( 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]

"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.

[subplot]

She hesitates. Not because she doesn't want to stay, but because she can't weigh if it's a bad idea or not. "You don't have to say no to get me to stay." Her voice is so soft that she isn't even sure that she's speaking out loud. But she must be, she can feel the vibration of her vocal chords in her throat.

"I want to."

It feels important to reassure him of that, and there's a pass of her tongue against her lips to needlessly moisten them as her hands move to slip off her clothes. They're dropped to the corner of the shower with little finesse, and she doesn't seem to mind being naked in front of him as she takes to gathering up her hair in her hands to move it out of her face. There isn't necessarily a lot of room in this small space for the both of them, but they manage to make it work.

When she turns to face him it's with a smile. She doesn't let her gaze wander and instead keeps her eyes focused in on his. Her hand slowly reaches out and touches at his chest. It's right where a bandaid is, likely hiding another new scar.

[oorah]

He nods at her insistence, as always believing her without question because they never lie to each other. His eyes fix on hers too, as ever trying to remember to blink water out even though he can't feel it. Karen comes towards him and he isn't sure what to expect, taking in a sharp breath when her hand alights on his chest. It's meaningless because he can't feel her, physically, but his heart still speeds up under her touch. Here he goes being brave again, concentrating on lifting his hand up and coiling it gently around her wrist, callouses catching on the soft skin to be found there. He can tell himself it's all for her benefit because he's numb, but he can see and hear everything happening, he's more present than he's been in at least a week since this whole thing started. His eyes drag up along her body, taking it in for the first time and feeling greedy just to have the vantage point.

[subplot]

She thinks she's going to play it cool, up until she can feel his eyes on her body. There's the slightest tremble as she keeps her head held high, knowing that he won't find anything wrong with her body the way it is now. She's too thin and bony, hard edges where she might otherwise be soft curves if she was back home and eating properly.

He can't feel the way her hand presses a little harder, and he won't know how fast her heart's racing as he takes hold of her wrist. It's ridiculous to be so entranced by a single moment in time, but right then and there she is and the spell isn't broken until water starts trailing down her face and causes her to rapidly blink.

"Still with me?"

[oorah]

She's thin, but he's lost weight too, maybe more rapidly this week than any other. She's also whole and safe though and it's all he ever truly wanted. Frank's hand falls from hers, fingertips glancing her belly on the way down. He watches his hand drop before forcing his gaze back up, making eye contact even when he wants to withdraw. Karen has always been there to draw him out of himself, somehow, and this time is no different. He slowly nods in confirmation to her question. He's always here, with her, even when he's not. It's become impossible to ignore how his mind is with her wherever he goes, or she goes without him. They have their own separate lives, as ever, but it's different now because they come back to the same place at night. They wake up together. It's almost like...

"Y-yeah," he stammers, his unpracticed voice catching in his throat. Now more than ever he wants to give up, maybe that's juvenile, or maybe he's just tired. He can't feel that so it seems dramatic. "Can you wash my hair?" he asks, words barely audible over the din of the spray, her words running through his head. They're going to get through this - he is. But it's impossible to see the end now. If his touch really is coming back, he doesn't want to spend his last day(s) fumbling through everything. If her help is offered in earnest, which it always is, then he's going to belay his own stubbornness and accept.

[subplot]

"Yeah," she answers, giving the tiniest nod of her head. There's something so calm about this, even when it feels so electric charged that she's worried one little move might make the both of them burn. It feels easy, like the natural progression of things between them. It's enough that she isn't hesitant when she taps at his hip and guides him to step back, giving her enough room to reach for the standard issue shampoo.

His hair is wet enough that it's no issue to get some in her hands and lather it up, bringing her hands to his head. She slowly and carefully works her fingers through his hair, making sure not to tug too hard. He can't feel her doing this, but she's still gentle anyway. Some of the suds fall down into his face and she laughs, quickly trying to bring a lather filled hand down to wipe it away.

It's only after she's had her fill of taking care of him that she lets everything start to wash away, now standing in close enough to him that some of it splashes down onto her as it rinses off of him. Her lips part like she might say something, but at the last second she decides not to ruin things by opening her mouth. This is nice, and sometimes words aren't really needed to enjoy something.

