The news coverage is relentless. Frank and Mary's faces are plastered across television screens, newspapers, and digital billboards throughout the city. They've become the prime suspects in a high-profile case, and the city is buzzing with the urgency of their capture.

Frank somehow still trusts Billy Russo, yet the phone call he makes proves to be their downfall. Frank wanted to warn Billy that Lewis is on the way and is ready to kill anybody who stands in his way. All Frank wanted was to protect Karen and the senator... yet Karen ends up with a gun to her head by the madman himself.

The Anvil agents stand in the hallway of the hotel, guns drawn as Lewis yells at them to drop them, or else he'll pull the trigger on his bomb. Mary and Frank stand on the opposite side of the hallway, calmly watching the entire thing go down.

One wrong move and everybody dies.

An elevator dings in the distance, signaling Lewis' escape route. The Anvil agents, loyal to Billy Russo's orders, appear in the hallway. Their guns are trained on Frank, ready to open fire at a moment's notice.

A tense silence descends upon the room. Frank's mind races, considering every possible move. The elevator doors slide open, and Lewis ushers Karen inside, the cold metallic surface reflecting the urgency of the moment.

The moment the doors shut, the Avil agents draw their guns on Frank and Mary, who immediately run down the hallway to avoid the oncoming slaughter. Frank takes a hit to the back since he's the slower runner between the two, and ends up slinging a dead body over his shoulders as a makeshift shield, only for him to toss the body back to the ground once he turns a corner.

The next turn reveals a stairwell, a potential escape route. Frank and Mary rush down the stairs, the sound of gunfire fading as they descend. The hotel, now a battleground of shadows and echoes, becomes the stage for their desperate pursuit.

Their backs press against the cool metal wall, guns drawn and pressed closely to their chests as they take a moment to catch their breaths.

" I fucking hate you," Mary whispers.

" Hate me later," Frank mutters back.

Down and down they go. Down the stairs and skipping steps as they run as fast as they can, desperate to flee and desperate to kill the man threatening Karen's life. But as they pass by another door to a random floor, it opens, and outsteps a woman with a gun.

" Frank Castle, Maryshka Kravchenko, drop the weapons."

Mary and Frank are brought to a searing halt as none other than Agent Dinah Madani stands behind them with her gun drawn.

" This isn't on us, Madani. None of it," Frank utters through his pants.

" I believe you. Now drop your weapon," The agent instructs

" That's not gonna happen. You're just gonna have to let this go," He says.

" No. No, I'm not gonna let this go," Dinah counters," You're gonna stand up in court and tell the world about Cerberus, Rawlins, everything. We want the same people. We want the same thing."

" You've been talking to somebody I know, huh?" Frank sighs.

In an act of either bravery or stupidity, Mary takes a step down the stairs, expecting Frank to follow her, only to be stopped by Dinah firing a warning shot.

" Let's get one thing straight," Frank growls as his grip around his gun tightens," Your issue is with me, not her. So you aim that gun at her one more time... we're gonna have a much bigger problem," he turns around and walks up the stairs, getting close enough to press the barrel of Madani's gun to his forehead," You're gonna shoot me, shoot me. Yeah? We're gonna walk down those steps. You do what you gotta do."

The first shot echoes through the corridor, and time seems to slow. Frank turns, attempting to dodge the bullet, but it grazes the side of his head. The impact sends him stumbling back down the steps, the world spinning around him.

"Frank!" Mary's voice cuts through the haze as she rushes to his side.

" What the hell are you doing? Stand down!"

" He was gonna shoot you!"

" This is my prisoner, Russo! Stand down, or I'll charge you with obstruction. Why are you still pointing that gun at me?"

" I am trying to save your life!"

The name and voice sound eerily familiar to both Mary and Frank. Mary's hand is stained in Frank's blood as she holds his head in her hands and both of their heads looking up the stairwell at the same time.

" Bill?"

Mary's eyes widen at the realization and her heart tightens in her chest. Billy Russo, Frank's best friend... is the man she met at the gala.

" Motherfucker," Mary mutters to herself, looking up at the same smug face from the gala as he points the gun at both her and Frank.

