( OPEN & CLOSED ) I tried and it's never enough.

[oorah]

» WHO? FRANK CASTLE & others.
» WHEN? JULY 8-11, JULY 12, JULY 13-31
» WHERE? Various! His room (6.19), Karen's room (3.19), Alex's room (6.25), Mess Hall, Observation Deck, Gym, Chapel, etc.
» WHAT? After the music stops, Frank is still struggling. And later on, he gets back to normal life on the Station. Feel free to tag in brackets I'll match!
» WARNINGS? dealing with disabilities; depression/suicidal ideations; minor injuries/physical & psychological distress, nudity/sexual themes, violence.

( 7/10 · FOR ALEX ) when you're free you can come for me

It's the third day in a row now of Frank coming to Alex's room at exactly 4 PM. Kamala contacted him when Frank's touch first left and asked if he'd be willing to check him for injuries every day, something Frank was too embarrassed to ask for himself even if he knew he needed it. He's still endeared by the way she said (typed) that he needed to find a guy friend to help him with this, but honestly, there was no one else that sprang to mind as quickly. No matter what mistakes they had made in their past lives and here on this station, he trusts Alex and he likes to think he's been trustworthy to the other man as well.

He raps the Morse code for S-A-F-E into the doorframe as had become habitual by now, but he hits a little too hard, still staring at the red mark across his knuckles as Alex comes to the door. His eyes are wide with fear and apology, but that's normal now. His new normal also has him evading any friendly touch to the arm or shoulder, given or received, sidestepping Alex entirely because he's too afraid of hurting the other man with even the simplest of physical greetings, from a handshake to a hug. He doesn't say anything aloud, but Max is sniffing at Alex's shoes cheerfully, always looking forward to visits with the kind man who sometimes fed him when Frank wasn't looking.

Though the first nights had been hard, today, Frank unzips his jumpsuit numbly (everything is numb now) and strips down to his briefs so that Alex can look him over. A fresh box of kitty bandaids is tossed to the bed in case he's bleeding anywhere and doesn't know it. As it turns out, there's a shallow cut on his back, nestled between old and new scars alike. He must have scraped himself in the shower this afternoon because there's a bloodstain inside his undershirt he didn't notice until now. The rest is all scratches and bruises, he had never realized how much you rely on being able to feel yourself just for walking around and doing simple tasks. He hangs his head and waits for Alex to get through his exam and get his attention.

( 7/11 · FOR ELEKTRA ) just say my name from day to day

Frank makes his way into the gym for his daily ritual, today he'd left Max with Karen intending to go harder than usual. He's finally feeling like he knows his limits (somewhat) with the clever use of timers and relying on the kindness of whoever else was in the space that day. It's strange, walking into a crowded place without all of your senses. Though he supposes, if this is his life now then these are his senses in full and that's truly terrifying. He pushes it aside and makes his way to a mat as he sets the first of several timers before starting out with sideways crunches.

There's a whistling sound whizzing past his left ear as he turns right and he frowns, wondering if he imagined it. But then he goes left and hears it on the right and his heart clutches. It's just like when he lost his hearing in measures that night except in reverse. There's the muffled noise of mag-boots and bare feet, people breathing all around him. Everything is in hyper-focus, but one sound forcibly pries his mind away from its task, an accented voice he instantly recognizes despite the way it's muffled now.

"Francis!" It's a booming call like he did something wrong, and when he looks up at her, he's well and truly cowed. Though he can't feel it, he can hear his heart pounding in his chest. This is somehow scarier than losing everything was. Elektra had been the one person he'd most been avoiding, not wanting to appear weak in front of her of all people. It doesn't take him but a second to steel himself and pop up onto his feet facing her.

"Present," he calls, swallowing past the lump lodged in his throat as he clenches his fists at his side and probably cuts into his palms with blunt nails. His voice sounds hoarse and softer than usual, his eyes wild as they meet hers. The alarm coming from his watch doesn't register at first, though he hears it. He thinks it's a residual ring like he sometimes gets, but he realizes his mistake and clicks it off with a frown.

