennessee, she looks up at him with a smile and stretches, mulling over the question.]
Never. I haven't traveled that much. We didn't really have the money for it growing up, so we'd usually go to the beach in Maine or down to the Cape - uh, Cape Cod - for vacation. And I've just never had the time since I got to New York.
[The road trip to get down to Nashville is a little indulgent, but it's really just going to be the bow she ties onto the case. It can afford to be a little indulgent. Picking up her coffee, she takes a sip. Makes a face. It's gone a bit too cool for her liking.]
How about you? I can picture you in a cowboy hat. [The comment is delivered playfully, a hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth.]
She appreciates the smattering of texts. Sends him back a few of her own. A picture of a tome crowded aisle in a second hand bookstore. ("Next time we're both free.") A selfie of her in the office, looking somehow both amused and annoyed, a vivid pink glop of frosting on what had previously been a clean blue dress shirt. The offending donut in hand. ("Breakfast betrayal.") The pizza meet up is nice. The mug is even nicer, and she's genuinely touched when she realizes that he made it. He gets a picture of her morning coffee in the mug, too.
They don't talk about that night, but she thinks about it. It had, by all accounts, been a terrible night. But she feels closer to him after it.
Karen likes driving. Likes being in cars, too. Sometimes it feels selfish, that the accident with her brother didn't ruin driving for her. But that guilt is far from her mind for once as she sits in the passenger seat with her own window cracked a little, half humming to herself as she reviews her notes on the case. There's something relaxing about the feel of the wheels humming over the pavement. About the company.
They chatter a little bit every so often, but the quiet is a nice break from the bustle of the city. When he asks about Tennessee, she looks up at him with a smile and stretches, mulling over the question.]
Never. I haven't traveled that much. We didn't really have the money for it growing up, so we'd usually go to the beach in Maine or down to the Cape - uh, Cape Cod - for vacation. And I've just never had the time since I got to New York.
[The road trip to get down to Nashville is a little indulgent, but it's really just going to be the bow she ties onto the case. It can afford to be a little indulgent. Picking up her coffee, she takes a sip. Makes a face. It's gone a bit too cool for her liking.]
How about you? I can picture you in a cowboy hat. [The comment is delivered playfully, a hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth.]
(Cont. from here)
Pretty sure there would have been bite marks on both ends if it happened.
[The comment is made sort of half to herself, half jokingly. It's all dry humor. She can't remember the last time she had quite that much to drink. Or to be more accurate - it was absolutely that time she and Foggy drank the eel at Josie's. But they'd just walked around the city giggling after, so it's not quite the same level of drunken revelry.
To be fair, the eel does sort of raise the level entirely on its own.
She swaps the water for her coffee to take another sip, giving him an amused look over over the rim of the mug. When she sets it down, she turns a little towards him so she can listen while he talks. Her elbow props up on the counter, her head resting on her hand. There's a slight smile at the corner of her lips. He's mentioned his brother before, but she doesn't know too much about him.]
That's cute. Do you play wingman for him, or is this more of a, uh, puppy love situation?
Pretty sure there would have been bite marks on both ends if it happened.
[The comment is made sort of half to herself, half jokingly. It's all dry humor. She can't remember the last time she had quite that much to drink. Or to be more accurate - it was absolutely that time she and Foggy drank the eel at Josie's. But they'd just walked around the city giggling after, so it's not quite the same level of drunken revelry.
To be fair, the eel does sort of raise the level entirely on its own.
She swaps the water for her coffee to take another sip, giving him an amused look over over the rim of the mug. When she sets it down, she turns a little towards him so she can listen while he talks. Her elbow props up on the counter, her head resting on her hand. There's a slight smile at the corner of her lips. He's mentioned his brother before, but she doesn't know too much about him.]
That's cute. Do you play wingman for him, or is this more of a, uh, puppy love situation?
[ The bite marks comment draws an actual laugh from him; and the smile lingers a moment afterward as he attempts to piece together more of the hazy memories from last night.
