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Karen covered her face defensively with her hands and forearms as glass from the large single-pane window crashed upon them. Karen was frozen in an accepting wave of nerves as she waited, expecting this to be the end; she would be shot, attacked, killed, or all three one after the other. This was it. She was waiting. She waited a little more. Then, there was a noise, a groaning, a shuffle of glass shards along the linoleum floor. It was Foggy who first broke up the anticipating.
"Oh my god..." he drawled.
Karen peeked up over her highest hand, still conscientious enough to keep a certain level of protection. There was no attacker in the room, no Bullseye. Yet, instead, lying there, curled slightly in pain, was Matt.
"Oh, shit," Claire whispered as she dove down to check on him.
"What happened!?" Foggy yelled as he tried to swing himself up, whining from the pain in his shoulder, only making it halfway off the bed.
Matt scrambled up, bleeding from the mouth. He pushed Claire away as he stood, and looked directly to Karen.
"Where is he?" Karen asked stoically.
He didn't answer directly. He moved over to Foggy helping him off the bed. He looked back at Karen and said simply - "Move."
Karen ran over to grab Foggy from Matt, and Claire ushered them both out the door.
“Stay low!” Matt yelled, ducking behind the wall left underneath the destroyed window.
“We have a safe room now down the hall. Let’s go,” Claire said. She began to yell, “CODE 2, CODE 2, EMERGENCY IN ROOM 127, EVACUATE THE FIRST FLOOR.” At that, security guards from the main lobby rushed towards the room with their weapons up. In the distance outside, Karen could hear a harsh raspy voice shouting at them.
“AW, NOW WHERE’D YA GO? I WA’N’T FINISHED PLAYIN’ YET!”
Everything in Karen’s body pulsed fervently with those words. She tightened her grip on Foggy as Claire pushed them down the hall, yelling back at Matt –
“Make sure he doesn’t move! Can you keep him here?”
“Just go!” Matt yelled.
Every doctor and nurse on the floor grabbed their patients and headed towards the basement door, as the two security guards entered Foggy’s room. From behind her as she ran, Karen could hear this exchange:
“Freeze!”, the guards hollered.
“You guys need to get out of here! Get out, now!” Matt answered.
“Stand up, put you’re hands where we can see…”
Two cutting gunshots were fired and echoed by two heavy thumps on the ground. Karen didn’t turn back.
* * *
Matt looked on as the two guards sunk to the floor dead, but he held his position as above him he heard Bullseye singing.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are…” He was just outside the window now, peering inside. Matt could see the harsh slope of his nose scanning the room carefully.
"Come on, Dev, I got real business to get to," he cackled. Bullseye lifted his left leg in a slow, cartoon-like way up and over the hallowed window sill, his leg inching closer and closer to the ground right in from of Matt's face. Just as his foot was about to touch the ground, Matt took the opportunity to strike; he grabbed Bullseye’s leg, forcefully yanking it towards the ground. Bullseye groaned, sitting on the broken glass in the pain, groping at the pain in his crotch. Matt struck him in the face with an uppercut, and he fell inside the room. Matt descended upon him, but Bullseye was quick to regain himself, the two coming to blows all over the room. Both men were bludgeoned heavily, until Matt had the tired Bullseye, holding him by the throat and leaning him out of the broken pain, Bullseye howling again as the broken glass cut into his lower back.
“I want you to get the hell out of my city, do you hear me?” Matt said gruffly. “You stay away from here, you stay the hell away from Karen, and you tell Fisk he doesn’t have any power out here anymore.”
Through his broken and bloody teeth, Bullseye chuckled up at him, Matt’s grip tightening. He was pushing him so far outside that Bullseye’s feet were lifting off the ground.
“That’s not how this works, Dev,” Bullseye answered. “You idiots all bustin’ your ass for one chick…”
Suddenly, a stinging pain shot through Matt’s side near his hip. He recoiled, his hand leaving Bullseye, and looked down at himself. A small hunting knife was sticking out of him; Bullseye must’ve been hiding it in his pockets somewhere. Matt pulled the knife out and ran his fingers along the wound; it was small, but it was deep. As he studied it, he could hear the slight swinging of a bullet chamber loading, ready to shoot. He whipped his head up, and there was Bullseye, gun pointed right at him ready to fire.
“See you in Hell!” Bullseye laughed. A shot rang out. Bullseye dropped his gun, a beastly, enraged cry escaping from his lungs. He’d been hit in the arm, and in through the window dove Frank Castle, immediately laying blows into Bullseye’s skull, wrestling him over the shards on the floor, squeezing Bullseye’s head on top of them. Frank looked up at Matt, himself somehow bruised and torn up.
