( 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]

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

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

[subplot]

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

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

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

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

[oorah]

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

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

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

[subplot]

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

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

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

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

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

[oorah]

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

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

[subplot]

The best thing with Frank is that she's easily able to gather meaning from the things he doesn't say. That's exceptionally true now, and she smiles at his admission. It's the sleepy sort of smile that doesn't last long, but he can't even see it so it doesn't matter. Hearing that he thinks she's stronger than he is is quite the compliment, but she knows it means more than just that. It creates a warmth inside her that makes her stomach tingle and flip, and threatens to keep her awake.

"As long as you keep coming back..."

Unable to finish that thought, she let it die off and let silence start to lapse between them. She doesn't need to try and figure out something to say, he won't mind that she doesn't have anything. He never minds when she doesn't have something to say. So often looks and little touches are more than enough to speak for the both of them, and tonight is no different. She no longer questions why her safety means so much to him, and doesn't need to be afraid that he'll forget about her. She's become the center of so much for him, and she knows that it takes so little now to pull him back into her orbit.

[oorah]

His lips lift in a gentle smile, unknowingly at the same time as hers, and it's gone just as quick. The scent of her on her sheets and all around him has him gripping a little tighter as his chin settles into the hollow of her collar, breathing shallow breaths as they slowly deepen across her ear. He no longer sees Maria when he shuts his eyes, he rarely even dreams of her, and he feels like an asshole for being relieved about that.

"I'm here, Karen," he murmurs softly on a yawn, he's clearly not much longer for this world. And when she lapses into silence so does he, drifting closer and closer to the tide with each tickling breath wafting across his cheek. Sleep is calling him now, strongly enough that he can't fight it, not after the day (week) he's had. And so Frank falls asleep just like that, impossibly close to her, knowing full well he'll probably have his senses back when he wakes. It's a good incentive to let the urge claim him quickly for a change.

His sleep is blessedly dreamless, and even slightly restful, though it feels like the blink of one eye before he's propelled into waking again. They've scarcely moved in the night, though somehow Frank's other arm had made it around her back too, clutching at a shoulder blade with his leg once again woven through hers. It's notable instantly, the warmth he feels rising off her skin and sinking into his. There are so many sensations he forgot about, the lazy tingle of his skin as he drifts into consciousness properly, the shifting of air at his throat as she breathes and sleeps on against him. Frank holds her a little tighter just because he can, biting into his lip to keep from audibly sighing out at the feeling of her soft shirt catching on the callouses of his fingertips as they rub back and forth. And soon, another issue is rising forth, but he's so caught up in how everything feels that it takes him much longer to notice than it should, how his awakening anatomy is pressed to her thigh.

He's too busy rubbing his stubbled cheek against her soft skin and gently working up her tank top so he can place a warm hand flat against her lower back. That's when he finally gives in the urge to sigh aloud, a pitchy sound in her ear sure to wake her, but he's not thinking about being considerate now.

[subplot]

Sleep takes hold of Karen just as quickly as it does him. She dreams of she and Frank back home, the way things could be there. As the warmth of his breath and the tingle of his touch pulls her from her dreams and into a drowsy alertness, she realizes the reality of being with him here is better than any stretch of her imagination. It's easy to pretend to still be sleeping for a while longer, shifting slightly to move against him.

That's when she feels him pressed up against her in a way that hasn't happened before, and the realization makes her softly sigh. Her hand moves to rest against his hip, sliding down to his thigh. Whatever wariness he might have initially had when they started this sleeping arrangement, it seems to be gone now. He seems...happy. Like he doesn't have any weight at all resting on his shoulders.

"Morning," she whispers, leg moving a fraction. If his body's responding to her closeness, does that mean he can feel things again? It's not like she's really coherent enough to bluntly ask. It's not like she minds, but this definitely has the potential to become awkward fast depending on his reaction.

[oorah]

A shudder ripples through his middle involuntarily at the way she palms his hip, her soft fingers dragging down over his thigh where his shorts had ridden up. He feels a flush climb up his throat hotly as he tries not to think of anything at all. The second he does, the precarious edge they've found themselves on won't sustain their weight anymore. "Morning," he rumbles belatedly, sure to respond even though it would be so easy not to - he doesn't want her to think he can't hear her again. He's still not fully aware of what's happening, just that every shift she makes is heightened tenfold in a way that inspires a swoop behind his belly button.