He wasn't a big drinker, and other than being young and stupid when he was free to be that reckless; he hasn't gotten that drunk since. He'd always had Gabe to take care of after their parents passed. Their uncle took them in, but he wasn't really around much; so being the big brother meant he'd naturally stepped into the role of care taker and the responsible one. He hadn't minded either, he and Gabe had always been close, enough that Robbie considered him a best friend in addition to family. ]
Oh, definitely wingman. [ He says with a sip of his sugary coffee, forearms resting on the counter. ] I can tell when I'm doing too much because he'll give me a look that conveys 'please stop'. [ His expression is fond and lighter whenever he's talking about his brother. Which he doesn't do a lot with most people, but there's something about Karen that makes him feel like he can. It's probably what makes her so good at her job, he thinks, something about her that invites people to let their guard down a little. That and she's a good person. He has a bit of an unfair advantage at sensing that, granted, but still. ]
He'll have a field day if any of those videos of us last night happen to come across his radar, by the way. [ There's a slightly pained expression there because he's not looking forward to it. ] I don't usually drink much, so I feel like I should apologize, for uh... well, enabling you. [ Said with chuckle. ] And the hangover.
He wasn't a big drinker, and other than being young and stupid when he was free to be that reckless; he hasn't gotten that drunk since. He'd always had Gabe to take care of after their parents passed. Their uncle took them in, but he wasn't really around much; so being the big brother meant he'd naturally stepped into the role of care taker and the responsible one. He hadn't minded either, he and Gabe had always been close, enough that Robbie considered him a best friend in addition to family. ]
Oh, definitely wingman. [ He says with a sip of his sugary coffee, forearms resting on the counter. ] I can tell when I'm doing too much because he'll give me a look that conveys 'please stop'. [ His expression is fond and lighter whenever he's talking about his brother. Which he doesn't do a lot with most people, but there's something about Karen that makes him feel like he can. It's probably what makes her so good at her job, he thinks, something about her that invites people to let their guard down a little. That and she's a good person. He has a bit of an unfair advantage at sensing that, granted, but still. ]
He'll have a field day if any of those videos of us last night happen to come across his radar, by the way. [ There's a slightly pained expression there because he's not looking forward to it. ] I don't usually drink much, so I feel like I should apologize, for uh... well, enabling you. [ Said with chuckle. ] And the hangover.
[[ From here. ]]
I think pretty sure I'm by your place. Permission to crash land?
[ Lord does he need his final destination to be nearby or he's going to sit his ass onto a bench and fall asleep until morning. After a half-dozen street tacos. ]
I think pretty sure I'm by your place. Permission to crash land?
[ Lord does he need his final destination to be nearby or he's going to sit his ass onto a bench and fall asleep until morning. After a half-dozen street tacos. ]
Permission granted, of course.
[Not only is permission granted - but she shrugs on her sweater and grabs her keys so she can take a look for him outside her building. It's been years since she's been high, but she well remembers the very...distractible frame of mind it inspires.]
[Not only is permission granted - but she shrugs on her sweater and grabs her keys so she can take a look for him outside her building. It's been years since she's been high, but she well remembers the very...distractible frame of mind it inspires.]
(From here.)
I've made it for the Nelsons holiday parties a few times. They take their festive drinks seriously, so I bring my A game.
Wow, you do sound like a real angel. What were you lighting on fire? Tires?
The only pyromania I was really directly responsible for was helping out with the bonfires at the field parties.
My brother did light my ex's trailer on fire, though.
I've made it for the Nelsons holiday parties a few times. They take their festive drinks seriously, so I bring my A game.
Wow, you do sound like a real angel. What were you lighting on fire? Tires?
The only pyromania I was really directly responsible for was helping out with the bonfires at the field parties.
My brother did light my ex's trailer on fire, though.
Anything we could find that wasn't alive and flammable. Those guys were real assholes but it doesn't help that I was too.
Yeah? jackass probably deserved it then.
you don't talk about your brother much.
Yeah? jackass probably deserved it then.
you don't talk about your brother much.
[Yes, that comes across remarkably well.
...
Nope, she can't come up with a good argument here.]
Humans are animals, technically.
...
Nope, she can't come up with a good argument here.]
Humans are animals, technically.
I should have known he wouldn't let death stop the lectures.
Nah, I'm fine. Really. You know what they say about the devil's idle hands and all that.
... what kind of pancakes?
Nah, I'm fine. Really. You know what they say about the devil's idle hands and all that.
... what kind of pancakes?
(From here.)
There were a lot of reasons behind it, but that's the simplest version.
It's sweet that you try to make time to get there a couple of times a month. That's a lot of travel, especially factoring in overseas missions. Are you functionally immune to jet lag at this point?
It's the first job I've had that really makes me feel like my life makes sense. You know, putting that magnet for trouble to good use. I'd tell you how I fell into it, but your case file's going to need a few extra pages if I do. And you know I have to ask how being the Falcon is treating you now, right?
