[Sometimes Karen feels like pain and trauma are just an inevitable part of life. She'd told him once that she thought life was just people trying not to feel alone. But she is an optimist at heart - and more importantly, stubborn. The fact that they're here at all is a good sign.
Thankfully (or maybe 'concernedly',) Karen's pretty confident they're existing in a legal loophole here. Part of the reason for the glassware will make it clear to Fish & Game that they're genuinely not there for hunting. They might catch a fine if anyone shows up, but she knew enough people that worked for that department back in Vermont that she's confident she can talk them out of anything more serious.
Karen gives him an amused look as he parks on the opposite side of the clearing.] I know you're giving me shit but some of those are for you too. I've got a weird old cookie jar in there that I think you're going to enjoy shattering. Give me a minute, I'm going to go say hi to whoever's over there.
[Not out of any particular desire to make friends, but they're going to be significantly less likely to phone in a complaint if she goes to make nice first.]
[He chuckles. For the cookie jar. For the fact that Karen's going to make nice. Frank watches her head across the clearing and just shakes his head before making his own way to the tailgate. He pulls the back of the truck open and slides the crates, her backpack, and his own hard case out into the open and then props himself against the truck bed, waiting. Listening to what he can - precaution - but not turning to look, just there, staring into the trees.
He wonders how good she really is. Wants to find out. Wants her to be good but knowing he can teach her if she's not. Trying not to consider the possibility of putting his hands on her in order to help.]
[It only takes her a few minutes to chat with the campers - they're a couple in their sixties, very earthy, and they're there revisiting the first place they went camping together as a couple now that their youngest is off to college. It's a sweet story, and Karen tells them to hang on for a second. She returns to the truck momentarily, just to get the beer from her bag. She flashes Frank a quick grin and a shrug before she heads back to give the beer to the couple with a congratulations for their youngest.
When she returns to zip up her bag, she's still smiling a little, an amused look on her face. She shrugs the bag on, and then picks up one of the cartons of breakables.] Ready?
Sure you don't wanna stay and kumbaya? [But it's just a joke.
Well, maybe it's not but Frank's picking up the rest of gear, stacked to carry, so that Karen won't get the chance to make further friends. He follows her lead into the woods.] Why do you do that? [The forest cracks underfoot. He's not thinking about Gunner, about spooks in the trees; it's him and Karen and he carries himself that way. Easy enough. Easy as he can.] Aside from the obvious. You didn't have to. You like it, yeah?
Very funny. [Her voice is all dry humor, and she rolls her eyes at him, though there's still a hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth.
Karen feels a different kind of nostalgia as she leads the way out onto the trail. So many of her memories of Vermont have just gone...burnt around the edges. Torched by the same fire she'd used to burn her life down in the years after her mother died. But there's still some good that comes to mind, out in the woods like this. Hiking and laughing as kids. Singing silly little songs to pass the time.
She glances over at him at his question.] What, the beer? Or - chatting with the campers? [One shoulder comes up in a shrug.] I don't know. I knew they'd be less likely to call us in if I talked to them. But they were nice. Looked like they were in their 60s, and their youngest just went off to college. They're happy to be here, but this is their first - empty nest vacation, you know? Figured they deserved something nice and unexpected to go with it.
And again Frank has to put a boot on the neck of the idea that she shouldn't be here with him, shouldn't be wasting her time and energy on someone who is ultimately irredeemable. But he does. He said he'd let her choose.] I'm sorry I... I wasn't trying to make light of it, you know. In the truck. [He shuffles the load he's carrying. Maybe he needs to, or maybe he just needs to be able to put his focus somewhere other than her.] When you told me about your family.
[Karen would have been more amused than anything else if he'd given in to that impulse just then. Probably not even annoyed enough to pick an argument. Just a dry Frank, it's just beer.
She looks over at him again when he apologizes, surprised by the sudden shift in topic. Maybe less surprised, when she realizes why. Even if she doesn't agree that it's something to be sorry about.] You weren't making light of what happened. Just lightening the moment we were talking. It's a lot to hear. A lot to talk about. I appreciated the little...break in the clouds.
[The trail is sloping downward gently, and she figures they'll be good to look for somewhere to set up if they walk for another couple of minutes.] Was there anything you wanted to ask, about - all of that?
[The facts surrounding what happened, the details he might have questions about, those will take longer to form than the impression the story makes on him and how it informs who Karen is. The light it shines onto the places she keeps close that he couldn't quite make out the shape of before.
For a minute her question goes unanswered, it's just the sweet twitter of the birds and the sound of their path being made. Even under the load he carries Frank's footfalls are as steady and even as always.] You didn't have to tell me. Yeah I know I asked but you coulda picked something else. [He could be wrong but Frank thinks its not an open chapter in the history of Karen Page.] So why did you?
[Karen doesn't mind the quiet. At least not with Frank. He's not really a man of many words, but his silence is expressive. Or maybe it's just that she understands him. Knows that he's taking a moment to figure out the crux of what he wants to say.
When he does speak, she looks over at him for a moment, interjecting a quiet] I know. [Because she does. She didn't have to answer him.
