( 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]

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.

[subplot]

He's really having trouble with that shirt. Sighing, she uses her height and lanky limbs to her advantage to help. Without getting on the bed, she dips a knee on it just enough that she can lean over and try to assist him. Of course, it's hard to do without touching him, but she can't just watch him struggle and not try to help.

"So you're saying you have no trouble trying to control me?" Amusement quirks at the edge of her lips as she says it, knowing that isn't what he means at all. He says that it's weird when she does it, and she fully intends on calling him on it.

"And why is it weird when I do it?"

[oorah]

He gives her a truly pitiful look and lifts his arms so she can pull it off. It hurts. Everything hurts. And he has to keep telling himself not to reach for her.

"No, I'm saying we're a team who actually listen to each other." And respect what the other wants etc. "Elektra marches to the beat of some crazy drum no one else can hear." And that's a lot coming from him.

Frank blows out a breath. "Because my mama called me that. It's weird, Karen." Especially when you're taking off his clothes?!?

[subplot]

That's the most romantic thing he's ever said to her, or at least in reference to her. She doesn't say so, but he might notice the way she pauses in helping him with his shirt so she can smile. Then he has to go and wipe that smile right off her face by mentioning his mother, which really isn't the best thing to do when you're taking off someone's clothes and you were about thirty seconds away from potentially having sex for the first time.

"I was only messing with you, Frank."

Finally, the shirt comes off and she sighs in relief. It's folded up and set at the foot of the bed in case he wants it later. She's guessing he probably won't.

"And maybe I was trying to get you to talk about your childhood a little."

They're together, more or less. She wants to learn all that she can about his past.

[oorah]

Frank holds her eyes while his hands go to the waistband of his shorts, these too? It's unbelievably awkward after what just happened, but he can't worry about being naked when he's in the worst pain of his life - this from a guy who's technically died twice.

"My... childhood?" he repeats, a little incredulous when her slim fingers carefully navigate around his. They may as well be daggers, but he's trying not to squirm away. He'll feel better once they're off, but this is really not how he pictured his morning going. "I - I was a real shithead, you know? A tough guy. I never appreciated my parents or anyone around me." He's more or less expecting her to say nothing's changed.

[subplot]

This definitely isn't how she pictured this morning going, even though she really hadn't pictured it going any specific way. Her hands move cautiously, trying to keep contact and his pain at a minimum. It's difficult to get his shorts off, but they're managing. She keeps whispering apologies as she does, since it's killing her that she's causing him any pain at all. This isn't how they're supposed to be spending time together now that he's admitted they're a team.

"You can still be a real shithead. A total pain in the ass."

She's not teasing him, it's the truth. It feels like he sometimes goes out of his way to be difficult. He isn't doing that right now though, and it's not fair to make comments like that when he's likely to think she's talking about right now. He isn't being a pain in the ass.

And speaking of asses -

There his is. Karen takes great care to look him directly in the eye and not let her gaze wander.

"Is that better?"

[oorah]

He collapses back into the bed like it was a great hardship, which it was, trying to block out the sight of Karen's hands on him while a million needles tore him apart from the inside out. No, this isn't a good day to be Frank Castle at all.

"I know. I'm sorry." That he's an asshole, it's not like he's not aware of it.

[subplot]

"What?" Karen's in total disbelief that he's actually apologizing.

"Frank, stop being so dramatic. You don't have to apologize for being a pain in the ass sometimes. It's part of who you are, and I care about you because of it." Her words are a little clipped and exasperated, because she can't believe that he's finally naked and in her bed and it feels like torture to him.

Their luck is the absolute worst.

It takes a lot of effort to carefully sit on the edge of the bed, so far removed from him that she risks falling back off in a heap on the floor. "In case you hadn't noticed, I'm a pain in the ass too. I think it's part of why we work so well together."

[oorah]

That gets him to unstick his eyelids for the millionth time, the grimace an afterthought as he hones in on her face. He must look ridiculous, arms and legs spread wide so he's touching as few things as possible. He can't think about it, he can't think about anything but pins under his toenails, razors at his throat. Frank swallows like it's agony to, but his gaze is wide and hopeful.

"You think we work well together?" he asks, voice small and with an almost tinny quality. They're just learning all sorts of things today, aren't they?

