( 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

[donkeyballs]

He goes to the door as soon as he hears the first rap on the metal - knows it's Frank, because of the code, and because literally no one else he knows had any kind of code at all. They just all kind of come in. It's endearing, though, in a weird way.

Or it would be, if Alex wasn't just so god damned worried about him.

He manages not to reach out, this time - his instinctual inclination for touch tethered back from experience. Instead he just offers a small wave with both hands - the belter sign for hello, though Frank wouldn't know that - and closes the door behind him. He moves back into Frank's sight, waiting as the man strips, trying not to look as worried as he felt. It was impossible. He was so damn tired and so damn worried that trying to not wear that on his sleeve just wasn't going to happen.

As soon as Frank is stripped, Alex reaches out - fingertips just barely grazing skin as he checked over it, careful to keep an eye on everything. When he comes across the first few shallow scratches he pauses - reaches back to grab a wipe - and carefully cleans them. They don't look like they need bandages, so he just carries on. When he's out of Frank's eyeline, he starts talking. For himself, and for Max, rather than Frank, who he knows can't hear him. "Alright, he's got one back here," he murmurs to the dog, running his finger under the cut. "That one's definitely gonna need to be cleaned out. It should heal up alright, but- a bandage is probably a good idea anyway."

He steps back into Franks vision, and catches his eyes, raising a single finger. One, is the silent signal, as he grabs for the bandages.

[blacksky]

She wouldn't be very good at her job if she didn't notice when she was being avoided. Elektra let it go at first. She lost control more than once. If he heard of it, well, who could blame him for being wary? Hypocritical as it may be, he'd be right not to associate with someone as mad as she is. Days pass, her sadness fades into annoyance. He's insane too. What right does he have to fear her? He doesn't even truly known how inferior he is to her yet!

She tracks him down. It's barely a challenge once she sets her mind to it. Elektra is determined to give him a real reason to avoid her if this is how he wants to play it. She smiles with her teeth as she approaches. "Good. I've been getting dull. Want to help me with that?" She asks it in a way that makes it clear it's not a polite request. He's pissed her off. She's going to communicate that the only way she knows how: violence.

[oorah]

The words go in and out, but her message is clear. He sticks a pinky in his ear like he's trying to equalize the pressure, but his ears aren't popping with a change of altitude, they're waking up. It's the weirdest damn thing he's ever felt, but Elektra's wolfish grin takes precedence over his priorities now.

"The last thing I'd wanna do is bore you, ma'am." It's clipped even as he has to clear his throat past the dryness caused by not talking for days on end. Is that his voice? Has it always sounded so... small? Kamala's words are running rampant through his head - he has to tell her. He has to be an adult about this, doesn't he? If only because if she kills him his people could use the peace of mind. "If you're angling to settle this on the mat, there's something you oughta know."

[oorah]

After the initial meet and greet, Max goes to lay in a corner of Alex's room with a deep doggy groan like the weight of the word is on his little doggy shoulders. He looks damn cute when he lays down too, magboots tucked under him sidewise. Frank has to smile at the image he makes, even if he can't hear the sound, or feel Alex's fingers on his back. He knows both are there, feeling residuals like an amputee might feel a phantom limb. He knows what being touched had felt like and his mind supplies the stumuli even if it's something he'll never actually feel again.

It takes him a moment to register when Alex is done and getting his attention by waving a finger in his face, caught on the end of a long blink. One. Just one cut today, it's sad that it's progress. But he waits for the man to patch him up and give him the all-clear before he turns so Alex can check his front. There's a scratch on his face he must have given himself in his sleep, but Karen already tended to it this morning. This part is harder when he can see the sadness in the other man's eyes.

'Thank you,' he mouths, signing it in ASL while he does. It's one of the only words he knows, but it's gotten good use since this happened to him.

7/13-7-31 MESS HALL

[episodically]

It's a bit of thing, coming back from the dead. Jim's done his best to put a smile on his face, act like nothing's bothering him but he hasn't gotten one good night's sleep since he showed up. He wakes up, drenched in sweat, feeling the radiation slithering through his body, racking him with pain, with shakes, with sickness and he can't move. He sees the faces of his crew standing above him, solemn and grim, shaking their heads, and he can't move.

He can't move he can't move he can't move and then he's awake, a scream dying on his lips. Thank goodness the walls seem to be well built since no one's said anything.