He doesn't want to stop touching now that he can though he knows even this is already overstepping the invisible boundary he'd set in place between them. Frank never set out for this to happen, in fact, he'd worked hard to prevent it; but the station kept pressing them closer and closer together, this time literally. His fingers work methodically up her spinal column beneath her shirt, feeling each vertebra as he tracks upwards. The shift of her leg draws an unsteady breath from between his lips as he forces himself to take notice of the situation at last.

Should he pull away? Apologize? Except she seems just as comfortable as he is, and maybe he doesn't want to spoil a rare leisurely moment on this rust bucket. "How did you sleep?" he asks instead, sounding like he really wants to know despite the wistfulness in his tone.

[subplot]

Her back arches slightly into his touch, like a lazy cat silently demanding more attention. Any line that might've been drawn between them is gone, and she's painfully aware of the fact that they have to be careful. So far nothing has gone too fast. Everything's been slow, a natural coming together that's led to this.

"Good," she answers, voice still a little heavy from sleep. "I always do when you're here."

Each and every pass of his fingers along her skin leave goosebumps in their wake, and she can't ignore the feeling of a coiling tension in her stomach that makes heated chills course through her. They've both been so afraid of crossing a line, of toppling over the edge into something that neither of them know fully how to navigate. Without the usual fear of the unknown, Karen takes a leap and knows that he'll catch her.

When her lips seek out his this time, it's not a simple brush or a fleeting gesture. It's an actual kiss, one that she's been biding her time to give him. Now that she's almost positive his senses are back completely, it feels like the right time to do so. Her hand curls more firmly against his hip, using her hold as a means to press in closer. Her thigh moves against him once again and this time she makes an unsteady sound as she breaks the kiss in order to look into his eyes.

"You?"

Acting like everything is completely normal because it feels that way is the best thing to do here, right?

[oorah]

The kiss brings his pain from the fight the day earlier into sharp focus, but he doesn't shy away from it. Even that feels good in a way that has him sinking into her lips and pressing heavily into the hand on her back, so grateful to know what amount of force to use and how close he is to that line. He isn't naive, he knows he's hurt her a couple times, but she's the only one he trusted not to be too fragile, that he reached out for even when he was numb. It isn't a hardship to kiss her back, even with swollen lips and a hopelessly bruised up face. She's used to that by now, as much as he wishes he could insulate her from certain aspects of his nature - but the inherent violence shifting under his skin is what first drew them close. He thinks she has a version of it too, and maybe that's why he doesn't have any trouble being open with her the way he'd hesitated with Maria.

The pain is good, the pain means he's here, present with her at last. He pushes through it into her mouth until his lungs sting and breathing through his busted nose is labored. The second she pulls away to look into his eyes, he cheats and hugs her even tighter, pressing their temples together as he tries desperately to catch his breath. Soon he knows he'll have to move, and that will be its own separate awkwardness, but if she doesn't mind this for now than neither does he - and there's something satisfying about his body finally reacting to the world around him, even if it isn't so convenient at this exact moment.

"You'd know if I slept bad." His nightmares aren't subtle and he has them often enough that she'd know the difference. He doesn't dream about losing Maria anymore, but Karen. This tenuous thing they have stolen from him before he ever gets the chance to tell her he was wrong. Maybe that's what now is for, but he always manages to put it off. "I think... it helps me, too. When we stay like this." Sleep together, he means. He'd do it if it only helped her anyway, but knowing he has a better chance at nighttime peace is a good incentive.

With the back of her shirt still open to the air, one hand holding it up where he's holding her, his other hand alights on her side, traveling from her ribcage down to her hipbone and back up in a barely-there graze of callouses. He's so grateful he can feel it, the softness of her skin and every reaction, that he's not even thinking about how this could be seen as an escalation. He just needs to feel more of her before something is stolen from him again - before he can't anymore.

[subplot]

She knows when he sleeps bad. His nightmares are something she understands and is used to now, and knows how to handle when they happen. Just being there for him at his own pace seems to be enough. Last night she doesn't remember feeling him stir at all. There's an elated feeling that starts in her stomach at the realization, and sends a chill throughout her as his hands wander. Her breath hitches, chest tightening as she tries to judge what this is and what he wants.