( 7/11 & 7/12 · FOR KAREN ) i always jumped to hide when i needed your love

After his hearing returned, and Elektra and himself had had a sparring match turned vicious, Karen had been the first person he'd sought out even though he knew she'd be angry. Plus, she had his dog. So here he is at her door, rapping O-P-E-N-U-P into the frame in Morse code, frowning at the smear of his blood it leaves behind. He'd been teaching it to her before he'd lost his senses, and now it's like a strange holdover from a former life. Less than two weeks ago and already a different existence entirely than he's living. This has become routine, him coming to her room for a shower after the gym so she can set the temperature for him and make sure he didn't damage himself. But tonight he is damaged, breast heaving as he prepares for a shrill voice he hasn't heard properly since June. It's a little sick that he's looking forward to the argument, he knows.

He holds the bleeding hand with his other as she opens the door, watching as she assesses him. His broken lip, a scratch high on his cheek, a trickle of dried blood from one nostril. Both his eyes are black again and there are red-turning-purple bruises blooming from under his tank top and down his arms, the top of his jumpsuit hanging from his waist. He's ready for his lecture, looking so forward to hearing it even if he still can't feel a thing.

"Hi, Karen." It's bright, though his voice is dim and deep after that, smiling as Max barrels past her to sniff excitedly at his feet. He hasn't spoken to her aloud in days and soon his smile turns a little goofy, knowing it will only make her angrier but unable to tamp down on it in time.

( 7/8-7/11 · OPEN ) when i was young and stupid

Kamala had set him on a path towards coping with his new disabilities, setting his schedule and organizing helpers for him so that he could abide by life on the station without hearing or feeling anything. It isn't the life he had a week ago, it's hardly even a life at all, but he still has people who count on him against all odds. And Max, of course. He has to stay strong for them if not his own wellbeing. He has to do the same things at the same time every day, or he might hurt himself. In a lot of ways, it's like basic training. It's comforting for the routine but makes him nervous because he can't deviate from it.

At 8-00 he wakes up, and Karen has to be there to set the shower whichever room he happens to be in so he doesn't burn himself or give himself hypothermia. There was a fall one day so she's never far outside, something that's constantly on his mind now as he gets more and more cautious about his condition - not wanting to worry or scare her; or humiliate himself in the process.

Half 8 has him at the Mess Hall, sometimes with Max in his little mag-boots with him and sometimes without, sitting far away from the replicators and eating a protein bar and drinking coffee. It's a challenge to feed himself sometimes, but it's one thing he doesn't want to accept help for, so sometimes he bites his lip so hard it bleeds. Sometimes he spills coffee down the front of his jumpsuit. He's come to accept the consequences of doing things on his own.

9-00 sees him in the Gym to do his workout routine. He has to have at least one spotter even as he looks in the mirror to make sure he's holding the weights right, that his form is right. It's like watching someone else, he's detached from the experience entirely until his lungs start to burn from the effort and sweat pours down his face. That's when he knows it's time to strap himself and Max into the treadmills for dreaded cardio except actually, he doesn't mind as much as he used to. He can't feel his cheeks bounce or his legs cramp and it's no longer the chore it once was, running until the machine tells him to stop because he has to have set on a timer otherwise he'd just keep going and going.

11-00 is another shower with Karen's help and then he gets dressed and prepares to actually socialize, taking to the halls with the dog as they begin to relearn how to communicate with one another and also third parties. Max does better than Frank because he still has all his faculties about him, learning hand signals and to step in front of Frank when he needs his attention on something. It's slow-going, but it's good work, and they end up in the Observation Deck by 14-00 or so. They take a rest and count the stars and they practice the mag-locks on Max's boots, both on the deck and in the elevators.

It's back to the Mess for 15-00 where he usually meets Kamala or Karen for lunch, but he's alone sometimes too. He tries for something more ambitious every day and calls it a victory when he doesn't stab himself with his fork. After his meal, he doesn't leave, instead pulling knitting needles and a scarf he's started with maroon and gold stripes, trying to teach himself how again without feeling the motion. It's hard and often fruitless, but doing the task in public keeps him from giving into frustration or just giving up entirely.