But, he's awake now and everything's fine. He's trying to make a point of finding everyone he can, meeting them, talking to them, figuring things out, and then, hopefully, doing what he can to help.

There's no captain's chair for him to sit in, no enemy for him to direct the Enterprise towards but he's not incapable. Death was an obstacle that he beat. This'll be one too.

There's someone else in the mess when he strides in and Jim pulls up short when he realizes the guy's knitting. He tilts his head, watches for a few seconds and then just has to ask, "You knitting a scarf? My grandmother used to one for me every winter. Loved those things."

[subplot]

Oh, she's assessing him alright. Her hand forms a tight grip on the doorframe as she looks him over. Part of whatever it is she has with Frank is the realization that he's going to come back to her like this sometimes. The fact that he can't hear right now means asking him what happened is pointless. Instead of bothering, she reaches up to cup his cheek with a frown deeply set on her face. It's out of concern rather than displeasure, and as her thumb traces along the edge of a nasty bruise she sighs.

"Hey," she softly responds, glancing down toward Max. The sight of the dog so eager to see Frank makes her smile a little, and it's enough to get her to drop her hand away and step aside so he can fully step into her room. He's been staying here enough that it's starting to feel like their space, though she realizes it's dangerous to think that way. It's just as dangerous as his smiling at her while he's presenting himself for inspection, and that's what makes her patience wear a little more thin. He must think he's being cute and funny.

"I hope you know you're going to give me a heart attack someday." She grumbles, reaching out to hit at his chest. "Asshole."

Her fingers curl into the fabric of whatever he's wearing to tug him along after her. That shrillness he wanted? He's close to getting it as she guides him toward the bathroom. At least it's more comical than actual anger at this point. She's still so tired that her exasperation is about to make her deliriously laugh. "Who did you piss off this time, Frank?"

[oorah]

He still can't feel her, but he shivers anyway like his body knows her touch - can respond even if the stimulus doesn't make it all the way to Frank's brain. He's still smiling as he steps past her, always careful not to reach out himself though he wants to. It had become second nature, to lean on her, but he can't risk hurting her. Or smearing blood all over her tbh, he knows he's gross even if he can't feel it.

She hits him and he leans back with it since the move was telegraphed. It feels good to pretend to engage with what she's doing even when he can't fully interact. And then she's dragging him by his shirt and he trudges on after her, just barely managing not to trip over dumb, numb feet. Max is their caboose, trying to suss out everyone's mood and state but Frank has a hard time interacting with him at all most recently. He knows he has to try harder though. It's just that Karen takes precedent right now, he knows she'll be happy he isn't as helpless, that maybe it means... everything is reversing. He just can't get the words out yet, they're lodged in his throat. Blood forgotten already, he leans against her once they're inside the tiny water closet, hoping he isn't asking her to bear too much of his weight. She already has though, hasn't she?

"Elektra," he says in a small, hoarse voice, turning his head sideways to catch her eyes. He heard her. He hears everything again.

[subplot]

The realization that he's heard her hits her instantly, and she gasps out loud in happy surprise. Her face lights up with a smile after that, so pleased that he's regaining his hearing. She'll be the first to admit that she had been incredibly worried about the damage being permanent, but knowing now that it isn't makes her giddy with excitement. Her arms wrap around him tightly, pressing him more firmly up against her. She can bear his weight, steadfast and solid up against him.

"You probably deserved it then." Warmth is in her tone as she keeps stepping, just enough that she can use an arm to reach over and turn on the shower. She knows exactly where to turn the dials now to get it at a perfect temperature.

"I guess now this means I can't make fun of you to your face anymore. I'll have to go back to doing it in secret." She can't even pretend to be serious right now, no matter how deadpan she's trying to be. He's having a hard time and she probably shouldn't tease him so much, but she can't help it when things are looking up for the first time in days.

[oorah]

He's trying to acclimate himself to the noises of daily life in the Station again, and what better place for that than here? Max was resting his head on Frank's lap, hidden by the table save for the whip of his tail waving back and forth behind him, but when he hears someone approach he looks up and Frank and barks twice to alert him. Frank nods, patting the dog's head to appease him and looking up at Jim. He doesn't recognize him, but he's been way less on top of things that before the music started.

"I'll start on one for you next. You know your Hogwarts House?" It's asked seriously even as he turns from the man and starts back up again. It's easier to interact when it's one sense at a time. Hearing, seeing, touch - they're all too much at once, and the task is serving to keep him grounded and calm.