There's a bend in the trail up ahead, and she can see a section of forest just off the path that will make for a good spot to set up. A half broken tree they can line things up on, a few stumps. She comes to a stop and puts her crate down, her arms folding as she turns to face him.] Um, I told you for a few reasons. I don't really talk about my family a lot. I've wanted to tell you for a while, but there's never a good time. Because I want to be honest with you. And I know how you feel about people that - have dealt drugs and killed other people. I didn't want to hide that from you if we're going to be out here figuring out what "okay" looks like.
[Her lips press together for a moment before she continues.] And I don't just mean Kevin when I say that. I killed James Wesley. Fisk's prior right hand man. And other people have died because of the things I've done. Acting on my information or trying to protect me.
[Frank watches her, listens to her, standing there still holding his cargo. Lets her get it out without interruption. Jesus. He thinks for a moment - is this really what she thinks of me? - but then realizes, no, it's not. It what she thinks of herself. Karen's using him as a barometer.
And that's okay. In this instance.
He exhales, sets the hardcase and crates down. Stacks his hands on his hips for a moment, looking through the forest. Frank can tell why she picked this place, even why she likes it. He looks up, studying the canopy. His silences aren't always convenient, he knows that. But he takes what he needs. Finally:] Eh, that's bullshit. I think you know it.
[Karen wants honesty - Frank's comes with a side of bluntness. He drops his eyes to her.] Maybe you're trying to atone, and that's good. Guilt, it's good. You think any of those assholes I take down, you think any of those drug dealers and killers, that they feel those things? [He takes a step closer. Close.] I'm still glad you told me. That you're here in... [Frank's eyes sweep the length of her.] This. Talking to me. But you aren't anything like them. I don't think you are. I think that you reach for the truth and that shit makes people uncomfortable. [Himself included.] But it shakes out, doesn't it? One way or the other. I'm sorry about your brother. My opinion doesn't mean jacksquat but it sounds to me like you were trying to save him. People aren't all as open-minded as you. You know what happened. Yeah, maybe you started it, but then you tried to finish it. There's no shame in that. People make their own choices.
[Karen can't help the huff of laughter that escapes when he calls it bullshit. Nor the look on her face that clearly reads really? But she doesn't interject yet, just watches him in silence for that moment before he continues.
She's never had much of a poker face, so she's just shaking her head a bit. And she doesn't really believe in the concept of 'backing down' so she just holds her ground and holds his gaze as he moves closer. Granted, that just means he can't miss the way her brow arches when his eyes sweep over her, a fleeting moment of amusement breaking in through her growing frustration.
It doesn't escape her attention that he points out that she'd been trying to save Kevin. Which is true, even if she'd been misguided in her attempt. He's also the first person that she's told that made that specific distinction. It's the piece she wants to hold on to. The one she wishes she could hold on to. But there's another critical piece of the puzzle.] Would you say that if it was anyone other than me standing here?
[It's a pointed question, but delivered quietly and with conviction. She's not entirely sure the answer is yes. She runs one of her hands back over her hair, then hesitates for a moment before resting it on his shoulder.] I - appreciate you saying that. Your opinion does mean a lot more than jacksquat to me. And I can see that there's a lot of dimensions to what happened with my brother. There's less to what happened with Wesley. I killed him and I still think he deserves to be dead. I don't know that it's about - guilt or atoning. People are complicated. Nobody is ever just one thing. Maybe it's just that it's time we both can see...all of the aspects of each other.
[Her hand pats against his shoulder and she manages a little smile.] So let's get that glass set up, huh? [And then there's a glimmer of mischief in her eyes as she adds on, just to lighten the conversation the same way he had in the truck earlier.] I didn't know the hoodie and jeans thing would work for you.
[Yeah, that logic is fallible though, isn't it? It's not anyone other than her. If Karen's asking him if he's got blinders on where she's concerned...yeah, maybe. But he also thinks that he knew her well enough before he got fitted for them and nothing in his world is particularly rose-colored.
Frank only grunts a soft reply to that question; they both know it's messy.
Her hand slides away and Frank's left wishing it would have stayed. I'm what a killer looks like. I've seen the way you react to what I do and you're still here with me. I don't doubt what you're capable of, and I'm glad you can do it. That's what Frank would say but the moment's gone along with the touch and he's content enough to let the first go for now, even if he wishes he could keep the residual warmth of that light palm pressure. He sniffs, amused.
In front of a crate Frank picks up a few pieces of glassware.] What can I say? I'm a simple guy at heart. Thought you did your research, Page. [There's a quirk of a dry grin before he moves to unload his armful across the fallen trunk.]
[The topic's going to come up again. There's no doubt in her mind. Neither of them are capable of leaving something unresolved. Even when it feels like picking at a scab. Sometimes Karen thinks she can't help herself especially when it hurts a little. Like she just has to figure out how to burrow past that hurt no matter the personal cost.
So everything is just...settled, for the time being. Set to the side so they can get down to the business of destroying some glassware.
And flirt, apparently. The corner of her mouth ticks up in a smile at his dry response to her comment about the jeans and hoodie.] I do. I would've pegged you as a 'distracted by a woman in a sundress' kind of guy. [Still simple. Just a different kind of simple.
While he sets up the first row of glassware, Karen sets her backpack down and crouches so she can get her gun out, double checking the safety before she loads it with the bullets from the box at the bottom of the bag. By the time she's back on her feet, he's rejoined her on the trail, so she flashes him a grin.] Ladies first.