“Go get her!” Frank commanded. “You go find her, get her out of here!” Frank continued to bash Bullseye’s head in, and Matt limped quickly in the direction of the safe room.
“Get her out of here!” Frank yelled again. “We had a deal! Get her out of here!”
* * *
Karen, Foggy, and Claire were settling into a corner on the damp concrete floor as dozens upon dozens of hospital workers and patients piled in to the “safe room”, which Karen discovered was only just a wing of the hospital with no windows and a new, heavy, steel door.
“When did this happen?” Karen asked, referencing the door.
“’Bout a couple of months ago,” Clair answered. “After that… y’know… whatever that was… the board of directors decided that we should have a little more protection.”
Claire began helping other patients get settle, mostly elderly, confused ones.
“Problem is,” she continued, “we’re underfunded. So, this is all we could muster up.”
“So, what exactly is a Code 2?” Karen asked.
“They call it a HIPS call. Hostile Intruders, Potentially Superhuman.”
“What’s a Code 1?” Foggy asked.
Claire scoffed and glared at Foggy disapprovingly. The steel door had been shut now, but through it, everyone heard a single prominent gunshot, and the room filled with tense silence. Karen closed her eyes tightly, hoping that bullet wasn’t for Matt. Then again, whom else would it be for? Matt didn’t carry any guns, Karen thought. Unless, she hoped, unless it was Frank who fired. Perhaps Frank had finally made it and saved Matt, and killed Bullseye. She looked around at all the anxious and nervous people in the basement, almost feeling guilty for a twinge of hope she felt.
A moment later, a swift knocking sounded from the safe room door. People hushed one another. Some let out small, shrill cries and whimpers. Claire approached the door, self-appointing herself as ambassador of the hospital prisoners.
“Who is it?” she whispered.
“What if it’s the psycho?!” Foggy whispered back, grabbing Claire by the shoulder attempting to pull her back.
“It’s me…” Matt said through the door. “Is everyone alright?”
Claire opened the door for Matt, and he spilled inside, his hands covering his side. The people in the basement gasped with a mix of fear and amazement at the sight of him.
“Oh my god, come here,” Claire hissed, shutting the door and tending to him. She lifted his hands to see the inch-thick stab wound on his side, which was bleeding profusely.
“Foggy,” Claire called, pointing. “Down that hallway on the left is a medical supply room. I need you to grab me gauze, alcohol, scissors, thread, and a needle, now!”
Foggy ran down the hallway obediently, as Karen looked up from near the doorway.
“What’s going on out there?” she asked Matt.
“He almost had me,” he responded strenuously. “Frank… Frank stopped him. He shot him, and I came down here to check on you.”
Karen felt relieved. It was Frank, thank god. However, that relief quickly turned to fear again when she remembered that meant Frank was out there with Bullseye alone now, and who knows what was happening. Karen scanned the room quickly. She saw an elderly Hispanic man clutching a rosary, making numerous signs of the cross, praying to himself. There was another woman with an oxygen mask, her nurse beside her tending to it and trying unsuccessfully from keeping the woman from breathing erratically. She looked down at Matt, cut open on the floor. Foggy had returned with the supplies, and he hovered over Matt as Claire prepared to administer the stitches She looked around at all these people, all these people who were suffering as a consequence of her action. She thought again about Frank, outside with a crazed killer, maybe hurt, maybe very, very hurt. She winced. She could not allow this pain to go on around her while she did nothing. She needed to go back outside and face this head on.
She looked back towards the door. There was something glimmering under the dim lighting. Karen paced towards it, barely paying attention to Claire, Foggy, and Matt, hearing Matt as he groaned from the stitching. He had dropped one of his Billy Clubs as he fell through the doorway. Karen looked back at them. Claire had only administered one stitch, and it still looked like there were plenty more to go. She looked down at the club. She thought about Frank. Karen bent down to pick the club up slowly, as to not be noticed, and seemingly, she hadn’t been. She held the club tightly, focusing on her breathing. Deep breath in, deep breath out. She straightened her shoulders, steadied her feet, ready. Karen charged the door, flinging it open and escaping. She could hear Matt calling for her, trying to get up as Claire and Foggy restrained him to finish the stitches. Foggy called out to her, too.
“Karen, DON’T!” he yelled. It was too late. The steel door slammed behind her as she stood completely exposed in the hospital hallway, clutching the club for dear life. She called out –
“Frank?”
