( He shuts his eyes. She smells the same as she did, exactly the same, he'd nearly forgotten. She sounds the same. She's been gone, and as much as people are gonna wanna say that in their hearts they always knew somebody they loved would be back, that they had some feeling or some bullshit like that, Frank never did. It never felt like she'd come back. It felt like loss, a devastating second loss, leaving him looking like a fool after that time he lectured her in the diner about giving anything to have that again, to have his old lady rake him over the coals and cut him deep and fight him. And then he went and let her go-
Like hell he's making that mistake again. He can't do it anymore. He can't do this a third time, it really would be the worst sort of charm. Third time's the curse, third time he swears to god he'll swallow a bullet. )
Five years.
( He manages, finally. His voice is rusty, throat more hoarse than normal. Catching on syllables like he hasn't spoken to anyone all day so it hasn't had the chance to wake up for real. It's mumbled into her hair, into her neck, and left to longer for just another second before he pulls back just a little. Enough to see her face, not enough to let her go. )
You and half the rest of the world. Gone. For five years. We thought you were all dead, Karen.
[His voice is rumbling against her neck, rising up from somewhere dark and shattered. It breaks her heart a little. Karen knows him better than just about anyone else, and there's a whole world of pain and grief in those two words. Five years. They don't quite make sense yet, but she doesn't rush him. There's too much to try to comb through in her own brain.
She lets him move back so she can meet his gaze, but she doesn't lean back herself. His grip on her has loosened, just a bit, but she can tell he's not letting go yet. She's not going to be the one to break the contact.
When he finally explains himself, there's a disbelieving look on her face.]
What?
[How could that even be possible? Half the world gone? Gone for five years? That uncertainty, that shock, lingers on her face for a moment and then turns into a concerned sort of curiosity. A surefire sign that she's about to start digging in to something.
But instead, she just moves one of her arms from around him. Rests her hand on his face. Her thumb strokes slowly back along his cheekbone as she stares into his eyes. No one keeps his shit together like Frank Castle, but this is the look of a man that's been undone by the world.
Because half the world had been gone. For five years. Presumed dead.
Because she had been gone.]
Oh, God. Frank.
[There's really no words. Just a terrible understanding. A rising tide of fear at what this all means.]
I - I don't even know - what -
[It's a little disjointed as she tries to process all this new information. Tries to figure out what it means to be gone for that long. There's a thousand things she's going to have to do. The look on her face perfectly reflects that thought.
( No, he's not letting go yet. Going strictly off the way he feels right now — the twisting knot inside of him spun tighter than it has in months in anticipation of relief just as soon as he can accept this as really happening — he may never actually let go of her again. She feels so solid, so goddamn solid, but what if. What if.
He used to have nightmares. He didn't get to see her go, but he saw other people go. He used to imagine it in different settings. In her apartment, on a park bench by the docks, in the passenger's seat of his van, scattering into dust out the open window while he begged and tried to hang onto the pieces with both fists like squeezing sand, only to wake up sweating through the sheets.
She says his name and he exhales, a soft sound, letting his forehead duck into her hand. )
I don't know. I don't know.
( Shit, he should be doing a better job at helping her reacclimate, but-- god, five fucking years, she's been dead. It's been hard. It's been so god damn difficult. )
Just give me a second. I'll tell you what I can, just- just gimme a second.
( That hand that had been at her hair drifts down, around the side of her neck, fingers curling at the nape, holding her still so he can just-- look at her, eyes flickering from one to the other, just to make sure the memory matches the truth. That he hadn't been lying to himself, that he remembered the color and the shape of them right. He did. )
[Karen lets him lean his forehead into her hand. Her thumb brushes back a strand of that too long hair. She rubs her other hand against his back, traveling a slow and steady path back and forth. Like a reminder that she's here now. They're both here.