The gun is then pointed at Dinah, as if to force her to stand down and walk away, but the police bust in before either have the time to budge. Both Billy and Dinah are apprehended, taking away by screaming police officers, leaving both Frank and Mary in the stairwell, looking up at where Billy once stood.

Everything bubbles together for them. Everything enrages them.

The stranger from the gala, the man who knew too much information and the man whom was like a brother... is a traitor. Billy Russo is many things, but most of all... he's a dead man.

Neither Mary nor Frank allow themselves to be apprehended. Instead, they fight their way through the barrage of police officers, both consumed with the fiery flames of vengeance.

Frank's arm takes a beating as he trips and falls down the stairs once more, leaving Mary to grab the back of his shirt and pull him out of the stairwell. It leaves Mary to lead the charge to save Karen.

She kicks through one of the double doors that leads to the kitchen, where they come across the bomber, Lewis, and his hostage, Karen.

Their anger and adrenaline is flooding their bodies, almost clouding their judgments as they watch the tears spill from Karen's scared eyes. Reasoning can only get them so far, but it's the only option they've got. Frank tries to reason with the kid yet again, and tries to get him to let Karen go. For once, Frank deals with the situation with his words, not with his fists.

Almost as if he's actually listening to the advice Mary gave.

The timing works perfectly. Karen pulls the wire to disarm the bomb, as well as grab the gun in her purse. With a head nod from Mary serving as the signal, Karen pulls the trigger and shoots the bomber in the foot. Mary rushes to grab Karen, and Frank rushes to grab the kid.

The bomber locks himself in the walk-in freezer, sobbing his eyes out as Frank pounds on the thick metal door. From within the freezer, Lewis rewires the bomb, closing his eyes as he repeats some words of wisdom from his former CO.

The bomb goes off, and the three of them get knocked down to the ground after the blast. After struggling to open her eyes and hearing the ringing in her ears, Mary keeps her eyes flickering between both Karen and Frank, one of them scared and bruised from being a hostage, and the other bleeding from the head after being shot.

One of her hands stretches out to Frank, ignoring the pains in her body as she shakes him till he opens his eyes, and the other hand goes to Karen, gently brushing the blonde hair from her face to check for signs of life.

But as Mary help them stand, the kitchen is then flooded with the exact people they're trying to get away from.

And if the cops think that Mary and Frank are the bad guys, then so be it.

In order to safely make their way to the elevator, Mary presses a gun to Karen's temple as Frank points his gun at the cops. They shuffle over to the elevator and quickly step inside, keeping their guns drawn until the doors close. Mary instantly drops the gun, letting it fall to the ground as her hands go up to cup Karen's face.

" You're okay?" Mary asks, both asking Karen as well as herself," You're okay.... you're okay."

" I'm okay," Karen nods in acknowledgment," I'm okay."

" She's okay," Frank adds, his body slumped over as he manages just the slightest smile, feeling accomplished that he could finally save at least one person important to him.

The emergency switch is pulled, stopping the elevator from moving as they each pant, their breaths lose and rigid as the blood continues to spill from Frank's head, painting his clothes and body a nasty red.

They take a moment for themselves, standing in a semi-circle as they breathe as one. For Frank, Karen is reminiscent of the daughter he lost. And for Mary... Karen is reminiscent of the sister she lost.

For that's the reason why Karen has a special place in each of their hearts... she represents the lives that neither Frank nor Mary were able to save, the lives the suffered the loss of, and the lives they mourned. And today, it's as if they were given a second chance. A chance to finally save instead of lose.

Mary gives Frank a boost to climb out of the elevator roof before she jumps up and pulls herself up to the elevator shaft, leading the way for both her and Frank to make their escape.

Mary leads Frank through the shadowy streets, his arm slung around her shoulder for support. The van looms in the distance, a refuge from the chaos left behind.

Mary guides Frank to the back of the van, the dim light revealing the extent of his injuries. Blood mingles with the dirt on his face, and a broken bone in his arm adds to the toll exacted by the night's events. Mary gently removes his blood-stained jacket, exposing the wounds that bear witness to a night filled with betrayal.

