"That's not it," he protests. He doesn't think he's big or bad, especially not after this week. And certainly not compared to her. But if she wants to settle this with fists, at least that's something he can understand. He has just enough time to get his mag-boots off before she's on him and he can hear his heart pounding already. Maybe this is exactly what he needs. Frank just barely manages to get his arm up to bar her attack, a little sluggish without his sense of touch. It's hard to defend yourself when you know you won't feel it anyway, but he does. And then he's using the leverage of his arm to propel her back a few feet, though he knows she'll just bounce right back. He's looking forward to it honestly. "Show me what you've got, lady."

Not like he was worried about her holding back, but it can't hurt to egg her on anyway when he knows it'll help. At least Kamala will be happy this is happening in the gym this time??? The first blow she gets in sinks all the way through, and it's obvious he's telling the truth: he can't feel a thing. When she gets deep enough into the tissue, his muscles twitch on reflex, but there's still no reaction from him or any hint that it'll slow him down. He counters with a strike of his own, a sharp jab to her ribcage that could be soft as kittens or hard as concrete. It ends up solidly in the middle.