Her head turns, temple remaining pressed against his. Letting out a staggered breath, she nods in agreement. Yes, keep going. She doesn't need words to let him know that it's okay. It feels like an escalation on her part, but it doesn't necessarily have to be. This is a lot for him, and a big step for the both of them.

"Then we stay like this." It's an easy decision for her to make. They can sleep together in her room or his, and not just because they need one another. There's a fine line that carries a distinction of doing it because they need to and sleeping together because they want to, although she knows they both hide behind necessity when they're too afraid to admit to and act on their desires.

With a soft sigh, her foot traces up his leg a little, as her hand slips from his hip to his stomach. He has to be the one to escalate things more, to ask for it. Fingers tiptoe along his stomach toward the waistband of his shorts, then start to slowly slip their way back up and over along his side. He's managed to raise up her tank top to dangerous heights and her mind clouds with a mix of hope and desire. She isn't sure if this is just how he's decided to wake her because they've crossed that invisible line or because he's desperate to feel her after not being able to for a while. When she kisses him again, her lips crush against his in a hungry desperation, leg shifting to ride up against where she can feel him hard against her thigh.

[oorah]

So that means... this is their new normal. He thinks that's what she's proposing anyway. His eyes flit briefly to Max, still asleep in his doggy blanket fort, and he knows that the dog prefers when they're together. Even before he'd been damaged, they had been spending more time together, though not quite this close. This is uncharted territory for Frank since a long time - well, barring making out with David's wife - and thankfully that's easy to push aside now, too.

His calf rubs against hers as Frank enjoys the residual shiver traveling up the back of his leg. The urge to press himself completely into her is steadily climbing, as is the heat beneath his skin. When she kisses him this time, that's it for him, abdomen contracting under her touch as he opens his mouth invitingly to her rough initiation. The pain once more ramps up his pleasure and he hears himself release a wanton cry against her lips. Unable to stop the forward momentum when her leg presses into him this time, his hips shift forward and his hand shoots up, cupping the back of her head to harden the kiss even more, teeth bumping against her lips as he mentally refuses to hold back anymore.

[subplot]

The feeling of his meeting her roughness without hesitation is what does it for her. Any inkling in the back of her mind that this needs to slow down is forgotten as he doesn't treat her like she's made of glass. There's a slight sound as his teeth collide with her lips, but she intentionally presses her teeth against his lower lip and gives a nip accompanied by the slightest tug.

Now that she's sure he wants her and isn't likely to hold back, she presses his shoulder to get him to lay on his back. Her leg slips from between his, curling over his hips to straddle him as she elevates herself over him. Her tank top is still disheveled from his attention and she bites at her lip as she slips it over her head, tossing it onto the floor. Wasting more time than that seems like a terrible idea, so with a drag of her hand through her hair to try and keep it out of her face she leans down to resume kissing him.

Given their new position, she can feel him pressed against her more intimately. Even the slightest movement causes an electric spark in her spine, the heat quickly spreading through her like wildfire. It makes a needy sound pass from her lips against his, causing her to only kiss him harder.

[oorah]

This is what she wanted from the beginning, wasn't it? It feels inevitable in that moment, enough so that Frank wonders why he fought this. His back hits the mattress with a soft thump, seemingly happy enough with this positioning to allow her to take charge. Whether or not Karen knows it, this is really the only way he knows how to be with a woman, by submitting to her will. And Karen's had eroded his, though they're both stubborn as an alleycat. Maybe a part of him even feels like she's won, but this is hardly the loser's seat. His gaze rakes over her torso as she flings her shirt away, big hands once more tracing up her sides, except this time with minimal hesitation. The near-reverence shining in his gaze should make up the difference anyway as he tips his head back to meet her eyes and accepts the biting kiss with a groan.

