( 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

[oorah]

He nods.

"We went to the moon, we're doing some shit on Mars... I don't really keep up with it. At least not after aliens crashed my city. Seemed moot after that." The Avengers go to space all the time, even if the American government still doesn't really know how. The Marvel Universe is a wild place, son.

At the commentary, he nods again.

"Got it in one, man. No one knows why we're here, how, or how to get everyone home."

[episodically]

"Aliens crashed your city?" Jim repeats, looking up from where he'd been petting Max. It wasn't entirely unheard of especially after Khan but he's a little more used to people staying away from Earth and just going after less defended planets.

"Why'd they do that?" Jim wonders, folding his arms on the table and looking at Frank intently.

"They want something from Earth?" Jim asks since it's either that or they'd just run up against some very cruel aliens who wanted to kill and destroy. Jim does know they exist out there too.

[oorah]

Everyone fixates on this, it's just normal where he comes from. Entire neighborhoods leveled from The Incident.

"Yeah, I guess. They call 'em infinity stones, I think? A blue thing called the tesseract Captain America tried to bury. It fell into the wrong hands. At least, that's the gist I got from the news and people telling me when I got home." He was overseas for that whole thing, just another way he couldn't protect his family in the end.

[episodically]

"Never heard of them," Jim says but they do sound pretty important. He wonders idly if they exist where he's from but if the Romulans or the Klingons haven't been making trouble about them already, they either don't exist or they haven't been found.

"Captain America, huh?" That was a very telling name, wasn't it? "Please tell me he's draped in an American flag with an apple pie in one hand and a baby in the other."

[oorah]

Frank nods. "Then we're not from the same place." He's used to it, it doesn't seem to disturb him any. The description gets a snort, Frank ducking his head as he pictures it. "Afraid not. He's here, actually. Which probably means we're all screwed."

Again: he sounds unconcerned. "At home he does have a big star shield though and his suit is red, white and blue, naturally."

[episodically]

"Very patriotic," Jim says with a shake of his head. "That level of patriotism doesn't really exist much where I come from. There's just so many planets and so many species jockeying for position that you don't really have one superpower."

The Federation, he supposes, is the superpower now. There were people that wanted to ascend to power, take it over, destroy everything but they'd been beaten back each time and they'd continue to be subdued as long as Jim was in charge.

No telling how long that would be though especially not now. He's pretty sure he's being mourned right now. What's the rule for a former captain coming back from the dead? Could he take his position again?

"Guess even someone with the power of America behind him can't get off this station," Jim muses, shaking his head. "Not much of a comfort."

[oorah]

"I'm not sure I'd call us a superpower." They are, America is. He says 'us' even though he feels a disconnect there. It's not important here, probably, his failure to reconcile with God and country. This place is so far from anything he knows and here this guy is practically calling it boring. Takes all kinds, right? "Maybe not, but we are gonna find a way back. My friend is here, she's real good at stuff like this. Mysteries, conspiracies. That sort of thing."

[episodically]

"I don't doubt it," Jim says, shrugging. He's not exactly keen to be here for a lengthy amount of time but there's little he can do about it right now. He's already planning on getting involved somewhere but the best he can do is meet people, figure them out, assess strengths and weaknesses and go from there.

"She figured out anything interesting yet?" Jim asks, tilting his head, focus sharp. He's all ears because the most he can do right now, as the resident new guy, is learn.

[oorah]

"She and I were the ones who got into the Chapel." Which isn't... you know, Earth-shattering as far as discoveries go, but after she had received those instruction manual pages everything changed. They were no longer trapped. They both knew that moment that they'd be able to open this whole place up. "She woke up with pages in her bed, about the door codes? We were out there every night til we could get it open. She's gonna get to the rest of it the same way, just watch."

[episodically]

It's easy to see that whoever this woman is, Frank's pretty proud of her. Her biggest cheerleader and probably the one that gives her pep talks if she were to ever feel down about herself. It's cute. The only person Jim can equate that to in his life is Pike.

Who was dead now. Fucking Khan. The shift into darker, sadder thoughts doesn't show on his face though. He's well practiced on how to think about shit that bothers him and not let it show in his demeanor.

"Are there still many doors to open?" Jim asks. "I don't really have an idea how big this place is yet and I haven't gone looking just yet."

[oorah]

Frank nods. "About one on each floor, I think. Plus the whole center of the station and the seventh deck." And yet he's optimistic. "They found a map in command, it outlines all the places still off-limits."