16-00 is when he sees Alex so the man can check him over for all the various cuts, scrapes, burns, bruises, etc. he may have acquired throughout the day without noticing. He often leaves with a Hello Kitty bandaid stuck to his face or somewhere on his hands. And from there it's down the hall to Kamala's room for texting lessons. He had never been a great texter but now that it's his only mode of communication he has to try, even though it's hard not being able to feel the touchpad on his smartwatch.

At 17-00 Max and Frank travel to the Chapel which isn't a place one may have encountered them since he'd discovered the place with Karen. He sits in the center of the circular area and watches the lights in the atrium though there are no plants inside (yet.) He had never been a religious man, even a lifetime ago when he'd had an Italian Catholic wedding that could have put Tony Soprano to shame, the lump of a twenty-year-old crucifix visible through his tuxedo tailor-made for him. Praying had always felt like an empty practice, but today he has something to beg for: death. Mercy. If God were indeed merciful he would have let Frank Castle die a million times over by now, and yet now moreso than ever, he wants it. Not enough to float himself out of the airlock; not enough to claim responsibility for the people who will miss him - who somehow need him even now. But it's enough to sit in church and weep, sniffling quietly with tears rushing down his face he doesn't know are there until he struggles to breathe through mucus and saline.

From there it's to the Mess Hall one last time for a protein bar, but this one he takes back to his room, just as a timer goes off telling him to drink water. He doesn't really do social calls anymore, almost always in his room (6.19) or in Karen's (3.19) and if you knock on his door after 18-00 he won't be able to hear you but Max will, and the helpful pit will come get him to let you in. Max was supposed to be his rescue project and here he is saving Frank all over again.

( 7/13-7-31 · OPEN ) my love left to be a rock'n'roll star

Though his senses have returned, Frank is having a hard time unwinding the schedule set about for him during that time. He's quieter than he's been up until now, used to the eerie nonfeeling of his lips moving so when he actually does speak aloud he startles himself. Everything is another layer of relearning now, so used to being bereft that when his body responds the way it's supposed to it confuses him. He's trying desperately to remember what passed for normalcy before the music and all of this happened to him, but it's easier said than done; and he doesn't do much speaking in the early days of his hearing and sense of touch returning.

He can be found in the Mess Hall knitting or eating at all the same times, but he's back to his hypervigilance, knowing the moment someone approaches and who it is. Where before he went out of his way to be calm and friendly, however, now every noise sets his teeth on edge. If you catch him on a particularly bad day, sitting across from him might earn an apologetic look as he gets up and leaves abruptly with his dog.

The Observation Deck and the elevators are still where he's training Max, crumbled bits of protein bar innards in his pockets as they practice the locks over and over and over again. The pitbull is the only creature Frank doesn't think about talking to or touching, immensely grateful that he can again. When he's with Max is the only time he really smiles or speaks much above a whisper. Due to their diligence, Max is making serious progress with the boots and doesn't seem bothered by them anymore. Max seems happy to have his dad back too, often rubbing against his legs affectionately when he was once a much more stoic animal.

When he goes to the Gym to do his daily workout, he'll beg a fight off anyone he finds in there, just wanting to feel something -- even if it's only pain. Or maybe pain is what he wants most, honestly. Cardio is forgone for brutal beatdown sessions with anyone who will have him. And from then on, Frank is rarely if ever seen without bruises marring his face. Not like it's so different from before, though those fights had a more friendly tinge. Now he's really fighting to survive and not just to work out.

He still returns to the Chapel, though not as religiously. Twice a week, at most. There are no tears or prayers as he stands along the periphery and watches as others make their tribute. Frank can't help but wonder how many of them have a deathwish, the same as he does. Maybe he wants it even more than he did yesterday, or last week. Or when his family was killed. At least then he had a vendetta, a raison d'être. Now all he has is survival and he knows that has to be enough. Frank will only pop his head in for five minutes at a time, but it's enough to remind himself that he doesn't belong in here. He feels like an imposter even stopping by.