Something shifts then, like an internal mechanism locking into place. He honestly thinks it's because this has been a long time in coming, that everything feels so amplified. Between that and not having his senses for seven days, of course he would be overwhelmed. He kisses back until there's no air left in his lungs, but the tug to his lip hurts and not in a nice way. His physical interest begins to wane some, even though he very much still wants this -- still wants her. "Karen..." he starts, but it stalls there because he isn't sure what's happening. Everywhere they're touching suddenly feels uncomfortable and hot and his hands yank away from her body as if he's just been burnt. He holds up his palms to look, but nothing seems amiss. His heart is beating in triple time until he lets out a pained cry suddenly and tries to scramble out from under her. Every single inch of his skin is inflamed, and what felt amazing only a second ago now feels like the most painful torment he's ever been subjected to.

[subplot]

A part of her isn't particularly surprised that he starts to hesitate and pull away. It makes sense that he would. What does shock her is the way he pulls back, fast and harsh like she's harming him. Her eyes widen as she tries to scramble off of him, ending up toppling over the edge of the small bed in the process. She hits the floor with a gasp, the cold floor combined with the swell of embarrassment doing plenty to clear her head. In the shuffle, the two manage to wake up Max, who rushes over to check out Karen and make sure she isn't hurt.

Her hand goes to the dog's head as she moves to sit up, and very slowly peeks up over the edge of the bed. "Frank..."

For once, she has absolutely no idea what to say at first. So she rubs at her elbow since it's throbbing. Whoever called it a funny bone really should've been shot. "I could feel your heart racing faster than I've ever felt it go before. What's wrong?"

At least she knows that something must be wrong. It's not her, she tells herself. It can't be. He clearly wants to be with her, it's just that something is in the way of it happening. It isn't her.

Is it?

[oorah]

He knows she must be confused, and if he were in any state to catch her he would have. He hates that he couldn't. Max is all over her though even as Frank curls in on himself, paralyzed by sharp pain shooting through every spot the bedding touches. Even his shorts shifting against his thigh is excruciating. Frank wants to scream and cry all at once, but it's like there's an elephant sitting on his chest... 🐘🔪 with a knife.

"Karen..." He sounds uncertain and afraid, one eye cracking where his face is pressed to the mattress. His eye rolls up to try and catch hers. "Are you okay?" He doesn't know how to explain what's wrong with him so she has to be his first priority. If she says no he knows he'll have to find a way to get up, but until then he's helpless. He scrunches even tighter in on himself, eyes squeezing shut as he tries to categorically shut everything down, one by one. He's good at compartmentalizing pain. It would help if he knew why everything hurt to begin with. He has to try to put this into words, he just wishes he could reach out for her. His fist balls in the sheets and a tear tracks down his face, still half buried. He's praying again, in his head, to a God he's never believed in. Maybe this is truly his due penance after all.

[subplot]

She watches Frank with concern, unsure of how to help him. Touching him seems to be out of the option for now. All she can do is reassure him that she's alright, and they can try to figure out a way to make the pain he's feeling stop. "I'm fine, Frank. Just tell me what's wrong."

In the back of her mind, she knows that if he was able to tell her, he would've. It's not like him to not tell her important things, and this seems pretty fucking important. With Max worriedly pressing his nose against her over and over, she moves to stand up. There's a tear going down his face that she wants to wipe away, but her hand stops short as her frown deepens.

"Tell me how I can help."

That's probably more pressing than figuring out exactly what's going on. Finding out how he wants to take care of the problem is more productive right now.

[oorah]

He flinches away from her when she reaches towards him, but he's also trying to sit up, letting out another panicked cry at how it feels just to support his own weight in his hand against the soft bedspread. Frank doesn't give up, working his way up inch by terrible inch until he can prop himself up against the pillows. It's better, but not by much, his clothes feeling like each thread is pinning him down sharply. Even blinking is a painful chore, but he's starting to learn to breathe again, to think things through more thoroughly.

"Just - sorry. Give me a sec."

Frank has to work through this on his own, hands on his thighs even though it hurts. It hurts either way so being comfortable might help him keep his head.

"Everything..." His eyes pop open, seeking out hers, wanting her to be close even though they can't touch. "It's like I'm being - stabbed by a thousand tiny knives. Every time I." Frank blows out a breath, lets the cool blue of Karen's eyes center him. Hearing her voice, he can do this. They can. He has to.

"Just. Talk to me? Please. Until it passes."