[episodically]

"You think that's significant?" Jim asks. "The deck seven thing. Or is it just the deck's that's furthest away so no one's really gotten themselves there?"

Maybe it's more protected than other areas and thus harder to get into. There are plenty of areas on the Enterprise that were locked down save for high ranking individuals. Maybe that's what deck seven was and thus, maybe what was there would be the catalyst to get this station going again.

[oorah]

"I don't think there are any coincidences here," Frank points out seriously. There has to be something vital on Deck 7, he just doesn't know what. He leaves that to the nerds to toil over.

[episodically]

"Good attitude to have," Jim muses, biting the end of his nail. He can't even begin to guess what's cooped up on deck seven. He would have said ships if there wasn't a hangar already. And it was probably too easy for it to hold a book with every answer to all the questions he had.

"Must be the treasure that everyone's looking for," he jokes, shrugging. "That or the bodies of whoever was here prior."

He'd prefer the treasure.

[oorah]

Oh... that's a pleasant thought. Frank's face screws up as he follows it.

"Whatever it is, it better get us home otherwise we're gonna have bigger problems." Namely: riots.

[episodically]

"Bigger problems?" Jim arches an eyebrow, curious as to what Frank thinks are gonna be the bigger problems that they're going to face.

"Problems too big for the people on this station to handle?" Jim asks. Frank's got a better sense for the people and the vibe here than he does. If they're going to have a problem, Jim wants to be prepared to help deal with it.

[oorah]

"Problems they'll cause," he corrects, shrugging a shoulder as he drags his knitting back out. "They'll destroy each other like they did during the music. Doesn't mean they're bad people, they just don't know how to handle being toyed with like this."

The implication being that he does, because this isn't exactly new for him.

[episodically]

"I showed up at the end of all that," Jim explains, making a face. He remembers hearing the music but it had shut off pretty quickly after he'd gotten there so it hadn't really affected him besides giving him a few ear worms. Earth music was catchy that way.

"Some people don't take to torture very well, I guess." Jim had been through a lot both physically and mentally so he's pretty sure he has to include himself in that group though he wants to think that he'd have more willpower than most.

"Can't say I blame them," Jim adds, shrugging. "Not really a fact of life."

[oorah]

"I was deaf for most of it," he blurts. Yeah, sounds great, doesn't it? His grip tightens on his knitting needles, trying to focus on how Raleigh told him to do the stitch. Max is flopped over on the ground now, sick of their chatter. Frank really can't blame him any more than he did the people who were panicking. "Depends on whose life." It had always been a fact of his. This place is only a continuation of that fact.

[episodically]

"No, you're right. That's my fault," Jim admits with a nod. "It's not really a fact of most people's lives. Torture and torment and prolonged abuse. I'd hate to think that the majority of people here came from places like that."

But he knows it's possible. He's seen people with the capacity to provide that and people who can withstand it.

"Tough thing to continue," he says idly, rubbing at the back of his neck. "That kind of thing never really leaves you."

[oorah]

"Yeah," Frank says after a long pause. It sure as hell doesn't. "I'm glad you're not familiar." With torture. Isn't talking to him super uplifting???

[episodically]

"I'm not but I'm not going to be naive enough to think it won't happen either." Not with Romulans and Klingons and other unknown species out there. Not with people like Khan rising up in the galaxy, wanting blood and death and destruction. Jim would be the guy putting himself in front of that and, sooner or later, it was going to backfire.

"Better me than someone else, though," Jim decides, shrugging. "My crew can do fine without me."

And he figures they'd find a way to get him free.

[oorah]

He's heard that before. "Somehow, I doubt that." There's a beat as he just knits and thinks on teams. He'd been in many throughout his life. Families, military squads, the friends he'd made unraveling his life's mystery, and now even on this station. Frank shakes his head. "But I don't know you, maybe you're useless."

[episodically]

"I could be," Jim agrees, shrugging. He doesn't think he is but he's not going to jump through a lot of hoops to prove he isn't either. He doesn't have to prove himself to anyone anymore. He'd done that. He'd taken Pike's challenge and he'd proven himself to the world.

"But, I'm pretty so at least I've got that going for me?" Jim suggests, smirking widely.

[oorah]

Frank snorts, finally looking up. "Hope it gets you far, brother." It sounds sincere. "Where do I send this scarf when I'm through, pretty boy?"