[She's confident for a reason. She went on countless hunting trips with her family as a kid, and spent her teen years drunk in the woods firing off shots at targets in the the dim light of dusk. Mid-day and sober? Yeah, she's got this.
When she steps up to the edge of the trail, she takes the safety off and lines up her shot. Her form's not perfect, but she holds herself with a thoughtful ease as she goes right down the line and meticulously shatters everything he set out on the log. When she's done, the forest is quiet again, and she glances over her shoulder at him with an arched brow as if to say well?]
I do like sundresses. [Trick is, it's not about simple. It's about the girl wearing it.
Frank watches her with the gun; she doesn't do stupid shit, doesn't wave it around, showboat, she keeps the safety on until she's ready to do some damage. This time his silence is approval. When Karen announces intent, Frank just steps back clear and lets her do her thing.
When she's done the forest is still ringing with compression, the silence an ache of sound off trees. Sure, Frank's got his catalogue and sure, he embarked on this crazy trip to shore her up, but when Karen glances over her shoulder with that look on her face he just breathes a laugh, hangs and shakes his head like, yeah, alright. So you've got some skill.] Safety on, hotshot.
[Then he comes forward, pulls his hands from his sweatshirt. And now the situation short-circuits any awkwardness he has about touching her when they're not under threat. Frank applies upward pressure to her wrists to have her lift the gun again and his other hand is tenting her dominant elbow out, just a bit.] Don't lock it. Real targets won't always stay still. [Puts his hands on her hips and shifts her weight back.] Same thing. Something's moving, you wanna be able to move, too.
[Then Frank's brain realizes that he's got his hands on Karen's hips and he's slightly behind her, if to the side, and he clears his throat and steps back, dropping his hands.] But I am impressed, I am. Eight for eight at what... twenty meters? That's good.
[Karen can't help but let out a little laugh when he calls her hotshot. One shoulder lifts in a shrug of acknowledgment when he makes his point about the safety, because it's absolutely fair. Turning back, she sets the safety on. Even without looking right at him, she can tell that he's moving closer. It's not even necessarily the sound of his boots crunching on the undergrowth. It's just that she's always aware of him when they're in the same space. Like a compass needle constantly swiveling to point towards magnetic north.
So she's not surprised when she feels his arms come around her, lifting her wrists and readjusting the angle of her elbow. It's a helpful note, and she's not above taking instruction. Her life is frequently dangerous, and she believes strongly in defending herself. It's enough to keep her attention focused as she shifts her arm, testing the feel of the angle.
It's not as easy to stay focused when his hands curl around her hips. Her head turns a bit towards him, and though she lets him readjust her stance, there's no denying the quick upward spike of her heart rate. It's a fleeting moment, and she drops her arms again to stand to the side as he moves back. There's a hint of a smile on her lips that's not entirely due to the compliment on her skills.]
Thank you. One of my less destructive hobbies as a teenager was doing drunk target practice in the woods. [There's a hint of self-deprecating humor in there, well aware of the accurate picture it paints of her teenage years.] Hang on, I think it might be your turn. [There's a glimmer of mischief in her eyes as she passes him and bends, fishing a cookie jar out of one of the cartons. She's grinning as she turns, holding it up for him. It's truly hideous - printed with brightly colored cartoons of various Jersey state animals, and a splashy Jersey Rocks! scrawled across the other side.]
Ho-lee shit. [Frank whistles appreciatively at the tragedy of ceramic in Karen's hands. It's awful in just about every way possible.] I'm sorry I doubted your intentions; I do indeed want to destroy that cookie jar. [He laughs.] And not just because the Devils kicked the Ranger's asses last season - what you have right there is an abomination.
[They set up another eight containers and go back to square one, except now it's Frank standing at the mark, tucking the hem of his hoodie up over the pistol that he's got in a black holster at his right hip so he can pull it free. He glances back to make sure Karen's clear and then gives the glass his attention again. What follows almost looks like sleight of hand done so that one can follow the trick: still on the edge of unbelievable but there's no showmanship involved, just a control that looks effortless. In a nearly singular motion Frank is raising the gun, thumbing the safety, and pulling off eight shots with only time enough to release and tense on the trigger. The glass - and doomed cookie jar - explode as a chain, like a domino reaction rather than a series of individual events.
The safety's immediately back on the gun. Frank's mouth makes a little frown that shows he feels okay about it. Was off center on the third. He turns to Karen with the gun resting against his stomach, muzzle at 45 degrees, hands stacked one over the other on the grip; unconscious. His cheek ticks with a smile.] You win.
Oh, I take my redneck shooting galley selections very seriously. [That mischievous look is lingering in her expression as she turns the cookie jar to make sure he can get a look at every angle. And she can't help but smile a bit at his reasoning.] I can see you at a hockey game. [Having a snack. Yelling at the players. Getting a little too animated.
She hands the cookie jar off to him and helps set up the next row of glass and ceramic for him to take aim at. Her arms are loosely folded as she steps back on the trail, and she tries her best not to let her eyes linger on his shoulders and arms.
There's no surprise in the near effortless way that he shatters each and every one in quick succession. Her head tips back so she can look up at the tree tops, laughing a little to herself. When she looks back down at him, she catches that little frown and her own mouth curls in a smile.] Do I? [She takes a step closer, holding his gaze.] What do I win?