* * *
Frank continued pummeling Bullseye, and Bullseye laughed at him the whole while.
“C’mon, Frankie, you can do better,” he mocked. “This is your girlfriend we’re talkin’ about, hit me like you mean it!”
Frank did. He struck Bullseye a few more times before his chuckles turned into heavy breathing. Frank stood, the bludgeoned Bullseye lying motionless on the floor. Frank grabbed a gun from his chest holster, cocked it, and raised it towards Bullseye. He wanted to take the shot, he knew it. He bit inwardly at his bottom lip, huffing his chest. He couldn’t. He’d made a deal.
“Go ahead…” Bullseye droned, “Shoot me. Show your little girlfriend the war ain’t over yet.”
“The hell are you talkin’ about?” Frank rasped.
The chuckles returned.
“You know I know the story, Frankie. Off killin’ all the Mexicans, Irish, bikers you can find til you can fill the void of your dead stinkin’ family. But woo-eee, look at you know, Frank. That’s all water under the bridge and here you are, still ready to tear my head off. And I didn’t even kill ‘em! Go ahead, Frankie, shoot me. Shoot me so you can show your little girly out there that you ain’t ever gonna change. You’re just a no-good son of a bitch like the rest of us now! She gonna live happily ever after with you runnin’ around gettin’ your ass kicked every night? No sir, no sir she ain’t. You’re a piece of shit now, just like me. Go ahead, Frankie. See if one more hit can save you.”
Suddenly, a loud door slammed from outside in the hallway somewhere, and Frank heard Karen softly calling for him.
“Frank?”
For a split second, Frank’s eyes darted up towards the sound; in that second, Bullseye swept his legs over Frank’s, Frank’s body hitting the linoleum quickly. Bullseye pounced on top of Frank, smiling down on him, raising a fist and whispering,
“You’re too easy, Frankie.”
Bullseye laid into Frank again, the two rolling around the floor shifting the dominance of the fight. Suddenly, as he was on top again, Bullseye raised the pointed index finger of his left hand and looked up.
“Oh! Wait!” he rushed in a whisper. With his other hand, he pulled out a black rectangle from his back pocket, and as Frank reached up for another punch, Bullseye jammed the box into Frank’s neck. A disabling surge ran through every neuron, every muscle of Frank’s body, and he couldn’t find the strength within him even to yell. Frank heaved on the ground, unable to move or stand, although all he craved was one shot through that bastard’s skull, to pull his intestines from him and hang him out the window. Bullseye hovered over him as he could hear Karen’s calculated footsteps coming closer to the room. He whispered as he pointed out the door, motioning down the hall,
“You’re only alive right now because when your little girly makes it back down here, I’m gonna do her in right here in front of you. If I have to tase you all goddamn night before I do, that’s fine with me..." He snickered as we wagged his finger at the doorframe. "But I'm gonna do it right there. Right here, you've got a perfect view, it'll be... ugh, it'll be so romantic. Then..." Bullseye flicked his fingers on Frank's temple. "I'm gonna shoot ya' in the head! For bein' a no-good, pryin' son of a bitch!" He reached over, grabbing a thick chunk of Frank's cheeks between his fingers and pinching. "Take you home to see the kids, huh?"
Frank, gaining sensation back in at least his lower body, attempted to lift his heavy boot at Bullseye, but Bullseye brought the taser down upon his neck again. Frank felt half-dead as he lay there, watching Bullseye rise, pressing his bony finger to his lips, carefully tiptoeing towards the door. Frank could hear Karen's shoes peeling off the floor, only fifteen, twenty feet down the hall now. Frank couldn't feel any part of his body, but tried in any way he could to move, to run up behind that piece of shit and rip him to apart until he was left in scraps, to keep him from getting to Karen. God dammit, he thought, why was she coming back? It all built up inside him, spilling out from his eyes, and he waited and waited for the strength to charge, hoping it didn't come too late.
* * *
Karen walked down the hallways, moving her legs as stealthfully, efficiently, as silently as possible. She clasped the Billy Club fixedly in both hands, feeling it slide about freely as her palms were sweating. From far down the hall, Karen could hear a fight in Foggy's room, some whispers, an odd zapping noise, and then nothing. She froze for a moment, trying to compose herself. Breathe in, breathe out, come on, Karen, you have to do this. Frank is in danger. She pressed on, inching closer and closer to the room, still unable to hear anything. As she was about ten feet away, against her better judgement, she called again.