[subplot]

He gets situated and Karen keeps her distance. She wants to reach out and hold him so badly that it's killing her not to be able to. Without knowing what to do with her hands, she pets and scratches at Max in an attempt to calm him down. If everything hurts to that extreme, she doesn't dare even sit on the edge of the bed. Even a slight movement might be excruciating.

"I'm not making any progress on the doors."

She blurts it out, something honest and a genuine concern for her. "We found the chapel, but I haven't made any further progress since. Everyone I talk to thinks that it's useless or a waste of time, and I know that I shouldn't let them get to me but it feels like I'm running in circles."

Her tongue grazes against her lips, and she glances down at Max. His big, goofy face seems to be smiling up at her and she can't stay down on herself when she's faced with that kind of admiration.

"I think there might be better uses of my time. But I wanted to find transport so badly, Frank. I wanted to find a way out of here, even if we can't go back home. We wouldn't have to be trapped."

[oorah]

She looks so... Why can't it just be five minutes ago? Why does everything happen so damn much? Frank knows from experience, especially after this week's ordeal, that all of the station's mindfuck's are temporary. The question is: how long will this one last? He's already close to his breaking point as it is. Frank desperately tries to hone in on her words, reading her lips quicker than he processes his hearing now. He frowns, but that hurts too, and he schools his face back into a neutral expression, head slumping over in defeat.

"Karen. You're going to get everyone out of here. I know you don't see it yet, but you are." Something soft visibly sinks into his gaze, smiling that way while his lips stay flat. "If anyone thinks you're useless I'll toss 'em out a goddamn airlock. What are you wasting your time with people like that for anyway?"

He genuinely sounds angry, even though he's eerily glued to this one spot. Frank's eyes dip to her chest before shooting back up to her eyes - thinking about what they'd almost done isn't going to help him now. He has to push it out of his mind. Maybe it had been a mistake altogether, given the response.

[subplot]

She for some reason is surprised when Frank makes the effort to respond. An eyebrow arches as she stares back at him, mouth turning up in slight amusement. "People don't have to agree with me to be worthwhile, Francis."

Maybe mentioning his name isn't the best idea right now, but she feels like it's harmless. It's a clue that she's talking about Elektra, and the fact that the two don't always agree but that doesn't mean that Karen views her as any less of a friend.

"Matt hardly ever agreed with me. I'd still consider him to be a friend."

On a good day, maybe. Most days she still is bitter and angry at him for lying to her about being Daredevil. She won't even get into how angry she is at him for causing so much emotional distress and fucking up Elektra.

[oorah]

He screws up his face, unable to stop it, which only makes him wince harder and close his eyes for several seconds. She's literally talking about every single thing he hates thinking about right now. But why should that surprise him?

"Not agreeing with you and calling your ideas worthless are two different things, Page." Guess which one he'd snap someone's neck over? "...Don't call me that."

Frank slowly pries his eyes open again, knowing it came out petulant but he can't be brought to care. The alternative is talking about Matt with Karen after they almost... yeah. Let's bicker about his name. That's better.

[subplot]

He's definitely sulking after that. And directly telling her not to call him it, which means she's hit a nerve. She really was only trying to play around and lighten the mood, but realizes she might have gone about it the wrong way. It's with a sigh that she crouches down to find her tank top, and pulls it over her head so she can cross her arms over her chest without looking ridiculous.

As soon as her arms go over her chest she's wearing a pout that's probably pretty close to his. "Why can't I call you it? You let someone else do it."

She's not exactly eager to talk about Matt right now (or ever), so she eagerly latches on to the stupid subject of his name and hopes he'll end up bantering with her over it so intensely that he forgets he's in pain.

[oorah]

Oh, he sees what's going on here... he's being ganged up on. It's typical, really. And he can't say he doesn't deserve it.

"You've been talking to Elektra," he points out, even while watching her dress. For some reason, she's equally distracting this way. That can't be fair, can it? But his goal was to forget about the pain, so bantering it is. "Saying I let that woman do anything is like saying I let a tornado hit." That isn't how anything works, Karen!!!

"It's weird when you do it," he admits a second later, shutting his eyes and flopping his head away from her even when it sends spikes of pain shooting up through the back of his head. After a minute of laying there that way, he struggles his way up again and starts tearing at his shirt, trying to get it off his body.