Take a look. [Frank's head makes a small 'come here' nod, and as Karen steps up he slips the gun away with her at his side half-turns to the mess they've left of the glass. Points.
About ten feet back from the fallen tree they've used to set up, captured from it's flight by a thick bush, is the top of the cookie jar - demented squirrel rising from the handle and all. Perfectly in-tact. It was what Frank had intended when he'd said Karen had won... but not what he wanted to say after she'd tossed the question back his way, and not what he wants to offer with her close enough to smell, her profile a sharp gleam in the light that breaks through the leaves overhead.
Seems that saying 'okay' and meaning 'I need you to step up to feel good about it' was different over text than what it means standing next to her in causal dress, shooting down eight targets with a smile on her face.
'Okay' here means wanting to kiss her.
Frank's staring at Karen's face; he pulls his eyes back to the cookie jar lid.] That's all yours.
[Karen's eyes follow the direction he's indicating with his finger, and though it takes her a few seconds to spot what he's pointing at, a laugh bursts out of her when she finally sees it. One of her hands comes up to rest on his shoulder, and flashes him a quick, amused look.]
Poor guy.
[He just had to watch all of his equally freaky looking friends get shattered, after all. She looks back at where the lid is caught by the dense foliage of the bush. It occurs to her that he could equally mean that she should grab the lid as a souvenir or put the ceramic squirrel out of his misery. As far as she's concerned, there's really only one option.
Her hand falls from his shoulder so she can line up her grip on her gun again. And she can tell that his eyes have been lingering on her. It's part of the reason why she'd only looked over at him quickly just then. Like some part of her knows that it's going to be too easy to tip into that gravity well of longing if she lets her eyes lock with his.
So instead she takes a breath and levels off her shot. This one takes her just a moment longer, because it's a strange angle, but when she squeezes the trigger she still shatters the lid.
There's no denying the satisfaction she feels when she finally lets herself look back over at him, a smile on her lips.]
Seemed a shame to separate him from his weird friends.
[Irony? Metaphor? Are they the weird friends? Frank doesn't know and doesn't goddamn care; Karen shatters that lid and she's close and she's paying attention to not paying attention to him and when she's done and turns back he hears what she says in only a distant part of his mind because he's back to staring at her.
He hadn't stepped away while she fired. She'd done it with a distraction-- Frank, and all that he is to her, distracting (hopefully), a killer (distinctly), an expert (absolutely)-- standing at her elbow. Forget good enough, that squirrel had been blown to heaven. And Karen swings her head, ponytail flicking, and if he isn't fucking okay then he doesn't know what okay looks like.
Frank tilts over her shoulder to kiss her - and pauses, a breath between their lips. Goddamnit.] Safety on, hotshot.
[Karen loves literature and language and figuring out the best way to put words together. But there's no words that can accurately describe what Frank means to her. Distracting, certainly, because she's pretty sure she could put a blind fold on and spin in a circle and still unerringly point out exactly where he's standing. He's all - loyalty and danger and grief in a way that she understands too intimately. There's a never ending war burning somewhere deep in his soul and that still doesn't change the fact that she feels safer around him than anyone else in her life.
So - yeah, maybe weird friends. Maybe there's no good way to describe it. Maybe he's just Frank.
Her eyes meet his and it's like all the ambient sounds of the woods around them just drop away. The wind rustling the branches, the fallen leaves scurrying on the ground. How is it that she can tell what he's thinking before he even leans in? Her heart rate spikes, but she still huffs out a breath of a laugh when he comes up just short. She thumbs the safety back on and then moves her hand up high on his shoulder, her thumb just brushing lightly against his neck.
There's a playful challenge in her voice as she murmurs back,] who are you calling hotshot?
Karen's thumb brushes his neck and he feels a drumline marching down his spine, pushing him straighter and closer to her. Not that there's a whole lotta distance left. They're breathing the same air. She smells like coffee and the same shampoo she's been using since she first walked into a hospital room like an angel come to do battle with the devil.
No, that's not right. It was never long-distance for her. Never something to be done from afar. She stepped across the line, willing to--
Always willing.
She stepped across enemy lines and reached out. Extended a hand. Kept goddamn touching him like he wasn't the monster. Like he was something. She never let him forget it, even when he wanted to himself. And in years defined by nothing but war that was a shining tether in the darkness. Just as bright as her hair in the sunlight.
They're close enough that she can probably feel the flicker of the smile on his lips.] You. Now you gonna kiss me, or just sit back and let me do all the work?
[People are complicated things. Hundreds of different facets that all catch and reflect light in their own unique way. Never just one thing. So maybe it shouldn't be a surprise that there's no one word to sum up the shape of his presence in her life.
This, though. This is a surprise.
She's thought about it before, of course. Of grabbing his face when he's bloody and broken and laying one on him to get him out of his own head. Or cutting a line through whatever the current argument is by kissing him. Because that's a part of it too - part of that magnetic pull that keeps her circling his orbit. The knowledge that they can push each other and poke and prod at the sore spots and know that it's just in service of reinforcing that tether.
She never would have pictured this, though. They're both holding a gun (which does sort of feel right, honestly) and she can feel more than see the smile on his lips. And then he's making a smart ass remark that makes her head tip back in a laugh.]