It doesn't feel real yet. She hasn't been here, she doesn't know what any of this means yet. It's just - disorienting. Unsettling. The hard part is going to come for her in the coming days, as she tries to muddle her way through a million different things that there's absolutely zero precedent for. For right now, all she has to do is give Frank a minute to breathe. Make sure he knows that she's really here. And not going anywhere.
When he lifts his head to look at her again, she lets her hand slip back, her fingers running through his hair. They comb through the longer strands that curl over the back of his neck before she moves her hand over, running it over his shoulder to give his arm a gentle squeeze.
He's been a solitary kind of man since she's known him. Most of his contact with other people is violent. And if she has to judge by the way he's staring her down, like he's trying to reassure himself that she's actually here, she doubts that's changed over the past five years. Only she hasn't been here to grab him and hug him like this. To bicker with him about taking care of himself, letting himself have something good. What if Curtis had been gone too? Amy?
His gaze has a weight to it. It's heavy in a way she knows is only a portion of the grief he must have been carrying around. After a moment, she looks away from him to take in the space around them. The room's the same shape, but it's all been redone. And she knows with a sudden, awful clarity that this is what he's been doing the past five years. Renovating the place she disappeared into his base of operations. Sticking close by the last place she'd existed.
When she looks back at him, that understanding is reflected in her eyes. She takes her hand from his shoulder so she can hook her arm back around him and pulls him back in. Her mouth is close to his ear as she murmurs - ]
Hey. I'm back now. You're still stuck with me, Castle.
( The feeling of her fingers in his hair drives his eyes to close, squeezing shut tightly, a small sway in his form like he's drawn to her, a pendulum edging toward her gravity, toward the desire to dip in and press his forehead against hers again — only to sway back when he catches himself, when he locks himself into place with what little restraint he can muster.
He wants to wrap his arms around her again. Pick her up, haul her off somewhere safe, hang on with both hands and shoot anything that got too close. He wants to fight the rest of the world off so that nothing like what happened can ever happen to her again. He also... wants to be even remotely sane and not overbearing about it, but god damn is that a much smaller impulse than this wild, slightly feral need to guard and protect and keep.
He's never gotten back someone he's lost before. He doesn't know what to do with himself. )
Yeah. ( He manages after a breath, thick, too meaningful for a single word. He cracks his eyes open to see her, and nods again, ) Yeah. Okay. Okay...
( She needs a sitrep. She deserves to know what's going on, but he's not so sure he can manage words just yet, so instead, one of his hands goes gliding down her arm. Fingers thread together, and he takes her by the hand, pulling her across the short space toward a powered-off cheap television sported by the same table as a few other security cam footage monitors. He flicks it on, and there they stand, side by side, as an emergency news bulletin breaks across the screen.
MILLIONS RETURNING FROM FIVE-YEAR BLIP, INFRASTRUCTURE CHALLENGES AND EMERGENCY SERVICES FACING OVERWHELM
It's just as much chaos as the snap had been, but in reverse — with people flooding the streets, people abruptly in the path of cars, people appearing in apartments that were once theirs but that now belong to new families. Dogs in strange places, zoo animals in exhibits changed to house other incompatible animals, people reappearing within walls.
The reality of a changing world and static presences rejoining it are equal parts joyful and horrific, and a reporter will spell it all out for them both in grizzly detail. He grips her hand too tightly throughout it, refusing to let go. )
[The smile Karen offers him as he pulls back is a little worried around the edges. Not just about him, but about the state the world must be in on the other side of that locked door. About - trying to catch up and figure out how to live in a world that's been ticking on for five years without half the population. Her hand takes a detour to squeeze his shoulder as she lets him go, and she nods her head as she holds him in her gaze.
His hand is gripping hers, and she returns the pressure of it, building a lifeline between them as he moves them across the space to the little TV that sits in among his security monitors.
The footage is hard to watch. The reporter on screen is visibly harried, moving quickly, followed by a cameraman. They're just exiting the studio, setting up out on the street outside. Karen's shoulder leans in against Frank's as she watches, her thumb brushing against the side of his hand.