That would be pretty serious. I bet it's nice, to be able to cook up that taste of home while you're on the road too.
You can repay me by making sure you stay hydrated. Those tequila hangovers are no joke.
There were a lot of reasons behind it, but that's the simplest version.
It's sweet that you try to make time to get there a couple of times a month. That's a lot of travel, especially factoring in overseas missions. Are you functionally immune to jet lag at this point?
It's the first job I've had that really makes me feel like my life makes sense. You know, putting that magnet for trouble to good use. I'd tell you how I fell into it, but your case file's going to need a few extra pages if I do. And you know I have to ask how being the Falcon is treating you now, right?
That would be pretty serious. I bet it's nice, to be able to cook up that taste of home while you're on the road too.
You can repay me by making sure you stay hydrated. Those tequila hangovers are no joke.
Maybe you can tell me the other reasons sometime, only if you want, though.
My family's really important to me, so it's worth the jet lag. Air Force gets you used to that sort of thing real quick, so I had some practice. Doesn't hurt that I can sleep just about anywhere, under any conditions. Comes in handy.
I know exactly how you feel, actually. That's how I feel about my work too. Being the Falcon is treating me very well. It's a lot, but I'm having the time of my life. Keeps me busy, and I've got a great mentor in Sam. Fortunately I'm still the guy that can go out and not get recognized, unlike him. I prefer it like that though.
I have been drinking water like it's somehow gonna save me from the headache tomorrow.
And I'm now realizing I should have done voice notes instead of a case file, this thing is getting incoherent.
My family's really important to me, so it's worth the jet lag. Air Force gets you used to that sort of thing real quick, so I had some practice. Doesn't hurt that I can sleep just about anywhere, under any conditions. Comes in handy.
I know exactly how you feel, actually. That's how I feel about my work too. Being the Falcon is treating me very well. It's a lot, but I'm having the time of my life. Keeps me busy, and I've got a great mentor in Sam. Fortunately I'm still the guy that can go out and not get recognized, unlike him. I prefer it like that though.
I have been drinking water like it's somehow gonna save me from the headache tomorrow.
And I'm now realizing I should have done voice notes instead of a case file, this thing is getting incoherent.
[Just as Karen had suggested, the sling for her injured shoulder hadn't lasted much longer than the next day. She has, at least, been diligent about taking ibuprofen and using a heat pack. By the end of the week, the pain has abated enough that she feels confident that she's going to be able to manage the proposed pie night without issue.
By the time she hears Alfred's knock at the door, she's just finished cooking the apple pie, and has it cooling on a rack on the kitchen island. The smells of baking waft out of the door when she opens it to greet him with a grin, leaning in to drop a quick kiss on his mouth as he steps inside.]
Hey, happy pie night. I got a surprise for you.
By the time she hears Alfred's knock at the door, she's just finished cooking the apple pie, and has it cooling on a rack on the kitchen island. The smells of baking waft out of the door when she opens it to greet him with a grin, leaning in to drop a quick kiss on his mouth as he steps inside.]
Hey, happy pie night. I got a surprise for you.
[He kisses her back, enjoying both the warmth of her lips and the smell of fresh apple pie coming from her apartment.]
A surprise? Should I be worried or excited?
A surprise? Should I be worried or excited?
ooc: I lived in Ireland for 2 years and boy howdy do they have opinions about Guinness XD
flippin_peachy
- 2025-05-30 16:26 (UTC) - Expandooc: lmao this is the least surprising thing I have ever learned about Ireland
pagekaren
- 2025-05-30 18:07 (UTC) - Expand[Karen is, perhaps unsurprisingly, already waiting out on the sidewalk when Frank pulls up. There are a few things that might be a bit more unexpected. Namely: she's wearing a pair of jeans and hiking boots, with a soft purple hoodie pulled on over a tee shirt. Her hair is back in a simple ponytail and there's a backpack slung over her shoulder. It's all fairly at odds with the way she usually moves through the city, dressed like she's ready to make an appearance in court at a moment's notice.
And there are three milk crates stacked on the sidewalk next to her, each containing an array of old glass and ceramics - plates, mugs and jars, and a few little figurines that look like they've seen better days.
There's a hint of an amused smile at the corner of her mouth as she leans down to look in at him through the passenger window.]
Want to help me load the trunk, hot shot?
