Better - a relative term when it comes to Frank Castle, always. He never looks good, his face never stays clear for long. But today was different, there was something cathartic about fighting Elektra, even when he couldn't feel her blows. At least Karen doesn't sound overly worried so he must not have gotten himself hurt too badly - again, relative, for him. He's sure he looks much worse than anyone else who decided to fight their friend in the gym this afternoon.

She touches his face and his eyes slap into hers, unblinking even as water falls through his lashes. Then she's moving in and he's holding his breath, expecting a kiss that never comes. Her lips brush his cheek and he could swear he feels the barest pressure, warmth on his clammy skin. The phantom sensation has his numb hand squeezing against her hip, likely with enough pressure to bruise her though he remains entirely unaware he's doing it. His eyes close, holding tight while he tries to regulate his breathing. This was a really bad idea, wasn't it?

"So, you're saying I should stay... with you." A lame joke, meant to convey that everyone else on this station wants to get a hit in. Maybe some days Karen does too, he really wouldn't blame her.