Silence hangs in the air, thick with unspoken emotions. Mary moves with a tenderness that belies her hardened exterior and retrieves a first aid kit,

With a soft touch, Mary begins the meticulous task of cleaning Frank's wounds. The alcohol-soaked cotton swabs sting as they make contact, but Frank grits his teeth and endures. The silence between them is broken only by the distant sounds of the city and the rhythmic cadence of their shared breaths.

"Sorry about the rough patch," Mary finally speaks, her gaze fixed on her task, "I know you're not used to playing the damsel in distress."

Frank manages a faint smile, "Not the first time, won't be the last."

Mary's fingers, steady and sure, trace the contours of Frank's face, her touch a balm to the wounds both seen and unseen. The intimacy of the moment transcends the physical act of tending to injuries; it's a connection forged in the crucible of shared pain and vulnerability.

"You wanna talk about it?" Mary asks, her eyes meeting Frank's, a silent invitation to lay bare the turmoil within.

Frank hesitates, the weight of betrayal heavy on his shoulders.

"Bill..." He starts, his voice a gravelly murmur, "I never saw it coming. Not from him."

Mary listens in silence, the unspoken understanding between them creating a space where Frank can lay bare the wounds of his shattered trust.

"He was like a brother to me," Frank continues, his words a raw admission, "We went through hell together, survived things that would break other men. And now..."

The shattered pieces of trust are scattered like debris in the aftermath of an explosion, and Frank grapples with the reality that his closest ally, the person he considered family, is the architect of his current agony.

"He shot me," Frank whispers, the revelation a heavy confession.

Mary's eyes reflect a depth of understanding as she listens to the shattered fragments of Frank's world and continues her ministrations, her hands moving with a gentle precision.

"People change," She says softly.

A silence settles over them, the weight of unspoken emotions hanging in the air. Mary finishes cleaning Frank's wounds, her gaze holding a depth of compassion that transcends the scars etched into his skin.

" You were right," Frank says, his voice carrying a mixture of gratitude and pain," I never should have trusted him."

" You didn't know," Mary softly utters, her eyes conveying a gentle kindness that hide the truth.

The truth about her previous encounter with Russo and her knowledge of what exactly Operation Cerberus was about. Sure, the drug trafficking is something known to Frank, but he has no idea about the human trafficking... how could he? He was never part of that, he never saw anything or heard anything that would have steered him in that direction.

The truth about her encounter with Billy Russo at the gala, the whispers of the Red Room, and the clandestine operations she'd been a part of are locked behind the steel door of her resolve.

Frank's gaze lingers on her face, searching for answers he may never find. The bond between them is a tapestry woven with threads of shared pain, yet Mary holds back the details that could unravel the delicate balance they've built.

The van, filled with the hushed sounds of their breaths and the distant city murmurs, becomes a sanctuary for their unspoken truths. Frank leans back, the silence between them stretching into an intimate tapestry.

Mary chooses the power of silence over the vulnerability of words, knowing that some truths are best left untouched. Her gaze, a storm of emotions locked behind a composed exterior, meets Frank's with an unwavering intensity.

Mary leans in, her lips brushing against Frank's forehead in a gesture that transcends the need for explanations. It's a silent reassurance, an acknowledgment of the shared battles that have shaped them.

The engine purrs to life as Mary slides into the driver's seat, the van's tires rolling over the asphalt, leaving the tumultuous night behind. The soft hum of the vehicle becomes a lullaby, and the rhythmic journey is a respite from the chaos they've weathered. Frank lies in the back, the dim light revealing the lines etched into his face, a testament to the trials they've faced together.

Mary glances at the rearview mirror, catching Frank's gaze in its reflection. His eyes, a storm of emotions, meet hers, and for a moment, the weight of unspoken words hangs in the air.

The van glides through the empty streets, and as the cityscape unfolds before them, a strange sense of tranquility settles within the confines of the vehicle. The night holds a quiet beauty, a canvas painted with the remnants of chaos and the promise of a new dawn.