And there are three milk crates stacked on the sidewalk next to her, each containing an array of old glass and ceramics - plates, mugs and jars, and a few little figurines that look like they've seen better days.
There's a hint of an amused smile at the corner of her mouth as she leans down to look in at him through the passenger window.]
Want to help me load the trunk, hot shot?
[There have been more than a few times when the sight of Karen Page has felt like a mule kick to the chest, in fact, Frank would go so far as to say that while maybe no one could ever get be used to the feeling, he's more than passing acquainted with it at this point. Feels like taking a round close-range into a vest. Like his ribcage's shrunk. Like the muscles of his heart forgot what they're supposed to be doing.
This morning it holds him silent for too long after she sticks her head in the window, causes his gaze to linger too long to be on the right side of comfortable. He should be able to find something to say - she lobs an easy set up with that hot shot crack - but Frank doesn't acknowledge her aside from the moment of intense attention before he puts the truck in park and climbs out onto asphalt, spending that time instead mentally massaging the bruised feeling in his solar plexus.
Goddamn hoodie, goddamn jeans. Who needs an AK to take down a man when there're hiking boots and ponytails? Goodamnit.
The slam of the heavy door lets him draw a breath and Frank pulls a hand over his face, shaking it off as he moves toward the tail gate. Truck's just as nice as the one he'd driven south without destination. He might have been born a New Yorker but he's never preferred public transportation.
He grabs the crates off the sidewalks one by by, pushing them into the truck bed next to a large black hardcase.] Thought we were shootin', not auditioning for Hillbilly Hoarders. [He can look at her now, at least, without feeling the blow-back. Offers a grin.]
This morning it holds him silent for too long after she sticks her head in the window, causes his gaze to linger too long to be on the right side of comfortable. He should be able to find something to say - she lobs an easy set up with that hot shot crack - but Frank doesn't acknowledge her aside from the moment of intense attention before he puts the truck in park and climbs out onto asphalt, spending that time instead mentally massaging the bruised feeling in his solar plexus.
Goddamn hoodie, goddamn jeans. Who needs an AK to take down a man when there're hiking boots and ponytails? Goodamnit.
The slam of the heavy door lets him draw a breath and Frank pulls a hand over his face, shaking it off as he moves toward the tail gate. Truck's just as nice as the one he'd driven south without destination. He might have been born a New Yorker but he's never preferred public transportation.
He grabs the crates off the sidewalks one by by, pushing them into the truck bed next to a large black hardcase.] Thought we were shootin', not auditioning for Hillbilly Hoarders. [He can look at her now, at least, without feeling the blow-back. Offers a grin.]
[ While most people (normal, reasonable individuals) might start out a date with a nice meal at a restaurant, maybe a walk somewhere, go for coffee; Joaquin has decided to skip all of that and take their date straight to the skies. Because if flying during a date was an option, he was absolutely going to make that happen.
Flying, followed up by a trip to a karaoke bar; because why not? Both sounded like immense amounts of fun, and frankly it was really more about the company than anything else. Given how their last morning together turned out, he knew with certainty that this was something special. That she was something really special. An incredible bright spot that showed up in his life almost out of nowhere, and he was so eager to know even more about her, and to share more of his own life with her.
So naturally, a big part of that was flying. He was looking forward to getting to share what was at the heart of who he was - a pilot, through and through; and yeah he was absolutely going to show off as well. Well, with the flying; not so much the karaoke part. ]
That fit okay? [ He asks as they're seated in the helicopter, checking to see that her headset is secure as he slips his on as well. The engine's off and the rotor blades are still as it sits atop a large stretch of concrete that makes up the landing pad. Joaquin's spent the last twenty minutes or so giving her a run down of the controls and various safety related information - there's a natural and enthusiastic ease in how he communicates and how he carries himself around anything aircraft related; he's very much in his element and happy to be sharing this with her. ]
This way we'll be able to talk during, and not damage your hearing. Gets pretty loud in here without one. [ He smiles over at her as he taps the ear piece of the headset. The sun is low in the sky, already painting their surroundings in a warm, golden light. He'd made sure to track the weather and pick a day and time where they'd have clear skies to enjoy the sunset as much as possible. ] I'm really glad you're here. [ His smile softens, and he leans in to press a kiss against her lips; feeling a bit of a familiar thrill settle in - the same one he usually gets when he's about to leave the comforts of having two feet planted on the ground; but there's an added intensity to it because he gets to have Karen with him this time. ]
Flying, followed up by a trip to a karaoke bar; because why not? Both sounded like immense amounts of fun, and frankly it was really more about the company than anything else. Given how their last morning together turned out, he knew with certainty that this was something special. That she was something really special. An incredible bright spot that showed up in his life almost out of nowhere, and he was so eager to know even more about her, and to share more of his own life with her.