[oorah]

He moves where he's told, then stands stock still while she washes the blood and grime from his scalp. Not being able to feel the care she puts into the action doesn't prevent him from being touched by it, watching her face take on a determined scowl as she works. She laughs and all he can do is tilt his head like a dog, not sure what's funny but not caring enough to ask either. His hand comes up to rest on her hip, watching it happen though he isn't sure where the impulse came from. He's gripping her skin a little too tightly, not that he knows that, but with his hearing returned he keeps expecting to reach out and feel again, too. Her lips part and his eyes zero in on her mouth, his own lips falling slack as water races down his face and washes away the last of the soap.

Frank wants to ask how bad his injuries look, but his thoughts are closely in line with hers, not wanting to spoil the moment with speech. He's come to welcome the quiet anyway, so acclimated to the last week of silence that it scarcely registers he's still staring at her and not saying a word.

[subplot]

It feels like they stay locked that way for too long, silent and staring. She thinks maybe she should ask him to help her with her hair, but it feels so pointless at that moment that she doesn't dare. Somewhere it registers with her that the growing tension between them isn't necessarily uncomfortable, but she knows they're to the point where someone is going to have to take the next step. She's likely already done just that by coming into the shower with him.

"You look better," she murmurs eventually, reaching up to press her thumb against his chin.

Leaning in, her lips seek out his cheek, not wanting to press her lips against his when he can't feel it. "You should stay away from people who want to beat your face in until after you've healed a little more."

[oorah]

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

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

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

[subplot]

Her hip that he's holding starts to hurt and she dips it downward slightly, her hand going to gently pry his off. She takes hold of it instead, reaching behind her to turn off the water. She hasn't really washed her hair, but she can always do that tomorrow.

"That's exactly what I'm saying. At least when I hit you for being stupid, it doesn't leave a bruise."

Frank isn't going to stick around in this room full time any more than she is, which is what makes her suggestion almost laughable. Or it would be laughable if they weren't standing naked, nearly pressed together in a tiny enclosed space.

"Come on. It's time to get you into bed."

[oorah]

It gets a tiny smile from him, even as his breath catches all over again as she leans into him to turn off the spray. There's that same feeling, bubbling just under the surface, and he has to wonder if he's imagining it; if it isn't wishful thinking set in motion by Karen's blind faith in Frank returning to normal.

"Yes, ma'am," he repeats softly, allowing her to tug him out of the shower. A shiver traces up his spine though he can't feel the temperature drop outside the shower. His toes dig into the towel on the floor and there's the slightest awakening there, like when your foot falls asleep and the waking up is excruciating pins-and-needles except a fraction of that. A fraction of a fraction of that, even. Just the barest prick of some sensation as Karen drapes a fresh towel over him and he scrubs the corner of it over his face and hair so he doesn't drip too much before tying it around his waist - successfully after the second try.

In not feeling hunger or sleepiness or pleasure or pain, Frank has become good at discerning when he should be feeling those things anyway. And his face screws up into a big feline yawn, complete with a pitchy little sigh as he goes to share the sink with her so they can brush their teeth. All of it is hopelessly domestic, really, things he only ever did with Maria and then relearned, against all odds, with David Lieberman of all people. And now he has Karen Page in space. For some reason, his routine is going easier tonight, though he isn't sure if it's because his hearing is back, or because he's so used to the state he's in; or some combination of both.

The next few moments have him stumbling out into her room, smiling at Max sleeping soundly in his blanket fort as he opens her drawer to where he keeps a change of his clothes. Just out of necessity, right? Except it furthers the feeling of before as he pulls on shorts and a fresh tank top and tries not to fall on his face.

[subplot]

Karen almost moves to help him at several points while they went about their routine in the bathroom. But there's something about the way he takes charge of the tasks that tells her that he might be able to better handle things. So she lets him do his own thing and focuses on taking care of herself, lingering in the bathroom to towel dry her hair a little before stepping out to join him in the bedroom.

No longer shy or concerned about his seeing her, she doesn't bother with a towel around her waist. She just keeps drying her hair and heads over to pull out a change of clothes in the drawer that's next to his. A tank top and underwear are quickly pulled on, just in time for her to turn and glance over at Frank right as he looks like he might be wobbling. The towel that had been slung over her arm is dropped to the ground, and she reaches out to grab him.

Both hands start at his wrists then move to his waist, fingers pressing firmly against him. She's standing with her back to the bed and starts to trace her path back in that direction, hands staying steady on him to guide him with her. It's small steps, and maybe he doesn't need her to do it but she likes the easy contact.

"We need to do laundry tomorrow," she notes as she moves, not noticing how domestic this is. She's never been married, never had anything like he did with Maria. For her, this is a first. "No getting out of it just because you can't feel your hands."