The silence between them isn't awkward; it's a comfortable companion, a shared space where words, at times, only serve to complicate the simplicity of connection.

Mary steals another glance at Frank, his eyes now fixed on the ceiling of the van. The gentle rise and fall of his chest, a rhythmic dance with the road beneath them, creates a calming cadence.

"You saved my life back there," Frank breaks the silence, his words hanging in the air like a fragile truth.

Mary glances at him again, her eyes softening with a tenderness rarely seen, "We watch each other's backs."

He nods, a quiet acknowledgment of the unspoken bond they share. The van cruises through the city, each passing block bringing them closer to Lieberman's garage—a haven where the wounds, both physical and emotional, can be tended to.

As Mary navigates the streets with a practiced ease, the glow of the dashboard illuminates her features. The lines of determination etched into her face soften, revealing a vulnerability that transcends the mask of a skilled operative.

As they approach Lieberman's garage, Mary glances at Frank through the rearview mirror, a subtle nod indicating their imminent arrival. The van pulls into the concealed entrance, the large garage door sliding open to welcome them into the hidden sanctuary.

Once inside, Mary cuts the engine, and the sudden stillness is a stark contrast to the chaos they've left behind. Frank sits up in the back, the dim interior casting shadows on his battered face. Mary turns to face him, the weariness etched into her features softened by the subdued lighting.

"Can you walk?" Mary asks, her concern palpable.

"Yeah," Frank grunts as he pushes himself upright, his movements betraying the stiffness of his injuries.

Mary steps out of the van, holding the door open for Frank. As he descends from the back, their eyes meet in a moment of shared understanding—the kind that transcends spoken words.

The garage, a sanctuary of tools and hidden endeavors, envelops them in a cocoon of familiarity. Lieberman, the orchestrator of their covert operations, emerges from the shadows, concern etched into the lines of his face.

"What the hell happened?" Lieberman exclaims.

But he gets no response. Frank opts for the sound of silence as he hobbles his broken body into the restrooms where he can shower and wash off the blood, leaving Lieberman to look at Mary.

" Billy Russo," She responds.

" Did... that?" Lieberman asks, eyes wide as he points to where Frank is, to which he gets a nod in response," Holy shit."

" I know."

Lieberman, with a brisk nod, directs his attention to Mary, "And you? Are you okay?"

Mary, who hadn't realized the extent of her own injuries until now, glances down at herself. A small, unnoticed wound on her side has stained her clothing. The adrenaline that fueled her during the intense ordeal is now replaced by the throbbing awareness of pain.

"I'm fine," She dismisses, her tone betraying a hint of defiance, but Lieberman's gaze doesn't waver.

"You're bleeding," He observes, his concern cutting through any attempts to downplay the situation.

Mary glances at the wound, seemingly surprised by its existence. The adrenaline crash has brought forth the reminders of her own vulnerability. She shrugs, her demeanor attempting to mask any hint of discomfort.

"It's nothing," She insists.

Lieberman, unfazed by her attempts to deflect, gestures toward a makeshift medical area in the corner of the garage, "Sit down. Let me take a look at that."

Mary hesitates for a moment, her reluctance giving way to the realization that perhaps she does need a moment of care. She takes a seat on a sturdy worktable as Lieberman retrieves the first aid kit.

The garage is filled with a comfortable yet anticipatory quiet as the sound of water cascading down in the adjacent restroom indicates Frank's attempt to wash away the night's grime.

He assesses, cleaning the area with gentle precision, "You got lucky."

Mary lets out a barely perceptible scoff. Luck, in her world, is a scarce commodity. As Lieberman continues his work, the dim light of the garage casts a soft glow on their surroundings, creating an atmosphere of sanctuary amidst the hidden chaos.

Lieberman works with a focused precision, his hands moving deftly as he tends to Mary's wound. Mary watches him, her guarded exterior momentarily softened by the care he's offering. In the subdued light, the lines on Lieberman's face reveal a weariness that mirrors her own, a shared acknowledgment of the toll their clandestine activities exact.