"Frank?" she whispered. She pressed her body along the wall near the door trying to stay hidden. There was no response. Shit, Karen thought. She stepped again towards the door frame. Taking another deep breathe in, she leaned over to peer inside the room. She saw only Frank lying immobile on the ground. His eyes flared at her wildly, his mouth open, tears in his eyes. Karen lost all sense of discretion and rushed towards him.
"Frank!" she yelled. As she approached, Frank let out an urgent, guttural moan, vaguely sounding to Karen like a distorted, "no".
A long arm reached from behind Karen and twisted around her neck. Frank was groaning uncontrollably, seemingly unable to pick himself off the floor. Karen choked as a voice behind her said.
"I think I'm the one who's gonna be punishin' you tonight, sound alright sweetheart?" Karen felt a tongue scrape against her ear. Instinctively she stomped down hard onto the man's foot. His arm fell, and Karen turned to face him finally. Bullseye. Karen thought his name sounded much tougher than he actually looked. He was tall, very thin it seemed, but he felt stronger than he appeared. His gaunt face was twisted into a vile, ugly smile as he laughed on at her. His eyes bored into Karen predatorily, his tongue tracing the space in between his crooked teeth as he grinned at her. Bullseye held out his arms, beckoning her to him with his hands, puckering his lips over and over at her. Karen thrust the Billy Club into Bullseye's groin, and he doubled over in pain. As he was bent, Karen swung the club over his head. He fell to the floor, and Karen rushed back over to aid Frank.
"Frank, are you alright?!" she cried. Frank looked up at her, trying again to say something to her, but could only speak as if his mouth was full.
"Ge.... owww..." he groaned. It was then Karen noticed the marks, two little red dots on his neck. Karen understood now; it was the vestige of a taser. She looked Frank up and down. His feet were swinging back and forth erratically.
Karen felt Bullseye grab the back of her neck and shirt, and he picked her up, flinging her across the room back towards the door, onto her back. She still had the club in her hand, and as she landed on the ground, the force of impact triggered something in the club. Karen watched as the club stretched itself, turning into what she recognized as Matt's walking stick. As Bullseye charged at her, Karen lifted the open club, sticking it into Bullseye's eye like a javelin. As he recoiled in pain, she swatted him in the ear with it. He fumbled about disoriented, and Karen caught sight of a stray gun, one of the guns Frank had once been tinkering with in his gun closet. She rolled over and crawled towards it, but again Bullseye lunged at her, this time landing directly on top of her. She grabbed a full hand of her hair, yanking it up so that as her body was pinned, her head was raised off the ground. With his other hand, he pulled a gun to her temple.
"Fine," Bullseye huffed. "You wanna go now? You'll go no..."
A shot laid into Bullseye's arm, knocking him off of Karen and back out into the hallways. Karen turned to see Frank, crouched down under the window, his gun drawn at Bullseye. He stood, but Karen could see he was still weak, and his limbs were trembling.
"Karen, GET OUT!" he yelled clearly. He fired again. this time into Bullseye's leg. Karen inched herself closer to Frank, hoping to grab him and escape through the window, but from the hallway, Bullseye cackled again, his sharp profile pointed down the hall.
"You wanna go first, huh,?" he asked groggily. He smiled widely. With the gun he had prepared for Karen, he swung his arm around, seemingly firing before the gun was fully extended in their direction, Karen thought. Still, for reasons Karen didn't wholeheartedly accept yet, she found herself lifting off of her feet and diving on top of Frank. Mid-air, she felt the bullet pierce into her shoulder, a violent sting laying sharply into her skin.
"KAREN!" Frank screamed at her as they lay on the floor. His arms wrapped themselves tightly around her torso; he was back to nearly-full strength, Karen thought. From down the hall, they heard voices shouting.
"Police, drop your weapons!" Bullseye looked over at the police, apparently approaching. Gunfire ensued. Karen was losing blood, and sunk weakly into Frank's chest.
"Karen, get up," Frank said urgently, his voice shaking. "We need to leave. Can you stand up?"
Karen didn't answer him; rather, she just stood, confused, in pain, and very groggy. Frank pulled her outside through the broken windowpane and out into a back alley. The rest became a blur to Karen. She vaguely recognized that she was being pulled behind cars and trashcans, through every dark corner of Hell's Kitchen, but eventually she lost consciousness.