He'll be more reclusive, but it won't stop him from sending out a message on the Network as an open call for anyone who needs a haircut. The task seems to calm him, focusing his mind and hands both as he sets to work on the person in his chair. Max has taken to sitting or laying by him in the floor while he works, appraising each haircut and giving a chirping little bark of approval when the person gets up to leave.

Overall, Frank will be less likely to engage people in conversation and often tries typing on his device before remembering he can speak aloud. If someone touches him in any gentle way, they're likely to be shrugged off, his frame immediately seizing up in discomfort.

Comments

[subplot]

There's not a chance in hell she's explaining anything. She's never been more thankful for him to fall against her bed as she is the second he does it, and it's not long after he gets situated that she's shifting to lay at his side. It's become second nature to move in close, resting so her head is on his chest. Her hand rests against his chest, fingers splayed out. They rise and fall along with his breathing, the rhythm of it quickly lulling her into a sense of tranquility.

"Maybe tomorrow you'll be able to feel more than just pressure."

[oorah]

Frank shuts his eyes when she lays against him, feeling the air shift when she breathes against him though he can't feel anything else. "Yeah," he says dully, wishing he could sound more hopeful for her. "Maybe then you could finally stop worrying about me." He hates more than ever that he's taken over her life this past week. If it turns out tomorrow everything is just back to normal, he'll feel silly for needing her help at all.

[episodically]

"I'm used to bad coffee," Jim says, barely letting the fact that he'd been directed to some shitty coffee bother him. The Enterprise's coffee left a lot to be desired. Drinkable and with plenty of caffeine to get you going but not something that you'd be saying was better than sex.

So, he gets his bad coffee and turns back to the man, leaning back against the counter, legs crossed at the ankle.

"Slytherin any good?" Jim asks. What he's described sounds pretty much spot on but he's just waiting to learn that these Slytherin are terrible people with terrible motivations or something like that.

[oorah]

Frank finally looks up when he manages to get to a stopping point, eyes sharp when they meet Kirk's.

"It's the house all the bad guys are in, in the movies. But that doesn't mean they're all bad." Just like Gryffindors weren't all good. Frank Castle is a man who knows about morally gray better than anybody else alive. "It just means you'll do anything to get ahead, independent of personal code."

Just like his own loyal Hufflepuff-ness had made him party to an evil conspiracy, just for following orders from the wrong people.

"No house is inherently good or bad." Just like people, maybe. If Frank really believes that anymore. Maybe he was a bad egg from the start.

[episodically]

Jim meets the sharp look with a wide smile, coffee in one hand and other braced against the counter. Plenty of people glare at him like that and he's pretty much immune at this point. It's almost a comfort. Bones isn't around but this guy is and he has that same rough around the edges, world weary look that his favorite chief medical officer does.

"Slytherin sounds pretty spot on," Jim muses, nodding. "Don't really consider myself a bad guy but I suppose that's a matter of perspective. Might be plenty of people out there that do."

Nero. Khan. Admiral Marcus.

"But, they're wrong. I'm great."

[subplot]

She doubts he means that to be offensive. "I'll never stop worrying about you, Frank. Do you think the only reason I want you here is because I feel like I have to take care of you?"

Her hand presses more firmly against his chest, and she uses the hold as a way to push herself up to look down at him. She doesn't mind his needing her, doesn't consider taking care of him to be a chore. If anything, she likes that he trusts her enough to depend on her. And she desperately wants to think that he'd be here regardless of whether or not he could hear or feel things.

[morphogenia]

He doesn't have to wait long. Kamala's had a productive few days. She's been working on replenishing the energy she missed out on during her fast, testing her powers wherever she can find privacy and space (the family rooms) to make sure they still work as they should, and trying to get in touch with people she's ignored during this mess. There's no law stating they have to see each other every day. She realizes belatedly that the loneliness she feels isn't only from being the only person of her faith here. She missed him a lot.

How's it going? The message is already typed out as she makes her out to the hall. She leans down to pet Max as he undoubtedly types up an answer for her.

[oorah]

He feels that, the pressure against his chest, like a dull ache that rips through his center to the spot where she's touching. It gets his heart to beat a little quicker, something he feels residually as well. Slowly, he processes her words through the blood rushing in his ears and shakes his head gently side-to-side.