Since when is standing around talking shit doing all the work?
[The comment fires back at him quickly, her voice a hush. The hand on his shoulder moves so she can hook her arm around his neck and her head tips, just a bit. Just so she can catch his lips with hers, and it's brief and tantalizingly warm and she knows her heart is rabbiting in her chest.
But she still leans back just a hair. Just enough so she can meet his eyes so he can see the glimmer of mischief in hers, like she's saying come on, you know I can't make it that easy on you.]
[Shoulda known she'd find one more good crack, one more one-up, one more way to get the last word. Frank isn't sure he'd want her as much as he does if that wasn't so. Want her in the way he feels like a forward wrench at the base of his chest.
He's getting ready to bark a laugh when a hand against his neck becomes an arm and brings more of her weight against him. Karen's lips catch against his and for a soft, too-short moment he can't hear anything over the thrum of his pulse in his ears... but her mouth is moving away and he has to physically pull himself together to focus on whatever could possibly be worth stopping. Catches that glimmer.
Frank's always said Karen Page is really somethin'. Doesn't seem like she's ready to prove him wrong.
His release of breath is want and amusement and incredulity. He meets those eyes, as light as his are dark. There's another remark on his tongue, a comeback, but the novelty of getting to kiss her wins out. Trumps everything. So Frank's arms slide around Karen, fingers dipping against low spine and between shoulder blades to bring her back toward him and stop that look of hers with his mouth.]
[Karen has hugged him so many times over the years. Usually as a lifeline, as a way to remind him that he's real and present in the world. As a silent reminder that there is space in her world for him. This feels different, though. His hands on her back are a distraction and an anchor. They're near enough in height that she can just lean into him and relish the closeness.
There was a time that she thought he'd never let himself have something like this. Something indisputably real and good. And even if it's just this moment - maybe even especially if it's just this moment - she's going to make damn sure that it's one worth remembering.
Her eyes close as she deepens the kiss. They've always been able to communicate a hundred unspoken words with just a look, and she pours all that into the kiss. All those years of pent up longing and frustration and desire. And even though she's only got the one hand unoccupied, she makes the most of it. Her hand sweeps slowly down his back and up again so she can push his hood back. Curl her fingers in his hair like she wants nothing more than to get lost in this forever.
Maybe it is forever. Or maybe she just indulges in the promising heat of it until she needs to take a breath. Her lips part from his with a shaky inhalation but she doesn't go far, her teeth giving his lower lip a light nip. Her forehead leans against his as her fingertips stroke down the back of his head to the nape of his neck. Her cheeks are pink, and her heart is thrumming.
Perhaps, more notably, she doesn't want to break the spell of the moment with words.]
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Thankfully (or maybe 'concernedly',) Karen's pretty confident they're existing in a legal loophole here. Part of the reason for the glassware will make it clear to Fish & Game that they're genuinely not there for hunting. They might catch a fine if anyone shows up, but she knew enough people that worked for that department back in Vermont that she's confident she can talk them out of anything more serious.
Karen gives him an amused look as he parks on the opposite side of the clearing.] I know you're giving me shit but some of those are for you too. I've got a weird old cookie jar in there that I think you're going to enjoy shattering. Give me a minute, I'm going to go say hi to whoever's over there.
[Not out of any particular desire to make friends, but they're going to be significantly less likely to phone in a complaint if she goes to make nice first.]
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He wonders how good she really is. Wants to find out. Wants her to be good but knowing he can teach her if she's not. Trying not to consider the possibility of putting his hands on her in order to help.]
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When she returns to zip up her bag, she's still smiling a little, an amused look on her face. She shrugs the bag on, and then picks up one of the cartons of breakables.] Ready?
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Well, maybe it's not but Frank's picking up the rest of gear, stacked to carry, so that Karen won't get the chance to make further friends. He follows her lead into the woods.] Why do you do that? [The forest cracks underfoot. He's not thinking about Gunner, about spooks in the trees; it's him and Karen and he carries himself that way. Easy enough. Easy as he can.] Aside from the obvious. You didn't have to. You like it, yeah?
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Karen feels a different kind of nostalgia as she leads the way out onto the trail. So many of her memories of Vermont have just gone...burnt around the edges. Torched by the same fire she'd used to burn her life down in the years after her mother died. But there's still some good that comes to mind, out in the woods like this. Hiking and laughing as kids. Singing silly little songs to pass the time.
She glances over at him at his question.] What, the beer? Or - chatting with the campers? [One shoulder comes up in a shrug.] I don't know. I knew they'd be less likely to call us in if I talked to them. But they were nice. Looked like they were in their 60s, and their youngest just went off to college. They're happy to be here, but this is their first - empty nest vacation, you know? Figured they deserved something nice and unexpected to go with it.
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And again Frank has to put a boot on the neck of the idea that she shouldn't be here with him, shouldn't be wasting her time and energy on someone who is ultimately irredeemable. But he does. He said he'd let her choose.] I'm sorry I... I wasn't trying to make light of it, you know. In the truck. [He shuffles the load he's carrying. Maybe he needs to, or maybe he just needs to be able to put his focus somewhere other than her.] When you told me about your family.