* * *
Karen awoke, rested upon her good shoulder, tired and dehydrated. She was back in Frank's apartment, on his mattress. She lifted her head and wiggled around slightly, trying to regain her bearings. She looked down at herself; she was wearing a different shirt then she had been at the hospital, a grey, laced-trimmed tank top. The olive shirt she was wearing was now tied onto her wounded shoulder. She lifted it carefully with her finger, trying to peer under it. The bullet hole was stitched up, the bullet assumed removed. Karen didn't understand how she hadn't felt any of that as she was out. Then again, the entire situation was new to her, and unwelcome, so she didn't harp on it.
"Why the hell would you do that?"
Karen hoisted herself up on one arm, turning herself over to see Frank, sitting at the foot of the bed, looking down at her from a chair he'd pulled over. He covered his mouth in his hands, his expression uncharacteristically blank, his stare focused on the ground, trying to contain himself from something.
“Do what?” Karen whispered.
“YOU KNOW DAMN WELL WHAT!” Frank shouted. He sprung up off his seat, kicking his chair back like a horse, breaking it into a few pieces. “WHY WOULD YOU TAKE THAT SHOT, HUH? YOU WERE JUST GONNA LAY DOWN AND DIE LIKE THAT? AFTER ALL I BEEN DOIN’ FOR YOU?
“Frank,” Karen was still whispering. “Frank, Bullseye, what happened to him?”
“FUCK Bullseye, Karen!”
Frank inched himself towards the bed, walking into the glare of an outside street lamp. Frank hadn’t even bothered to wash the blood off his own face, Karen saw. He had open cuts all over his face, his left eye was almost completely shut from the swelling. Karen gaped at him. He was absolutely fuming with anger. It hit Karen then. It became very clear what was happening here, the whole thing, all the way from the beginning. She stood up on the mattress, walking herself over to the hardwood floor. How Frank knew she’d be attacked by Fisk’s men, why they’d established this unspoken vow of comradery. She stepped towards Frank, his bottom teeth jutting out in an underbite, chewing his lip again. Why he didn’t even bother to stitch his own face, why she herself jumped in the way to guard him in his weakened state. It was all clear.
“What was I supposed to do, huh?” he asked. “If he got you… what was I supposed to do?”
Karen stood only inches in front of Frank now. His breathing was labored, and Karen could feel the heat enter her parted lips, through her teeth. He looked on at her, the same wild eyes she’d come to always expect. They begged her for a response, perhaps for validation, Karen thought. She wouldn’t answer, instead raising her pale hands to perch atop his shoulders. His face softened in fear, his eyes remaining crazed. Karen had no words; how could one explain what was happening here? She raised her hands to the curve of his bloody neck, stroking it with her thumbs. Before she could stop herself, she rushed forwards and kissed him passionately, every atom in her body swirling with an asphyxiating sense of fear. She pulled back looking again up at Frank’s eyes. He looked stunned, his breathing quicker than it had ever been now. His expression didn’t change as he raised his hands to Karen’s waist, at first tracing the outline of her with his rough fingertips. He kissed her next, his hands now grabbing at her back, pulling her closer to his chest, his tattering clothes. Karen flung her arms around his neck as the force he pressed against her flung the two of them towards the wall. Karen felt the certain, curious sensation of his tongue over her own as she ran his fingers through the sweat and dirt in his hair. She tasted the blood in his mouth. His hands left her body and planted against the wall on either side of her head. Frank pulled back, the two now only centimeters away from each other. Karen heard the faintest of grunts escape from Frank’s lips, and she opened her eyes. Frank stood there, his eyes forced shut, his mouth pursed tightly.
“Frank,” Karen whispered.
With his eyes still closed, Frank grunted even louder. Suddenly, the hand at Karen’s left ripped off the wall and planted back down with a hard, rageful fist, cracking the paint on the wall, chips of drywall falling everywhere. He flung himself off of her and out into the middle of the kitchen.
“Frank?” Karen called. Frank paced frantically through the room, back and forth, back and forth, like a maniac. Karen took a step towards him, hoping to get to him to calm down somehow, but Frank extended a forceful palm in her direction, looking at her again insanely.
“You shouldn’t have done that…” he said sternly. He paced backwards, and quickly barged outside of the apartment. Karen was utterly perplexed, her shoulders falling, her breathing regulated again. She swallowed hard, tucking her hair behind her ears, and headed into the bathroom with her arms folded over her chest. She turned on the dim, dusty yellow light and looked at herself in the mirror. Frank’s dried blood was left in streaks across her face. She traced the marks it left, kicking herself a little for her actions, feeling exposed. She only felt reprieve hoping, or rather knowing, that he did too.