"You know," Lieberman begins, his voice carrying a hint of camaraderie, "we make quite the team, huh?"

Mary raises an eyebrow, her lips twitching, a reluctant smile breaking through her stoic facade. Lieberman seizes the opportunity to press on, his enthusiasm undeterred.

"You and Frank, a duo. Like Bonnie and Clyde, but, you know, with less robbing and more righteous vengeance."

Mary, despite herself, can't help but chuckle at Lieberman's analogy. The tension that had gripped her gradually loosens its hold as a genuine smile forms on her face.

"Bonnie and Clyde, huh?" She echoes, shaking her head in amusement, "Never thought I'd be part of a duo with anyone, let alone Frank Castle."

Lieberman grins, the shared laughter echoing in the garage like a brief respite from the shadows they navigate. He finishes cleaning and bandaging Mary's wound, his hands working with a gentleness that contradicts the grim world they inhabit. But as Mary continues to look over at Lieberman, her smile slowly fades.

" How's your family, David?" She softly asks.

And Lieberman pauses, not expecting to hear such a question," I think they'll be okay. I'm always keeping tabs on them, you know."

" I saw your kids on the monitor the other day," Mary continues," I can't imagine how hard this is for you."

" Yeah, well, as long as they're safe," He clears his throat before he takes a step back," All done."

The low hum of fluorescent lights bathes the room where Frank and Mary huddle over a cluttered table, maps and blueprints sprawled before them. The room echoes with a tension that mirrors the gravity of their mission. The footage on the screen, though delayed, captures the moment Lieberman's wife and daughter are taken, frozen in a cruel tableau of betrayal.

Frank watches the screen with a steely gaze, jaw clenched in restrained fury. Beside him, Mary studies the footage with a focused intensity, her mind calculating the next move. The knowledge that Micro's daughter, Leo, managed to escape the clutches of Russo and Rawlins offers a thin strand of solace in the midst of the overwhelming darkness.

The room, filled with the hum of electronics and the scent of tension, becomes a staging ground for their counteroffensive. Frank's mind churns with the need for retribution, his every instinct pushing him to confront Russo head-on. Mary, more pragmatic, focuses on the strategic advantage they can gain by setting a trap.

As they plan, the hours slip away, the darkness outside the windows deepening. The glow of the computer screens casts an otherworldly hue on their faces, shadows dancing in the corners of the room. Frank and Mary move with a synchronized efficiency, each aware of the other's skills and the need for a seamless execution.

Mary reaches for a bag beside her, pulling out an assortment of weapons and gadgets.

The room transforms into a makeshift arsenal, a testament to the skills and experience of those who inhabit it. Guns are cleaned and loaded, tactical vests strapped on, and a quiet intensity hangs in the air. The delay in the footage serves as a cruel reminder, a countdown to the inevitable clash with Russo's forces.

As Frank and Mary prepare, Lieberman slips out of the base, driven by a desperate need to ensure his daughter's safety. The night outside is silent, shadows cloaking the movements of the lone figure making his way through the city. Every step he takes is laden with the weight of responsibility, a father's determination to shield his child from the horrors that encircle them.

Meanwhile, in the base, the minutes stretch into an eternity. Frank checks and rechecks his weapons, a ritual of readiness etched into his muscle memory. Mary, her eyes focused on the monitors, monitors both the outside world and the storm brewing within. The anticipation is a tangible force, a current that binds them together in purpose.

Outside, David reaches his daughter, the reunion tinged with the bittersweet awareness that their safety is temporary. Leo, resilient like her father, listens as David explains the plan. They share a moment, a fragment of normalcy in a life marred by shadows.

Back at the base, Frank and Mary wait in the hushed tension, the minutes ticking away. The screens flicker with images of deserted streets, the silence broken only by the distant sounds of the city. The trap is set, the pieces in place, and the room becomes a crucible where the past and the future collide.

In the darkened corners of the city, Russo's goons move with a false sense of confidence, unaware of the storm gathering in their midst. The night holds its breath, waiting for the inevitable clash that will echo through the labyrinthine streets.