"That's not what I meant, Karen." It's soft, not argumentative for once. If anything, he's only mad at himself.

[oorah]

Frank watches her with Max, a tiny smile on his face. The message comes through his device and he taps it off the screen, only now realizing he hadn't spoken to her since he got everything back. In his defense, it had been a horrific process, but now he's mostly okay.

"It's goin' good, sweetheart," he rumbles in that quiet way of his. It still feels strange to speak aloud after a week of silence, and she'll hear the hesitation; but he missed her too. "God have any messages for me today?"

[oorah]

Jim's cheer isn't received one way or the other. Frank is used to people who cover themselves like that, like Billy had. His expression is flat, but not unkind.

"Good to know," he gruffs, setting his progress down on his thigh so he can take a sip of his coffee, long cooled. "I don't give a fuck what anyone thinks of me either." Frank leans back in his seat and gestures across from him, if Jim wants to sit. His bruises come to light this way, dark shadows cast under his eyes and scratches and more bruises mottling his face.

[morphogenia]

"Wow that sounds so much better! Have you been practicing?" Kamala starts before catching herself. She looks both embarrassed and kind of hopeful at the same time. It has to be practice, right? You can't just lose your senses and gain them back suddenly.... right? It's been a few days but, he'd have mentioned it by now.... right???? Actually that would be pretty on brand for him.

Kamala straightens up so she can study him closely. Yeah she honestly can't tell. She crosses her arms and rattles off at her usual speed aka fast and loud, "He said you need to tell Kamala that she's your favorite person more often as she goes through this difficult period known as her teenage years. Finding her a decent place to pray with Karen's help isn't the same as heartfelt messages about how awesome she is." She waits to see his reaction. If he forgot to mention he's magically okay, she's going to punch him, then hug, and finally punch again in that order.

[oorah]

He laughs, really just an amused sniff that gets trapped in his throat. It's so nice to not be a step behind, to hear and react to her in real time. Frank feels his eyes filling with water before he can think to prevent it, his tone watery as a result when he responds.

"I'll keep that in mind going forward, alright?" He meets her eyes gamely, nodding to signify he's ready for his due punishment.

[episodically]

"A good attitude to have," Jim declares, sliding into the seat across from Frank. He gets a good look at the bruises that arc across his face. He wonders what the other guy looks like but figures that outright asking is probably not going to be well received this early in their relationship.

"There's always going to be someone that doesn't like me and if I let that bother me, I'm not going to be able to do my job," he says, shrugging. "So, I don't let it bother me. They can hate me all they want. I'm still gonna live my life."

[morphogenia]

Kamala's hands fall to her sides. She's not imagining things. He really heard her. He's just magically better. Her eyes fill up with tears because of course she prayed for this. She wanted this so badly for him. It's not like she didn't see him struggle right in front of her eyes. She knew how devastated he was even if she couldn't know how dark his thoughts got. Things don't normally work out like this. God isn't a genie. He doesn't grant your wishes. He also never gives you more than you can handle.

Kamala decides that must be the case. He finally said enough, Frank learned whatever he needed to learn, and let things go back to normal. And she's so happy for him it actually hurts. "You're such a jerk!" She punches him in the arm as hard as her skinny arm can manage. Thank Bobbie for teaching her the proper form while in this size if it hurts.

And now it's time for a hug. She launches herself at him and hangs on tightly. "I really missed your jerk voice." She smacks a tiny fist against his back. She's doing a bad job at pretending to be mad, but whatever. She's too happy for him to effectively play angry.

[subplot]

She regards him with a little more scrutiny than normal, trying to piece together if she should push the issue or just relent. It feels like everything with them has been so much push and pull that it's hard to believe how easy things feel now. The paranoid part of her feels like it's a trap, like this all is too good to be true. But maybe, for once in her miserable life, it isn't a trick. It's real and it's genuine, and she needs to give him an inch since he sounds sincere about not arguing with her.

"Then tell me what you meant."