While the reporter talks, asking some very well phrased questions about what all this is going to mean and how the government is going to respond, Karen distantly notes that it is an impressive display of journalistic integrity. This might even be a strong contender for a Pulitzer if they can keep their shit together and stay focused on the topic at hand.
The camera pans out, covering what's happening outside the studio while the reporter talks. Karen's free hand comes up to cover her mouth. It's just - chaos, anchored by little moments of joy here and there.
She finally turns back to Frank, her hand dropping from her mouth to rest on his chest.]
I - do you have a phone? I have to call Matt and Foggy - were they both still around?
[Seeing everything that's happening out there, that's the most pressing thing she has to do. Let them know that she's back, that she's safe. Stop Matt from haring off into the city to look for her. Which will also stop Foggy from having to run off himself to look for Matt.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Like hell he's making that mistake again. He can't do it anymore. He can't do this a third time, it really would be the worst sort of charm. Third time's the curse, third time he swears to god he'll swallow a bullet. )
Five years.
( He manages, finally. His voice is rusty, throat more hoarse than normal. Catching on syllables like he hasn't spoken to anyone all day so it hasn't had the chance to wake up for real. It's mumbled into her hair, into her neck, and left to longer for just another second before he pulls back just a little. Enough to see her face, not enough to let her go. )
You and half the rest of the world. Gone. For five years. We thought you were all dead, Karen.
no subject
She lets him move back so she can meet his gaze, but she doesn't lean back herself. His grip on her has loosened, just a bit, but she can tell he's not letting go yet. She's not going to be the one to break the contact.
When he finally explains himself, there's a disbelieving look on her face.]
What?
[How could that even be possible? Half the world gone? Gone for five years? That uncertainty, that shock, lingers on her face for a moment and then turns into a concerned sort of curiosity. A surefire sign that she's about to start digging in to something.
But instead, she just moves one of her arms from around him. Rests her hand on his face. Her thumb strokes slowly back along his cheekbone as she stares into his eyes. No one keeps his shit together like Frank Castle, but this is the look of a man that's been undone by the world.
Because half the world had been gone. For five years. Presumed dead.
Because she had been gone.]
Oh, God. Frank.
[There's really no words. Just a terrible understanding. A rising tide of fear at what this all means.]
I - I don't even know - what -
[It's a little disjointed as she tries to process all this new information. Tries to figure out what it means to be gone for that long. There's a thousand things she's going to have to do. The look on her face perfectly reflects that thought.
What the hell is she doing to do now?]
no subject
He used to have nightmares. He didn't get to see her go, but he saw other people go. He used to imagine it in different settings. In her apartment, on a park bench by the docks, in the passenger's seat of his van, scattering into dust out the open window while he begged and tried to hang onto the pieces with both fists like squeezing sand, only to wake up sweating through the sheets.
She says his name and he exhales, a soft sound, letting his forehead duck into her hand. )
I don't know. I don't know.
( Shit, he should be doing a better job at helping her reacclimate, but-- god, five fucking years, she's been dead. It's been hard. It's been so god damn difficult. )
Just give me a second. I'll tell you what I can, just- just gimme a second.
( That hand that had been at her hair drifts down, around the side of her neck, fingers curling at the nape, holding her still so he can just-- look at her, eyes flickering from one to the other, just to make sure the memory matches the truth. That he hadn't been lying to himself, that he remembered the color and the shape of them right. He did. )
no subject
It doesn't feel real yet. She hasn't been here, she doesn't know what any of this means yet. It's just - disorienting. Unsettling. The hard part is going to come for her in the coming days, as she tries to muddle her way through a million different things that there's absolutely zero precedent for. For right now, all she has to do is give Frank a minute to breathe. Make sure he knows that she's really here. And not going anywhere.