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She looks over at him again when he apologizes, surprised by the sudden shift in topic. Maybe less surprised, when she realizes why. Even if she doesn't agree that it's something to be sorry about.] You weren't making light of what happened. Just lightening the moment we were talking. It's a lot to hear. A lot to talk about. I appreciated the little...break in the clouds.
[The trail is sloping downward gently, and she figures they'll be good to look for somewhere to set up if they walk for another couple of minutes.] Was there anything you wanted to ask, about - all of that?
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For a minute her question goes unanswered, it's just the sweet twitter of the birds and the sound of their path being made. Even under the load he carries Frank's footfalls are as steady and even as always.] You didn't have to tell me. Yeah I know I asked but you coulda picked something else. [He could be wrong but Frank thinks its not an open chapter in the history of Karen Page.] So why did you?
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When he does speak, she looks over at him for a moment, interjecting a quiet] I know. [Because she does. She didn't have to answer him.
There's a bend in the trail up ahead, and she can see a section of forest just off the path that will make for a good spot to set up. A half broken tree they can line things up on, a few stumps. She comes to a stop and puts her crate down, her arms folding as she turns to face him.] Um, I told you for a few reasons. I don't really talk about my family a lot. I've wanted to tell you for a while, but there's never a good time. Because I want to be honest with you. And I know how you feel about people that - have dealt drugs and killed other people. I didn't want to hide that from you if we're going to be out here figuring out what "okay" looks like.
[Her lips press together for a moment before she continues.] And I don't just mean Kevin when I say that. I killed James Wesley. Fisk's prior right hand man. And other people have died because of the things I've done. Acting on my information or trying to protect me.
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And that's okay. In this instance.
He exhales, sets the hardcase and crates down. Stacks his hands on his hips for a moment, looking through the forest. Frank can tell why she picked this place, even why she likes it. He looks up, studying the canopy. His silences aren't always convenient, he knows that. But he takes what he needs. Finally:] Eh, that's bullshit. I think you know it.
[Karen wants honesty - Frank's comes with a side of bluntness. He drops his eyes to her.] Maybe you're trying to atone, and that's good. Guilt, it's good. You think any of those assholes I take down, you think any of those drug dealers and killers, that they feel those things? [He takes a step closer. Close.] I'm still glad you told me. That you're here in... [Frank's eyes sweep the length of her.] This. Talking to me. But you aren't anything like them. I don't think you are. I think that you reach for the truth and that shit makes people uncomfortable. [Himself included.] But it shakes out, doesn't it? One way or the other. I'm sorry about your brother. My opinion doesn't mean jacksquat but it sounds to me like you were trying to save him. People aren't all as open-minded as you. You know what happened. Yeah, maybe you started it, but then you tried to finish it. There's no shame in that. People make their own choices.
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She's never had much of a poker face, so she's just shaking her head a bit. And she doesn't really believe in the concept of 'backing down' so she just holds her ground and holds his gaze as he moves closer. Granted, that just means he can't miss the way her brow arches when his eyes sweep over her, a fleeting moment of amusement breaking in through her growing frustration.
It doesn't escape her attention that he points out that she'd been trying to save Kevin. Which is true, even if she'd been misguided in her attempt. He's also the first person that she's told that made that specific distinction. It's the piece she wants to hold on to. The one she wishes she could hold on to. But there's another critical piece of the puzzle.] Would you say that if it was anyone other than me standing here?
[It's a pointed question, but delivered quietly and with conviction. She's not entirely sure the answer is yes. She runs one of her hands back over her hair, then hesitates for a moment before resting it on his shoulder.] I - appreciate you saying that. Your opinion does mean a lot more than jacksquat to me. And I can see that there's a lot of dimensions to what happened with my brother. There's less to what happened with Wesley. I killed him and I still think he deserves to be dead. I don't know that it's about - guilt or atoning. People are complicated. Nobody is ever just one thing. Maybe it's just that it's time we both can see...all of the aspects of each other.
[Her hand pats against his shoulder and she manages a little smile.] So let's get that glass set up, huh? [And then there's a glimmer of mischief in her eyes as she adds on, just to lighten the conversation the same way he had in the truck earlier.] I didn't know the hoodie and jeans thing would work for you.
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Frank only grunts a soft reply to that question; they both know it's messy.
Her hand slides away and Frank's left wishing it would have stayed. I'm what a killer looks like. I've seen the way you react to what I do and you're still here with me. I don't doubt what you're capable of, and I'm glad you can do it. That's what Frank would say but the moment's gone along with the touch and he's content enough to let the first go for now, even if he wishes he could keep the residual warmth of that light palm pressure. He sniffs, amused.
In front of a crate Frank picks up a few pieces of glassware.] What can I say? I'm a simple guy at heart. Thought you did your research, Page. [There's a quirk of a dry grin before he moves to unload his armful across the fallen trunk.]
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So everything is just...settled, for the time being. Set to the side so they can get down to the business of destroying some glassware.
And flirt, apparently. The corner of her mouth ticks up in a smile at his dry response to her comment about the jeans and hoodie.] I do. I would've pegged you as a 'distracted by a woman in a sundress' kind of guy. [Still simple. Just a different kind of simple.