Chapel on 7-10. I just needed Connor to meet a dog honestly.

[rk800connor]

It'd been two days since the music had stopped and the station seemed oddly quiet in its wake. Still, he preferred it like this simply because everyone seemed to prefer it like this. Sleep was good. Humans needed sleep.

Connor had only been to the chapel once, to meet another android, and he'd been meaning to come back. Where he was from androids were not permitted in most religious spaces and his curiosity was boundless.

He quietly stepped into the chapel, which looked almost deserted until he zeroed in on the dog. He was immediately fed information about the breed and walked over.

"Excuse me, is that your dog?" He actually looked excited. It was android levels of excitement, but still excitement, "May I pet it?"

[oorah]

Frank hangs there in her embrace without returning it, knowing he could easily crush her without knowing how tightly he's holding on. But his head falls to her shoulder, probably too hard, enough to crack his skull against her bony shoulder but of course, he can't feel that. He's still so grateful for the closeness; that she bothers at all when he's like this.

"I did," he admits, shutting his eyes so he can focus only on the sound of her voice and her breathing in his ear. Her scent fills his nose and he breathes a little easier for the first time in long days. The joke is lame, but it always is between them. He doesn't laugh, but he's also distracted by the sudden sound of the water starting up. It's like music, real music; and not the torture that had been inflicted on all of them earlier in the week. "Do you always talk to me like that? Even when I couldn't hear you?" A soft ask, close to her ear, but he needs to know. He thinks it means she believed in him all along, that he would recover. If that's right, it means more to him than he'd like to admit.

[oorah]

Frank can't hear Connor's approach, but Max can. He turns away from his dad, currently in protection mode, and pins his ears back as he assesses the creature before him. Looks human - doesn't smell human. Letting out a low whine, he sits back on his haunches with a metallic clack of his boots against the floor, waving his tail uncertainly as he looks sideways to try and grab Frank's attention.

He straightens up from where he'd been slumped over in his seat, praying to a God he doesn't believe in; or really anyone who would listen. Even if he can't hear, maybe someone out there could hear him. Blinking the water from his eyes without ever being aware of it, a tremulous if watery smile comes to his face as the man comes to Max. Frank is biased, but he can't blame Connor for being interested in him.

After a moment, he's able to tap out a message on his communicator and project it for Connor to read. He's getting better at this, he thinks. Not hesitating, just forging ahead even when it's hard to admit he isn't whole, especially to strangers.

go slow and he'll be fine. he's a rescue.

[subplot]

She doesn't answer right away because she's worried about looking stupid in front of him. Even with knowing he'd never think of her that way, a part of her worries she might say the wrong thing and she won't see him again for a while.

"Of course I do, Frank. You not being able to hear me didn't change anything between us." She whispers back, pressing her hand against the back of his head. Her fingers rub against his scalp for a few seconds, just long enough for her to turn her head to press her cheek against him.

"I knew you'd be able to respond eventually." A kiss is pressed to the side of his head, even though she knows he can't feel it. The gesture comes automatic to her now, as natural as breathing. She can feel him relaxing against her, and she thinks about how steady and good things have been between them. They've been stressed and pushed to their limit with what was going on, but they did it together.

"You'll be able to feel things again soon." That's what he's worried about, isn't it?

7/13-7/31 - Chapel

[morphogenia]

She has a schedule to this too even if she does deviate here and there. Kamala may not always come here every five times. The need to clean up and then make her way over can get tedious. Sometimes it's simpler to do her prayers in her room and hope that the angels aren't jotting down lazy as one of her sins in life. Today her deviation is to linger after her allotted time. Sometimes it's nice to stay in that final pose, legs folded neatly under her with her hands resting on them as she tilts her head to the left, and let her mind go blissfully quiet.

It can never last long. People are coming in and out all day. She lacks the same connection to them she did with the girls at the mosque she sat with. There is no community here as far as religion goes. Even if she's not as devout as her brother, it always leaves her bereft.

Maybe that's why she always comes back to reality and scans the room. Maybe one day someone will actually join her. Not today considering who she finds. Kamala smiles at the sight of Frank and offers a cheerful wave. It's time to get up anyways. She busies herself with getting up to stretch and roll up the sheet that's been acting as her mat. She thinks he'll still be there when she finishes, but if not at least she got her hello in. You know as if they don't see each other enough.

