stands_for_hope | Clark and Karen

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bakerstreet

Clark and Karen | Continuation Thread

The problem with organized crime was that when a leader fell, all it did was create a power vacuum. Criminals were people as much as anyone else, and amongst them were people who wanted to climb to the top and others that desperately wanted someone to tell them what to do and how to succeed.

With the damage done by the Battle of New York and the 'war' that had been waged between the Devil of Hell's Kitchen and the now-unmasked Wilton Fisk, the field had been left ripe for the picking in more than one way and the cream of the crop of the organized crime syndicates had noticed.

Bruno Mannheim didn't even try to play the philanthropist. No, he was there for one reason and one reason only: easy pickings. And that was why it was getting increasingly dangerous out there for the uniformed crime fighters... and their non-uniformed vigilante assistants. Criminals with guns that reminded them more of the kind of weapons the Chitauri had brought with them. Criminals with allies in other towns, alibis in other places. Nasty on all levels.

Which was why Clark came home that night and headed for his laptop instead of his favorite book. It seemed this journalist was going to have some work cut out for him after all here in New York.

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Karen got home from work about an hour later, and instantly started in on an apology because she had promised Clark dinner the night before. Walking into the apartment, she put down her purse, and her coat, before she made her way over to Clark.

"Hey there, sorry I'm late. We had a monster case come in around noon, and had a ton of paperwork to get done. What are you doing? You look so intent," she said softly, moving to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

"Want me to call out for dinner? I'm starving," she said over her shoulder as she went to the bedroom to undress.

It took him a moment to pull himself out of his writing and his research, but once she pressed the kiss to his cheek, he startled awake.

"Dinner?" came out first before he realized it'd been hours. Technically, he could do without food if he'd had enough sunlight but he usually liked to eat. And Karen definitely needed to eat. Wait, there'd been another question.

"Sorry," he said with a sigh as he gestured to his laptop. "I just... got onto a story and started working. I think I've been researching since... nine, maybe? But we can do dinner."

Wait, there'd been more.

"Monster case?"

She came back out in her pajama's, and walked back over to where Clark was sitting, "wow, you've been at it for a long time. I can let you get back to it, I can call in some food, watch some television. This seems like it is eating your brain, I know how that goes," she said in a soft, but warm tone.

He asked about the case, and she sighed deeply. "Yeah, we got a visit from a few people that live in a rent controlled building, it's been this way for years. Well, the new owner is trying to throw everyone out on their asses so he can renovate the apartments, and get in a higher class of people. There was no eviction notice, no legal procedure, no police procedure, but they have also been having a really bad criminal element loitering around the building. It's gotten to the point where there were shots fired, and someone got hurt, and then someone came to the apartment with money in a briefcase, trying to pay them off before they filed any reports. They didn't take the money, but they wanted too. They said it could have set them up for life, but it was the principal of the thing," she sighed heavily, and cracked her knuckles because her hands were so sore. "They don't know where this element is coming from, but when anyone gets in the way, or asks questions, they get someone in their face with a gun, and a promise to kill them if they continue to make waves. They are all very nervous, and unsure what to do," she said finally, opening the fridge to grab a beer out of it.

That had him sitting up just a little, looking Karen up and down.

"Do you need my help with anything there? Either..." he glanced at his computer, "this kind of thing or..." there was a meaningful raise of one eyebrow. She knew he was a little more bulletproof than most.

Then he tilted his head to his screen.

"They may be connected anyway."

"In what regard?" She asked him with a quirked eyebrow. Did he mean with the case, of did she want him to go over there? "Are you asking me for the address? If so, I could get into a lot of trouble depending on what you planned to do?" She then took a healthy pull from her beer, looking thoughtful.

"They? What are you researching? Okay, pretend like you lost me, because you have," she said with a smile, "go back to the beginning, and tell me what you are thinking?" She moved to sit across from him, putting her feet up on his thighs.

He blinked a little and shook his head a little a he realized he hadn't explained anything. His head had just been so far into it he couldn't imagine anyone else not knowing.

"I've been noticing some movement in Intergang, specifically towards New York. It appears that they're using some of the insurance funds from the recovery efforts from the chitauri attack as well as the recent damage in Hell's Kitchen as a good entryway into the organized crime sector here."

He ran a hand through his hair.

"I did mention I'm usualy a reporter, right?"

"Yes, I remember that, but I wasn't sure what you were seeking as far as information, or what you were offering as help, Clark," she said warmly. She watched him intently for a few moments, taking another sip from her beer. Then she put the bottle down on the tabletop, and leaned forward.

"Okay, let's do this from the beginning. You are telling me that a new crime organization is encroaching on fertile lands that are ripe for the picking, yes? And you want to help? Right? Okay, what type of help are you offering them? To go down there, clean up the streets? Do you want to write a piece on the crime they are committing, and post it, do you want to do a combination?" She was up for helping, but she wanted to know where his head was at with all of this.

"Mostly, I'm offering help in whatever form you think you need," he said gently, trying to keep himself settled. The idea that these people were threatening people out of their homes--

"My research is open to your firm as you need it and if you feel unsafe..."

"Well, I think these people could use some help, there is no denying that, and as far as I am concerned, I can take care of myself. I mean, I may have to go there for some depositions, or something like that, but mostly the people will be coming to our offices," she looked thoughtful for a moment.

"I can't stop you from doing something, I know you want to help, and I want you to help in whatever capacity you can provide. I don't even know half the things you are capable of, Clark," she said gently. "Do you want the address?"