And within the base, Frank and Mary, bound by a shared purpose, brace for the storm that approaches, their weapons poised, and their resolve unyielding. The delay in the footage becomes an echo of time, a suspended breath before the plunge into the chaos that awaits.

The night is a canvas of shadows, punctuated by the distant glow of city lights. The base, a fortress of secrets, stands cloaked in darkness. Frank and Mary, armed to the teeth, move with silent purpose, their steps echoing in the quiet corridors. The anticipation of the impending clash with Russo's goons hangs in the air, a taut wire ready to snap.

The surveillance screens flicker to life, revealing the advancing squadron of mercenaries. Frank's jaw tightens as he watches the live feed, the knowledge of their ruthlessness etched into his expression. Mary, her eyes sharp and focused, glances at Frank. There's a shared understanding; this is a battle they can't afford to lose.

As the first wave of goons breaches the perimeter, the base erupts into chaos. The initial skirmish is swift and brutal. Frank and Mary move in seamless coordination, their training and instinct guiding every strike and shot. The metallic scent of blood mingles with the acrid tang of gunpowder, and the corridors become a battleground of shadows.

Mary, a whirlwind of lethal precision, dispatches foes with calculated efficiency. Frank, his movements economical and lethal, plows through the onslaught. The clash is a symphony of violence, the harsh staccato of gunfire and the muted thuds of bodies hitting the ground composing a macabre harmony.

The goons, initially confident, find themselves outmatched by the relentless duo. The element of surprise slips away, replaced by a growing desperation. Frank and Mary, unyielding in their pursuit, systematically dismantle Russo's invading force. The base, their sanctuary, becomes a graveyard for the mercenaries foolish enough to cross their path.

As the last soldier falls, the silence returns, broken only by the ragged breaths of the victors. Frank, bloodied but resolute, steps over the fallen bodies to reach the control room. The phone, taken from the final adversary, lies on a console. Frank's fingers dance over the screen as he dials a number etched into his memory.

Billy Russo picks up after the first ring, his voice a cold echo through the line, "Frank?"

" You know, the Billy Russo I knew... oh, he'd have the balls to come himself, you know?"

" Yeah, well, I got staff for that these days, Frank. You know the saying about having a dog and barking yourself?"

" Someday, sometime, this is gonna come down to you and me. Just know that, Bill."

" No, it isn't. You're a wanted man, Frankie Boy. They'll catch up to you eventually. Just like the last time."

" The woman and the kid, where are they?"

" Oh, they're with me. Right here. Safe and sound. Unless I say otherwise."

" He's got everything, Bill. Lieberman, he's got everything on you. I'mma tell you right now, anything happens to that family... whole world will see it. The whole world, Bill. After that, you'll be done."

" And Zach and Sarah will be dead. You want that family back... I want Lieberman, and I want you... and I want the girl."

" That sounds about right."

" I'll set up the exchange, then. If that's all right with you."

" Yeah, you got my number, Bill."

Frank hangs up the phone, his eyes flickering up to meet with Mary, who stands covered in blood, both hers and not as her chest heaves with anguish. Mary stands with eyes ablaze, a fury and fire deep within her soul that very few have seen.

The Red Widow.

And after cleaning up, they both head to the meetup point, knocking on the window of the van where David and his daughter sit. The little girl is confused, for she knows the man before her as Pete, the guy her mom hit with her car, and not Frank, the guy who's really good at killing people.

" What's she doing here?" David asks as he stares the Homeland agent in the face.

" It's okay. I called her," Frank says," How about it, Madani? You gonna pull your weapon on me again?"

" Do I have to?" Dinah asks.

And then, Frank looks down at the little girl," Hey. You did good, kid."

" You knew he was alive all this time?" She asks.

" Yeah," He sighs," I'm sorry about that. "

" I don't know what to call you now," Leo says," It seems stupid to call you Pete."

" I'm Frank. Frank Castle," He smiles

" He's a lot scarier than Pete," She sighs.

David adds as he points to the Widow," And that, is Mary," then leans down to whisper," She's Frank's girlfriend."

" Not his girlfriend."

" Not my girlfriend."

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