Her legs bump against the side of her bed and she slips back to sit on the edge of it, letting her hands fall away so he doesn't topple over on top of her.

[oorah]

It comes naturally now, the way he leans on her; like he doesn't remember a time when she wasn't there to catch him - often literally. Though he can't strictly feel her, those pins are in his wrists now where she presses, and then again at his middle. He opens his mouth to tell her, to say something, but then she's sitting at the end of the bed and smiling up at him, and his chest aches. He can feel his heart speeding up, his breathing quicken.

Nudging at her with a hand to her shoulder to try and get her to make room, he crawls onto the edge of the bed on his knees so their faces are only a breadth away. "Do I ever try to get out of it?" he challenges softly, something with an edge glinting back at her in his gaze. It feels good just to talk to her again, to banter.

His palm presses into the bed behind her hip to support himself so he doesn't go tumbling into her, and there's a sudden ache in his wrist. It startles him, his head whipping to the side to look at it as if that will help him parse what's happening. Unfortunately their heads are so close, he knocks them together - and that's going to hurt Karen a lot more than Frank.

[subplot]

"Shit!" Karen shouts out in surprise and pain as their heads collide. It definitely stings, and she's pretty sure that he's just used his huge Charlie Brown head to give her a nice knot that'll bruise later. The sting gives way to a steady throbbing, and she brings both hands up to press at the spot that's in pain.

"Is your head made of steel or something? Jesus, Frank!"

She knows it's not his fault, and doesn't mean to make it seem like it is. So she huffs out a long and shaky breath as she drops her hand away to try and diffuse her startled reaction. It gives her a clear enough head to glance in the direction he had been trying to look.

"What's wrong?"

[oorah]

He hears her cry of distress and immediately picks up his hand to put it on her cheek, apology writ over his gaze. There's a dull ache in his own head, something he doesn't want to admit is there. This is too easy, isn't it? His senses were gone and now they're just coming back, just like that - good as new. It wouldn't be the weirdest thing to happen here, thinking of what happened to Alex suddenly and going a bit pale.

"Shit. Sorry, sorry." Frank brushes a kiss against her temple in apology, his lips prickling from the contact. Okay, this is officially not in his head. "I think I felt something. Sorry, Karen." His hand gently moves up, palm rubbing gently against her skull to try and soothe the hurt he'd dealt her. Her hair against his calloused palm is like the barest breeze and his breath catches all over again.

[subplot]

"You felt something?" She still sounds a little sulky over having a throbbing headache, but his attention paired with the fact she was right about everything coming back to him appeases her. Her fingers curl around his wrist, pressing against his pulse point.

"That's...that's a good sign, Frank."

A smile threatens to turn the corner of her mouth upward but it doesn't fully blossom into a smile. "What about this? Can you feel it?" Her thumb presses more firmly against the steady beat she feels beneath her skin.

[oorah]

"Yeah," he agrees dully, his lips twitching into an approximation of his own smile that never fully gets to ground either. He has to lean his temple against hers in order to stay upright, his eyes sliding sideways to watch her take his hand. Frank starts to shake his head, but then... it's strange. "It's just like... pressure. Uh. You ever see Kill Bill when she's paralyzed and telling her toe to wiggle? It's like that."

[subplot]

"Then all you have to do is remember your training and force your toe to wiggle so we can get the pussy wagon on the road." Somehow, she manages to say that with a completely straight face, leaning a little more firmly so their temples press together enough that her new head bump stings in protest.

Of course, as soon as the words come out of her mouth she realizes that it probably sounds a lot worse than she meant it to. She's managed to make herself blush, and she hastily clears her throat as she turns her thumb so her fingernail is pressing against his wrist. If it's just pressure, it won't bother him.

"You know what I mean." Please know what she means.

[oorah]

He's taking comfort from the familiar feeling of being close like this, even without the physical sensation. It's how things have been all week except now he can hear and it makes things like this so much better. Frank actually laughs, close to her ear, nose rubbing against her cheek with the sound.

"I dunno, I think you should explain it to me." Don't have a heart attack, Karen, he understands okay!! He gets it. Suddenly, he's crawling away from her to land on his back and letting his head hit the pillow. The weird sensation of air rushing by his ears and being caught by the soft bed is disorienting, especially now when he can hear himself fall, but doesn't feel the follow-through so it's like he's still falling in a way. He blinks up at Karen a moment later expectantly, used to the way she usually gets close to him even though he can't feel her.

[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.

[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.