It's more of a request than a flat out demand, and she slips back down to lay with him. In actuality, she knows what he meant now that he clarified. She just wants to hear him explain it, to give him the opportunity to work through his thoughts. He'll sleep easier if he doesn't dwell on them.

[oorah]

It's hard, to work through this with her. Sharing a narrow bed and wishing he could feel her bare skin under his fingers as he runs them up and down her arm and forces himself to maintain eye contact.

"If I just-- if I wake up normal, I feel like I wasted your time." Time she could have spent cracking the mystery of this place and instead she had to help him fucking eat and take showers and not fall on his face every two minutes. Now that it's been hours, he thinks what happened to Alex and Bobbie is now happening to him. A horrorshow, but a temporary one, and now it's just... wearing off like a bad cold. But people get sick, and people who care for them take care while they aren't themselves. He knows it doesn't mean he's weak, though he'd felt it enough recently. He just doesn't want her to ever resent him for needing her like this. "...Sorry. It's stupid."

[subplot]

"It's not stupid." Her voice carries a warning tone, not leaving room for him to argue with her. He can try, but she isn't going to allow it. Now that her fears that he feels weak and useless in front of her are confirmed, she's going to do her best to get rid of them. It's not what she wants him to think when he looks back on this time. Not when it's one of the best times in her entire life.

"When you care about someone, you take care of them when they need you to." Like he does for her when he literally takes bullets for her, shielding her with his entire body. When Frank cares for people, he makes it obvious with his actions. And she tries to do the same, but she knows that it must be hard for him to accept the fact that he's not wasting her time.

Goosebumps rise up on her skin as his fingers trail along it, and her lips part as the slightest hint of a sigh passes through them. She doesn't think she's blinked in an eerie amount of time, and so she allows her eyes to drift closed as she enjoys the sensation of his being close and with her this way.

"I like being here like this." Their being together this way. Sharing a small bed, with Max curled up in the ridiculous blanket fort she made for him. They don't have to worry about anyone seeing the subtle nuances between them that have become less and less subtle as the weeks here have gone by. "I don't want you to feel like you're wasting my time and like we can't have this anymore when you wake up normal."

[blacksky]

His behavior is strange, but the mistake is thinking Elektra actually cares when she's upset about something. She does him the courtesy of stopping her advance. She rests both hands on her hips and leans forward impatiently. She's buzzing with anger. She really can't think of a better person to take it out on considering how he dropped her. "I'm listening."

[oorah]

He nods, lips pursing as he watches her relax measure by measure. It's a privilege, in a lot of ways, getting to see Karen Page take her shields down. Maybe it's the same for her, though he's never been able to put them on the same level. Though he'd been married, Frank had never relied on Maria this way; could scarcely tell her what he'd been through overseas. But Karen knows him throughout, and somehow still wants to be in the same room - wants to be close even. She's never looked at him with fear even after he shot at her, only understanding. Sometimes they get heated, sure, but it's borne of that same care. And Frank has always been a little twisted that way, enjoying the fight almost as much as the quiet moments like this.

The pattern of his fingers shifts every so often, though he's unaware of the easy contact for the most part. It's almost like a tickle in his palm shooting up through each digit as they move, but nothing solid. It's for Karen, anyway, it seems to help her find calm; something he knows doesn't come easy for either one of them. Frank shifts his head a little closer to hers, his thigh pressing to her legs as he lets his heavy eyelids to finally draw down from their own weight. If he isn't careful, he knows he'll be out in moments.

"I just don't wanna let you down, Karen." It's soft, the exhaustion tingeing his voice and making it smoky somehow, almost raspy. He doesn't keep his distance between them because he wants it there, but because he thinks she needs it. And maybe at home, she does. Things are different here, and he's not really sure what to do in a day without her anymore. It's slowly taken hold that it's okay to need her as much as she needs him; in fact, it's preferred to him disappearing whenever he's not strictly needed.

[oorah]

He swallows when she stops, realizing he was genuinely scared for a moment there. How does he even explain this to a psycho like her? In some ways, it's easier because she doesn't care about him, not the way other people do. But in others it's harder, like she's untouchable. Like being weak in front of Elektra is the last thing he would ever want to do, even if it's more for self-preservation than to save his own feelings. Would you bare your throat to a wild tigress?