While he sets up the first row of glassware, Karen sets her backpack down and crouches so she can get her gun out, double checking the safety before she loads it with the bullets from the box at the bottom of the bag. By the time she's back on her feet, he's rejoined her on the trail, so she flashes him a grin.] Ladies first.
[She's confident for a reason. She went on countless hunting trips with her family as a kid, and spent her teen years drunk in the woods firing off shots at targets in the the dim light of dusk. Mid-day and sober? Yeah, she's got this.
When she steps up to the edge of the trail, she takes the safety off and lines up her shot. Her form's not perfect, but she holds herself with a thoughtful ease as she goes right down the line and meticulously shatters everything he set out on the log. When she's done, the forest is quiet again, and she glances over her shoulder at him with an arched brow as if to say well?]
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Frank watches her with the gun; she doesn't do stupid shit, doesn't wave it around, showboat, she keeps the safety on until she's ready to do some damage. This time his silence is approval. When Karen announces intent, Frank just steps back clear and lets her do her thing.
When she's done the forest is still ringing with compression, the silence an ache of sound off trees. Sure, Frank's got his catalogue and sure, he embarked on this crazy trip to shore her up, but when Karen glances over her shoulder with that look on her face he just breathes a laugh, hangs and shakes his head like, yeah, alright. So you've got some skill.] Safety on, hotshot.
[Then he comes forward, pulls his hands from his sweatshirt. And now the situation short-circuits any awkwardness he has about touching her when they're not under threat. Frank applies upward pressure to her wrists to have her lift the gun again and his other hand is tenting her dominant elbow out, just a bit.] Don't lock it. Real targets won't always stay still. [Puts his hands on her hips and shifts her weight back.] Same thing. Something's moving, you wanna be able to move, too.
[Then Frank's brain realizes that he's got his hands on Karen's hips and he's slightly behind her, if to the side, and he clears his throat and steps back, dropping his hands.] But I am impressed, I am. Eight for eight at what... twenty meters? That's good.
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So she's not surprised when she feels his arms come around her, lifting her wrists and readjusting the angle of her elbow. It's a helpful note, and she's not above taking instruction. Her life is frequently dangerous, and she believes strongly in defending herself. It's enough to keep her attention focused as she shifts her arm, testing the feel of the angle.
It's not as easy to stay focused when his hands curl around her hips. Her head turns a bit towards him, and though she lets him readjust her stance, there's no denying the quick upward spike of her heart rate. It's a fleeting moment, and she drops her arms again to stand to the side as he moves back. There's a hint of a smile on her lips that's not entirely due to the compliment on her skills.]
Thank you. One of my less destructive hobbies as a teenager was doing drunk target practice in the woods. [There's a hint of self-deprecating humor in there, well aware of the accurate picture it paints of her teenage years.] Hang on, I think it might be your turn. [There's a glimmer of mischief in her eyes as she passes him and bends, fishing a cookie jar out of one of the cartons. She's grinning as she turns, holding it up for him. It's truly hideous - printed with brightly colored cartoons of various Jersey state animals, and a splashy Jersey Rocks! scrawled across the other side.]
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[They set up another eight containers and go back to square one, except now it's Frank standing at the mark, tucking the hem of his hoodie up over the pistol that he's got in a black holster at his right hip so he can pull it free. He glances back to make sure Karen's clear and then gives the glass his attention again. What follows almost looks like sleight of hand done so that one can follow the trick: still on the edge of unbelievable but there's no showmanship involved, just a control that looks effortless. In a nearly singular motion Frank is raising the gun, thumbing the safety, and pulling off eight shots with only time enough to release and tense on the trigger. The glass - and doomed cookie jar - explode as a chain, like a domino reaction rather than a series of individual events.
The safety's immediately back on the gun. Frank's mouth makes a little frown that shows he feels okay about it. Was off center on the third. He turns to Karen with the gun resting against his stomach, muzzle at 45 degrees, hands stacked one over the other on the grip; unconscious. His cheek ticks with a smile.] You win.
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She hands the cookie jar off to him and helps set up the next row of glass and ceramic for him to take aim at. Her arms are loosely folded as she steps back on the trail, and she tries her best not to let her eyes linger on his shoulders and arms.
There's no surprise in the near effortless way that he shatters each and every one in quick succession. Her head tips back so she can look up at the tree tops, laughing a little to herself. When she looks back down at him, she catches that little frown and her own mouth curls in a smile.] Do I? [She takes a step closer, holding his gaze.] What do I win?
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About ten feet back from the fallen tree they've used to set up, captured from it's flight by a thick bush, is the top of the cookie jar - demented squirrel rising from the handle and all. Perfectly in-tact. It was what Frank had intended when he'd said Karen had won... but not what he wanted to say after she'd tossed the question back his way, and not what he wants to offer with her close enough to smell, her profile a sharp gleam in the light that breaks through the leaves overhead.
Seems that saying 'okay' and meaning 'I need you to step up to feel good about it' was different over text than what it means standing next to her in causal dress, shooting down eight targets with a smile on her face.
'Okay' here means wanting to kiss her.
Frank's staring at Karen's face; he pulls his eyes back to the cookie jar lid.] That's all yours.
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Poor guy.
[He just had to watch all of his equally freaky looking friends get shattered, after all. She looks back at where the lid is caught by the dense foliage of the bush. It occurs to her that he could equally mean that she should grab the lid as a souvenir or put the ceramic squirrel out of his misery. As far as she's concerned, there's really only one option.