[oorah]

It's like he's always said: crisis brings people together faster than anything else. It forces them to be their best, and he doesn't think that holds truer for any two people more than Frank Castle and Karen Page. They've come a long way since their first week here - Frank refusing to give her his room number and Karen refusing to admit she needed him. Now they've fallen solidly into one another's orbit in a deliberate, meaningful way; and not like the way they drift in and out of each other's lives back home.

"You didn't," he points out, however meekly, wishing he could return even a tiny fraction of the comfort she's been to him. He steels himself, bravely lifting a numb hand and setting it on her waist. It's the best he can do to return the hug, but it's also much more than he's dared since his predicament started up. She kisses his head and while he can't feel it, he remembers what it feels like, the sound of it conjuring up the memory easily. "What if it doesn't? What if my hearing goes again? What if it's something else next?" He knows he shouldn't challenge her like that, but the fear is obvious in his voice anyway, even he can hear it plainly.

[rk800connor]

The lack of a response combined with the typed message, was the man mute?

Connor paused, looking from the dog to the man, LED flickering a bright blue in the dim light of the chapel as he processed what he was seeing. It wouldn't be completely out of the question to assume the dog was not a pet, but a service dog of some kind, though he wasn't wearing any indication that he was.

He sunk down gracefully to one knee and put out his hand, smiling at Max. The dog seemed very unsure of him.

From where he was, crouched by Max, he looked up at Frank and tried using sign language, speaking out loud as he did in case the man preferred to read lips.

"Would it help if I signed? What is your dog's name?"

[subplot]

The water has to be ready by now, but she can't just end the conversation there so she can get him in the shower. "If anything else happens, we'll deal with it. Together. I'm not going to leave you behind, Frank."

She knows that isn't what he's afraid of, that he has to be sure she's loyal to him and will stand by him no matter what. Her defending him with her last breath back home proved that well enough. It's a matter of his losing himself, of this place taking things away from them. When her hands go to his cheek, it's to press his head upward so he can look her in the eyes.

"We're going to beat anything this place throws at us." Her ice blue eyes hold a fiery resolve and a steel will. Nothing's going to make her break here, and she'll give her strength to Frank whenever he needs it. He does now, and she knows he needs to wash up, so she pulls away just enough to start helping him with his clothes.

[oorah]

Though Max hadn't started out that way, now he's helping Frank through his ordeal anyway. So maybe he is a service animal of sorts, which only makes him feel more indebted to the dog overall. Connor thinks he's accommodating Frank, but all he knows of ASL are key phrases and the alphabet. Though he does know "dog" because of course he does. Frank manages a shrug as Max sniffs at the man only to lean back in to lick his hand a second later in apparent approval.

M-A-X, he signs, after parsing through the rest of the words by reading Connor's lips and picking up context clues. Connor is close enough to read the brass plate on Max's collar bearing his name as well now, too. The smaller text below that asks anyone who might find him roaming to bring him to Frank's room on Deck 6 or Karen's on Deck 3. He taps out a new message while Connor is busy with the dog. i think he likes you

[oorah]

He nods against her face, though he never doubted her for a moment, it's still nice to hear. It's nice to hear everything now. His head is dead weight in her hands until he realizes she's moving him and then he lifts away from her, his hand dropping from her side automatically too. Her eyes are so blue and so clear, he has to take another shallow breath to recenter himself. She's right, they have to just take things as they come. But he's always been a planner, it doesn't come easily to him to wait and see. Trusting her makes it easier.

"I believe you." He believes in her, if not the words she's touting. Her fingers hook in the zipper of his jumpsuit like they have so many times before and he holds her gaze even as she helps to strip it away, stepping out of it with practiced ease and letting her take off his shirt next. He's less likely to scratch himself when she does it, the evidence of past mishaps covered up by bright pink bandaids, a few peppered across his front and back sides. "Say it again?" The thing about them being fierce warriors who could take on anything. He could hear that again and again in her voice right now and never get sick of it. He finally remembers to lift his arms so she can get the bloody tank top the rest of the way off him so he stands before her in only his underwear and socks.

[rk800connor]

Connor smiled brightly when Max seemed to accept him, petting his head a few times like a person who has only ever seen one other dog... once.

It is fairly apparent, especially when Frank once again types to him, that the sign language hadn't really helped.

Raising his free hand to show Frank his palm, a crisp hologram appeared there. 'My name is Connor. Sorry for bothering you, I didn't expect to see any dogs on board the station. I like dogs.' He could have mimicked Frank and typed out a message on his smartwatch, but this was just easier, plus he could make the text any size he wanted.