So naturally, a big part of that was flying. He was looking forward to getting to share what was at the heart of who he was - a pilot, through and through; and yeah he was absolutely going to show off as well. Well, with the flying; not so much the karaoke part. ]
That fit okay? [ He asks as they're seated in the helicopter, checking to see that her headset is secure as he slips his on as well. The engine's off and the rotor blades are still as it sits atop a large stretch of concrete that makes up the landing pad. Joaquin's spent the last twenty minutes or so giving her a run down of the controls and various safety related information - there's a natural and enthusiastic ease in how he communicates and how he carries himself around anything aircraft related; he's very much in his element and happy to be sharing this with her. ]
This way we'll be able to talk during, and not damage your hearing. Gets pretty loud in here without one. [ He smiles over at her as he taps the ear piece of the headset. The sun is low in the sky, already painting their surroundings in a warm, golden light. He'd made sure to track the weather and pick a day and time where they'd have clear skies to enjoy the sunset as much as possible. ] I'm really glad you're here. [ His smile softens, and he leans in to press a kiss against her lips; feeling a bit of a familiar thrill settle in - the same one he usually gets when he's about to leave the comforts of having two feet planted on the ground; but there's an added intensity to it because he gets to have Karen with him this time. ]
[What's the point in being normal and reasonable when getting into a helicopter for a date is on the table?
To be fair, Karen's pretty sure that there's plenty of people out there that would prefer the nice meal and the long walk. Hell, there's even nights that she'd consider that the perfect way to spend an evening. But this feels like one of those opportunities that she'd have to be absolutely crazy to take a pass on.
And she's absolutely right. She's attentive throughout his tour of the helicopter, asking a few clarifying questions now and then. She's pretty sure she fully derails him when she asks what has the biggest effect on maneuverability in air. But mostly she just enjoys seeing him in his element. There's such an easy confidence to the way he runs through everything, buoyed up by an enthusiasm that has her smiling to herself the entire time.
Once they get settled in the cockpit, she has to take a moment to marvel at the staggering array of buttons and meters and switches. Pictures don't really do the controls justice. She wonders what percentage of flight school is taken up by just memorizing exactly what the hell is going on in the cockpit.
With the headset on, she takes a moment to adjust the band that goes over her head, making sure the ear pieces are firmly in place. And then she gives him a smile and a thumbs up to indicate that she's good. Even though she feels just a twinge of apprehension still - solely because she's not a natural born flier - she's still excited. To see him get to do the thing he loves, to see the view of the city. It's a rare treat. There's a look of fond amusement in her eyes when he leans in and she meets him halfway to return the kiss.] Me too. [Reaching over, she puts her hand on his forearm to give him a gentle squeeze.] Show me what you got, Torres.
To be fair, Karen's pretty sure that there's plenty of people out there that would prefer the nice meal and the long walk. Hell, there's even nights that she'd consider that the perfect way to spend an evening. But this feels like one of those opportunities that she'd have to be absolutely crazy to take a pass on.
And she's absolutely right. She's attentive throughout his tour of the helicopter, asking a few clarifying questions now and then. She's pretty sure she fully derails him when she asks what has the biggest effect on maneuverability in air. But mostly she just enjoys seeing him in his element. There's such an easy confidence to the way he runs through everything, buoyed up by an enthusiasm that has her smiling to herself the entire time.
Once they get settled in the cockpit, she has to take a moment to marvel at the staggering array of buttons and meters and switches. Pictures don't really do the controls justice. She wonders what percentage of flight school is taken up by just memorizing exactly what the hell is going on in the cockpit.
With the headset on, she takes a moment to adjust the band that goes over her head, making sure the ear pieces are firmly in place. And then she gives him a smile and a thumbs up to indicate that she's good. Even though she feels just a twinge of apprehension still - solely because she's not a natural born flier - she's still excited. To see him get to do the thing he loves, to see the view of the city. It's a rare treat. There's a look of fond amusement in her eyes when he leans in and she meets him halfway to return the kiss.] Me too. [Reaching over, she puts her hand on his forearm to give him a gentle squeeze.] Show me what you got, Torres.
Page 1 of 2