When he lifts his head to look at her again, she lets her hand slip back, her fingers running through his hair. They comb through the longer strands that curl over the back of his neck before she moves her hand over, running it over his shoulder to give his arm a gentle squeeze.
He's been a solitary kind of man since she's known him. Most of his contact with other people is violent. And if she has to judge by the way he's staring her down, like he's trying to reassure himself that she's actually here, she doubts that's changed over the past five years. Only she hasn't been here to grab him and hug him like this. To bicker with him about taking care of himself, letting himself have something good. What if Curtis had been gone too? Amy?
His gaze has a weight to it. It's heavy in a way she knows is only a portion of the grief he must have been carrying around. After a moment, she looks away from him to take in the space around them. The room's the same shape, but it's all been redone. And she knows with a sudden, awful clarity that this is what he's been doing the past five years. Renovating the place she disappeared into his base of operations. Sticking close by the last place she'd existed.
When she looks back at him, that understanding is reflected in her eyes. She takes her hand from his shoulder so she can hook her arm back around him and pulls him back in. Her mouth is close to his ear as she murmurs - ]
Hey. I'm back now. You're still stuck with me, Castle.
no subject
He wants to wrap his arms around her again. Pick her up, haul her off somewhere safe, hang on with both hands and shoot anything that got too close. He wants to fight the rest of the world off so that nothing like what happened can ever happen to her again. He also... wants to be even remotely sane and not overbearing about it, but god damn is that a much smaller impulse than this wild, slightly feral need to guard and protect and keep.
He's never gotten back someone he's lost before. He doesn't know what to do with himself. )
Yeah. ( He manages after a breath, thick, too meaningful for a single word. He cracks his eyes open to see her, and nods again, ) Yeah. Okay. Okay...
( She needs a sitrep. She deserves to know what's going on, but he's not so sure he can manage words just yet, so instead, one of his hands goes gliding down her arm. Fingers thread together, and he takes her by the hand, pulling her across the short space toward a powered-off cheap television sported by the same table as a few other security cam footage monitors. He flicks it on, and there they stand, side by side, as an emergency news bulletin breaks across the screen.
MILLIONS RETURNING FROM FIVE-YEAR BLIP, INFRASTRUCTURE CHALLENGES AND EMERGENCY SERVICES FACING OVERWHELM
It's just as much chaos as the snap had been, but in reverse — with people flooding the streets, people abruptly in the path of cars, people appearing in apartments that were once theirs but that now belong to new families. Dogs in strange places, zoo animals in exhibits changed to house other incompatible animals, people reappearing within walls.
The reality of a changing world and static presences rejoining it are equal parts joyful and horrific, and a reporter will spell it all out for them both in grizzly detail. He grips her hand too tightly throughout it, refusing to let go. )
no subject
His hand is gripping hers, and she returns the pressure of it, building a lifeline between them as he moves them across the space to the little TV that sits in among his security monitors.
The footage is hard to watch. The reporter on screen is visibly harried, moving quickly, followed by a cameraman. They're just exiting the studio, setting up out on the street outside. Karen's shoulder leans in against Frank's as she watches, her thumb brushing against the side of his hand.
While the reporter talks, asking some very well phrased questions about what all this is going to mean and how the government is going to respond, Karen distantly notes that it is an impressive display of journalistic integrity. This might even be a strong contender for a Pulitzer if they can keep their shit together and stay focused on the topic at hand.
The camera pans out, covering what's happening outside the studio while the reporter talks. Karen's free hand comes up to cover her mouth. It's just - chaos, anchored by little moments of joy here and there.
She finally turns back to Frank, her hand dropping from her mouth to rest on his chest.]
I - do you have a phone? I have to call Matt and Foggy - were they both still around?
[Seeing everything that's happening out there, that's the most pressing thing she has to do. Let them know that she's back, that she's safe. Stop Matt from haring off into the city to look for her. Which will also stop Foggy from having to run off himself to look for Matt.]