[oorah]

The signing is difficult too because he can't feel his hands, texting lessons with Kamala had made that a smoother process, but his eyes open a little wider when the other man creates a message out of thin air rather than on his comms device. He nods, gaze flickering from Max and to Connor's face and back. He wonders if he's like Midnighter, cobbled together from spare parts, or if he's any part human at all. He supposes it doesn't matter if he's kind to Max.

F-R-A-N-K, he makes the effort to sign, watching his hands as they clumsily form the letters near forgotten a lifetime ago. Then he points to himself to drive home that that's his name, that's how Connor can call him by. He hasn't spoken aloud in nearly two days, but he opens his mouth to try, unsure if any sound will come out. He'll have no way of knowing if he's saying what he thinks he is, no feeling in his throat to assure he's speaking at all. But he's making the effort, for a fellow dog-lover. "I like dogs, too." It's soft, but it comes, the words obviously delivered by someone who can't hear them emerge.

[subplot]

"Say what again?" She asks once his clothes are off and tossed in the corner. "That we'll beat anything this place throws at us?" There's a lot of the time when she doesn't believe in herself, but his having faith in her makes her strong. It's built her up to having some kind of functional life here, and she's grateful for that. But beneath that she knows that they make a good team, and that nothing is going to keep them down for long.

"But you're not going to beat anything if you don't get those things off and get in the shower."

No matter how close they get, she'll never stop telling him what to do like it's her business. Her hand goes to her jumpsuit, and she unzips it so she can be left standing in just her top and underwear. He'll need help getting into the shower, judging by his nearly tripping over his own feet.

[oorah]

"Yes, ma'am," he pledges softly through dry lips, his tongue darting out to wet them as a biological reflex with no idea he's doing it. Is she coming in with him? Or just helping him inside, it's hard to know where their boundaries are anymore. If they have them.

Frank tries not to look at her, but it's impossible, eyes sliding over her state of undress even as numb fingers hook in his briefs and push them away. He has to lean his shoulder forward into hers to get his socks off, but that too is practiced and normal. He doesn't feel ashamed of being weak in front of her this way like he does everyone else. Like he had Maria. It's something he tries not to think about more often than he succeeds.

[subplot]

Her posture is rigid as he leans against her to get his socks off, legs locking to stay strong as she brings a hand up to help support his weight. There's nothing for him to be ashamed of here, because she doesn't mind being there for him this way. It doesn't show weakness on his part, just like she doesn't think that supporting him as he needs it shows strength. It shows devotion, and something else that she definitely doesn't want to put a word to or think on too much.

"On three," she instructs under her breath, turning so she can put her arms around him and get ready to support his weight as she guides him inside. A soft count up to three later and they're moving, and she finds it easier to get him in and under the water. She really only intended on helping him inside, but she ends up getting soaking wet in the process and ends up standing there with him.

Her eyes close as she lets the warm water cascade down over her, matting her hair down to her face and back. A month ago, this would've been awkward. But now it's something that doesn't make her heart race and doesn't make her question what in the hell she's doing.

"Do you think you've got it from here?" She eventually thinks to ask, long after she's been standing there to the point that she knows she looks ridiculous.

[oorah]

"Three," he whispers, allowing her to guide him and trusting her completely not to let him fall. She may not be as physically strong as he is, but that doesn't matter, and soon he's standing under the spray with her, the warm water causing his head to droop forward, watching rivulets of red wash down the drain past his toes. Usually she'd have left already, but she's lingering, something he can't find within himself to take real issue with. Water has already soaked through her clothes so that she may as well have been as naked as him upon climbing into the shower, but he still hasn't seen her that way. Even if the idea of laying himself bare for her doesn't terrify him anymore, it couldn't after this.

"If I say no, will you stay?" he quests even while knowing he shouldn't. It's scary to be in a shower with no sense of touch, hearing or no hearing. He almost always manages to injure himself somehow, but with all the damage Elektra had done, he's not sure Karen would know the difference anyway. It's the first time he's even entertained asking her to join him, and maybe there's still some residual adrenaline there leftover from the fight that makes him ask, it's hard to say. "You don't have to."

Not that she ever needed to do anything for him, but it isn't what he means. He doesn't physically need her to stay, but maybe he wants her to. Maybe he's sick of being trapped inside his own body - it's an immensely lonely existence for him now.