"I can't feel anything. I won't know how hard I'm hitting you." Or how hard she's hitting him. He'll be even harder to stop than usual, but he knows she's into that sort of thing.

[oorah]

The second JIm sits down, Max is all over him, creeping under the table to sniff at his shoes and poke his nose at his legs. Frank doesn't bother trying to discourage him. It's hard to believe he used to be an attack dog, even when he remembers the way he defended him against Amos.

"How Slytherin of you," Frank says dryly, bringing his knitting back up so he can work while he apparently talks to this guy. Whatever. "What's the job?" It actually sounded like something he would have said a lifetime ago, it makes him wonder if Jim is a soldier.

[subplot]

It isn't easy for her to relax this way. Vulnerability is something that makes her uncomfortable, but with Frank it's not because she's afraid he'll take advantage like another man might. It's almost funny how their fears are the same. Looking weak in front of one another shouldn't be such a big deal, yet it is. Maybe now that her walls are coming down, he'll feel comfortable leaving his down too.

It probably doesn't matter all that much right now though, not with the both of them on the verge of sleep. Exhaustion has a funny way of settling over them, even when she wants nothing more than to stay up talking.

"You're not letting me down." Her fingernails slowly rake up and down his arm, leaning so their heads are touching. There's a slight shift before their legs tangle a little more, her foot pressing against his. With their heads positioned how they are, it's easy for her to turn enough to kiss him. He can't feel it beyond maybe a little pressure, but she hopes he can feel the affection behind it anyway.

"The only way you'll let me down is if you think I care about that macho bullshit that says you should always be the strong one. I'm strong enough to support the both of us when I need to."

By that point she was completely relaxed and almost melted up against him, curled up and intertwined. Her own eyes feel heavier now, and any tension she might've felt even moments ago is gone.

[donkeyballs]

He still checks over Frank's front carefully, but it's obvious he's still worried, his brows knit in a tight vee as his fingers run over the other man's skin. He pauses at the cut on Frank's face - but it looks like someone already got to it. He stepped back and let out a breath, raising a hand to make an 'O' with his thumb and fingers. Zero, on this side.

He wants to reach out, wants to give Frank a comforting squeeze of his arm, but he can't. Or, rather, he knows that even if he does, Frank won't feel it, anyway.

So instead, after Frank mouths 'Thank you', Alex taps two fingers over his heart. Respect.

Then he raises a hand to his mouth and mimes putting food into it. Hungry?

[oorah]

It gets a snort, his hand tiring of moving as it wraps securely around her waist instead, something he's distantly aware of setting in motion. Now that he's edging towards sleep, not feeling things sharply is more of a blessing than it should be, the trickle of feedback from sensory input much easier to cope with than he knows reality would be. Especially when his eyes flutter open briefly and he takes note of how tightly they're pressed. This is probably dangerous, but right now it feels safe, even maybe like the safest thing they could be doing. The kiss gets a sharp intake of breath from him, even if it's more of that vague tingling than actual touch, he feels the start of warmth in his belly like it could be something. Like he wants to do something about it.

"You honestly think this is a machismo thing?" The thought is laughable when on the other side of that is Karen, a person he's borrowed strength from near every time he's seen her. He shakes his head gently against hers, and ends up shutting his eyes all over again. Her eyes are so blue he can see them even now, lighting up the darkness behind his eyelids. "You're stronger than both of us. Why do you think I come to you?" It's as close as he can come to admitting he needs her, in so many words.

[rk800connor]

Interesting. Yet another thing from home that had appeared when someone needed or wanted it.

Connor gives Max one last pat before getting back to his feet and walking over to sit on the empty space of the bench beside Frank. He took another moment to glance again, making out a few words and verses here and there, able to match them to references in his database despite the dust and grime. Different languages and different faiths.

Do you think he likes it here?

The question was displayed on Connor's palm like the others. A bit of a non sequitur, it was also unclear what Connor meant. Here as in the station or here as in the chapel?