He quirked his lips from one side to the other before pulling up a couple of the files he'd been working on. One window opened and it showed a gun that was quite a ways away from your average .21 mm. Alien. Definitely some sort of advanced technology.

"This is what they've been dealing with," he said as he ran a hand through his hair, "which is why I'm concerned about you and your friends. From what I've been finding out, they're not much afraid of the law, and that includes lawyers."

He closed his laptop and turned around to face her properly, worry on his face.

"I want the address, yes. And I'm... honestly, Karen, I'm not sure of half the things I'm capable of, but I know there's a much better chance of me being able to walk off a bullet or... whatever those things fire than you or those tennants."

Edited 2015-06-06 23:33 (UTC)

Karen looked the picture over pretty intently, trying to see what it looked like, "wow, that looks like it could be--is something that could make things very interesting to say the least," she sighed, and moved to push a hand through her hair.

When he turned to her with that look on his face, her face twisted to match his worry.

"Then you have it, any, and all help you would need, Clark," she said intently, giving another sigh. "As far as writing a piece? Well, I used to help Ben Urich, but that was before he was murdered. I want to help you in any way that I can! But, I understand your worry, and if that is the case, I would love it if you came with me when I do my deposition work," she said softly, but now she was completely fired up to work on this problem.

"You have my help, in any way you possibly need me," she then stood to move over to her purse, pulling out a very thick book that held all of her addresses for work, and other intel that she needed to check out. There were tons of sticky notes plastered all over the inside of the book. She flipped through her address book, and handed it over to Clark; pointing out the address in her planner. "Here, it's this one," she said intently. "Want to go check it out tonight? I can get dressed."

He'd been about to thank her for letting him tag along when she' mentioned Ben Urich and he wouldn't have looked more shocked if she'd quite literally slapped him.

"You knew Ben Urich?"

There was no claiming ignorance of Ben Urich if you were a journalist, especially the kind that Clark had always worked to be. The idea that she'd known him, that she'd worked with him--

That she'd known him just before he'd been murdered...

"I'm... I'm sorry. I'm sorry for your loss. We all were. He was... honestly," he rubbed at his eyes, feeling a faint pinprick at the memory of the day he'd found out himself, "he was a loss for everyone. He was one of my personal heroes."

Knowing that Ben's murder was her own fault, Karen kind of paused and went a bit stiff, then she nodded a bit. She was feeling too emotional to actually speak up for a few moments.

"Yes, he was a very good friend of mine, and I mourned his passing deeply," she said stonily. Moving to stand, she downed the last of her beer,and went to the fridge to grab herself another one. Pulling the cap open, she went about drinking another huge pull from her newest beer.

"Thank you," she finally said, fully, and utterly defeated, she felt so fragile that she might break down and cry again. "I am sorry for you too," sorry that it was my fault he was murdered, which she left unsaid.

That definitely alerted him to something being wrong. That was... her body language, the stillness, the fluttering of her heart...

There was something else there but the reporter warred with the, well, with the boyfriend part of him when it came to squashing his desire to inquire further.

"Karen?"

She hadn't noticed his reaction, or she had and went about completely ignoring it, it was the gambler's choice at this point.

He says her name, and there is something in that one word that makes her stiffen further, and sigh heavily internally. She tried to act like she hadn't really noticed though, and as she looked down to her beer, and replied with a soft, "yes?"

"I'm not going to pry," he said slowly, holding his hands up, spreading them wide. He wanted her to know he'd never try and hurt her, "but I know something's wrong. And if there's anything I can do to help you with it, I will."

He tipped his chin towards the beer bottle.

"But that won't."

What does he even know? Can't a girl drink herself unconscious in peace? Well, that is what she wants to yell out, but she makes a sound, a mix of distress, and annoyance, and goes storming off into the other room. Flopping into the couch with her arms crossed over her chest, yes, she is sulking, but she is also really angry--but mostly at herself.

"Nothing's wrong," she mutters halfheartedly.

He can't help the eyebrow raise as he walks over behind her, the laptop forgotten. One thing he'd learned from his parents years ago was that you couldn't help anyone if there was a mess brewing at home. So that meant he had work to do here.

"Do you really want me to believe that?"

She didn't say anything for a long stretch of time, taking another deep pull from her beer, she rolled the bottle between her hands for a few moments. What could she say? What could she even do? And telling him was the farthest thing in the world that she wanted to do, just because she was so used to worrying about the people she did tell. Knowing that it could ruin their lives, and make them just as dead as Ben.

So, she just didn't say anything, breathing a bit awkwardly as she tried to not cry.

He walked around until he could face her, squatting down to see her face to face. He reached out a hand, offering it to her silently.

She closed her eyes, and moved to lean her cheek into his hand, putting her free hand under it to press it to her face.

She was still quiet, but she was unsure what to even say right then. What she should do, or how to act. She just wanted to feel his hand against her cheek for now.

He leaned in a little further, offering his arm then. He didn't know what precisely was wrong, but sometimes, all people needed was someone to be there.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, and just held him close for a while. It might take some time for her to be able to come completely clean. She was just very unsure, and worried that things could turn really dark for her still.

"I'm sorry, I am...I don't think I could explain, I am just--there is so much pain behind it, what happened. What I did," she said wearily.

"Then don't explain," he told her quietly, his other hand rising up to stroke her hair.

"If I'd realized it was such a sensitive topic, I wouldn't have made such a fuss over it."

"It's just... Ben, and I--we...he died, He died. It was me, he died because of me, it was my fault," she let it spill out without thinking.

She buried her face in the croak of his neck, and just held her breath for as long as she could hold it.

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