Her hand falls from his shoulder so she can line up her grip on her gun again. And she can tell that his eyes have been lingering on her. It's part of the reason why she'd only looked over at him quickly just then. Like some part of her knows that it's going to be too easy to tip into that gravity well of longing if she lets her eyes lock with his.
So instead she takes a breath and levels off her shot. This one takes her just a moment longer, because it's a strange angle, but when she squeezes the trigger she still shatters the lid.
There's no denying the satisfaction she feels when she finally lets herself look back over at him, a smile on her lips.]
Seemed a shame to separate him from his weird friends.
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He hadn't stepped away while she fired. She'd done it with a distraction-- Frank, and all that he is to her, distracting (hopefully), a killer (distinctly), an expert (absolutely)-- standing at her elbow. Forget good enough, that squirrel had been blown to heaven. And Karen swings her head, ponytail flicking, and if he isn't fucking okay then he doesn't know what okay looks like.
Frank tilts over her shoulder to kiss her - and pauses, a breath between their lips. Goddamnit.] Safety on, hotshot.
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So - yeah, maybe weird friends. Maybe there's no good way to describe it. Maybe he's just Frank.
Her eyes meet his and it's like all the ambient sounds of the woods around them just drop away. The wind rustling the branches, the fallen leaves scurrying on the ground. How is it that she can tell what he's thinking before he even leans in? Her heart rate spikes, but she still huffs out a breath of a laugh when he comes up just short. She thumbs the safety back on and then moves her hand up high on his shoulder, her thumb just brushing lightly against his neck.
There's a playful challenge in her voice as she murmurs back,] who are you calling hotshot?
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Karen's thumb brushes his neck and he feels a drumline marching down his spine, pushing him straighter and closer to her. Not that there's a whole lotta distance left. They're breathing the same air. She smells like coffee and the same shampoo she's been using since she first walked into a hospital room like an angel come to do battle with the devil.
No, that's not right. It was never long-distance for her. Never something to be done from afar. She stepped across the line, willing to--
Always willing.
She stepped across enemy lines and reached out. Extended a hand. Kept goddamn touching him like he wasn't the monster. Like he was something. She never let him forget it, even when he wanted to himself. And in years defined by nothing but war that was a shining tether in the darkness. Just as bright as her hair in the sunlight.
They're close enough that she can probably feel the flicker of the smile on his lips.] You. Now you gonna kiss me, or just sit back and let me do all the work?
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This, though. This is a surprise.
She's thought about it before, of course. Of grabbing his face when he's bloody and broken and laying one on him to get him out of his own head. Or cutting a line through whatever the current argument is by kissing him. Because that's a part of it too - part of that magnetic pull that keeps her circling his orbit. The knowledge that they can push each other and poke and prod at the sore spots and know that it's just in service of reinforcing that tether.
She never would have pictured this, though. They're both holding a gun (which does sort of feel right, honestly) and she can feel more than see the smile on his lips. And then he's making a smart ass remark that makes her head tip back in a laugh.]
Since when is standing around talking shit doing all the work?
[The comment fires back at him quickly, her voice a hush. The hand on his shoulder moves so she can hook her arm around his neck and her head tips, just a bit. Just so she can catch his lips with hers, and it's brief and tantalizingly warm and she knows her heart is rabbiting in her chest.
But she still leans back just a hair. Just enough so she can meet his eyes so he can see the glimmer of mischief in hers, like she's saying come on, you know I can't make it that easy on you.]
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He's getting ready to bark a laugh when a hand against his neck becomes an arm and brings more of her weight against him. Karen's lips catch against his and for a soft, too-short moment he can't hear anything over the thrum of his pulse in his ears... but her mouth is moving away and he has to physically pull himself together to focus on whatever could possibly be worth stopping. Catches that glimmer.
Frank's always said Karen Page is really somethin'. Doesn't seem like she's ready to prove him wrong.
His release of breath is want and amusement and incredulity. He meets those eyes, as light as his are dark. There's another remark on his tongue, a comeback, but the novelty of getting to kiss her wins out. Trumps everything. So Frank's arms slide around Karen, fingers dipping against low spine and between shoulder blades to bring her back toward him and stop that look of hers with his mouth.]
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There was a time that she thought he'd never let himself have something like this. Something indisputably real and good. And even if it's just this moment - maybe even especially if it's just this moment - she's going to make damn sure that it's one worth remembering.
Her eyes close as she deepens the kiss. They've always been able to communicate a hundred unspoken words with just a look, and she pours all that into the kiss. All those years of pent up longing and frustration and desire. And even though she's only got the one hand unoccupied, she makes the most of it. Her hand sweeps slowly down his back and up again so she can push his hood back. Curl her fingers in his hair like she wants nothing more than to get lost in this forever.
Maybe it is forever. Or maybe she just indulges in the promising heat of it until she needs to take a breath. Her lips part from his with a shaky inhalation but she doesn't go far, her teeth giving his lower lip a light nip. Her forehead leans against his as her fingertips stroke down the back of his head to the nape of his neck. Her cheeks are pink, and her heart is thrumming.
Perhaps, more notably, she doesn't want to break the spell of the moment with words.]
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