[subplot]

"I wouldn't share a bed with you every night if I didn't think we worked well together." She makes the mistake of looking away from his face and takes note of how he's laying. He looks laughable, but this situation is so pathetic she can't bring herself to laugh. She's barely able to smile.

"I thought you knew and felt the same way."

She's confused about what he's doing here with her if he didn't know she thought that. It's hard not to look or sound a little lost and hurt by thinking he's unsure about everything between them. How can he not know that she thinks that they work well together?

[oorah]

I wouldn't share a bed with you every night. How long have they...? It's his turn to look lost, though his hurt is physical, and because he caused hers. He's thinking of all the times they worked towards the same end, and - she's not wrong. It's just that here they're deliberately working towards a common goal. At home, they seem to fall together incidentally.

"I guess I just didn't think of it like that before." A flush climbs up his throat, feeling her eyes on him. This would be some really kinky shit under any other circumstance. Maybe if he just stares at the ceiling for a while. Yeah - yeah. That's the stuff. "Asshole, remember?"

[subplot]

Her eyes divert attention to the floor when she notices him looking up at the ceiling. This is definitely one of the more unintentionally intense moments she's ever had with someone. It's enough to make her have to clear her throat.

"How have you thought about it?"

That's probably a lot to ask him given the circumstances, so she hesitates as soon as the words leave her mouth. "You don't have to answer that. Because you're not an asshole. Not to me, at least, no matter how hard you try."

[oorah]

He deflates a little, though it's hardly visible with how he's sprawled. Frank just starts talking, he's afraid if he doesn't he'll be paralyzed by fear and pain, not just at the state he's in but the state they're in. The state they could be in.

"I think about it all the time. How I crash-landed into your life and fucked up everything you had going. And I keep doing it, Karen. Even here. Even when I... But you defend me. You've always got my back, even right now. Right fucking now when everything's so. I know we make a good team, I knew that from the minute you went to my house. You helped me remember. And this past year I was ready, Karen... I was gonna turn it all in and just lay my head down, sleep the big sleep."

It's damn near ramblings of a madman at this point, but just because it's stream of consciousness doesn't mean he's lying. His foot taps her thigh and he groans out in pain, but doesn't move it. he leaves that point of contact there in defiance. And that pain helps him shut the rest of it down, oddly enough; or at least begin to try.

"You keep me going when I'm this close to giving up. That's how I think about it." There are fresh tears tracking down his cheeks silently, stabbing him like little push-pins all the way down.

[subplot]

She doesn't realize she's crying too until she feels the warmth of her tears slowly trickling down her cheek. Her eyes lift up from the floor to meet his gaze, and she's unyielding in keeping her focus on him. It takes all her strength not to shift away when he touches her, knowing it must be causing him pain. But nothing could be as painful as his words. Each one stabs at her heart, making her angry in the process.

By the time he's done speaking, that anger has burnt out and she feels exhausted and empty. She can't imagine life without Frank in it. The possibility that he might actually get himself killed and leave her alone has become something that she has nightmares about on occasion. The reality of being with Frank is that he's going to get hurt, and the things he does can get him killed. But he's so strong and resilient that she believes in his ability to survive as much as he does her ability to get everyone off the station.

"I'm never going to give up on you." She whispers the words, though she knows that he doesn't need to hear them. He likely already knows it. But she is always going to find him when he needs her, and she is fiercely determined to keep him from ever giving up. She's known that she's had feelings for him for a while. But they've never run as deep or been as intense as they are now that they have this...thing between them.

"I care too much about you to ever let you give up on yourself."

[oorah]

Frank squeezes his eyes shut in the constant tug-of-war he's got going inside his own body, feeling like the sheets should be soaked through with his blood, but it's all inside his head. Isn't it? What isn't is Karen's watery tone and before he can stop himself his hand is darting out, closing around her arm and holding desperately onto her through it all. Even when it feels like his hands being sawed off, he doesn't let go.

"I'm holding you to that," it's gruff, closer to his usual tone, but even deeper and darker to match the depth of his gaze as his eyes open to take her in all over again. She's his rock, if she couldn't see that after this week especially, then he doesn't know how better to demonstrate.