[ frank lets himself in as instructed and locks the door as instructed. he already knows where she'll be but he plots his course, meeting her eyes before traversing the space. his boots are kicked off carelessly and he sits down next to her -- as close as he can get really -- very nearly in her lap. he crosses his arms across his chest and hangs his head so it rests against her shoulder and the top of her arm. in lieu of a verbal greeting, he just turns to dead weight, wanting to be near her and wanting to forget everything else. ]
[ She was going to be waiting in the bedroom but boy can he snipe the mood. Instead she's hunkered into her couch with an open bottle of Jack between her legs, the neck held in both hands. Maybe the "something else" they should talk about is nothing. She's willing to leave the ball in his court, her head falling back against the seat as he settles into her side. Internally, she debates over offering him some of her liquor, then decides against it, though she won't refuse him a couple sips if he asks. Too much could make him weepy, or chatty, or both, or something worse that she can't fathom beyond the previous combination. ]
Sorry. [ he knows she hates apologies. she hates everything, though so it's really just weighing which one is least likely to upset her. silence should have probably won out but clearly he's seeking some validation right now. for what, neither of them know. ]
Stop saying that. [ She snaps like a desiccated rubber band, dry and brittle. She's the one holding them back. Jess lifts her head, lips meeting the mouth of her bottle. Well, they're not gonna fuck now. God damn it. She thought she could steal another night with him before she'd have to tell him why there are certain things she won't do. If she's being honest with herself, she would have taken as many as she could have, thought it would be easier, only bringing up the relevant shit when asked. It's worse. It's her shame under a microscope.
Jess swallows her first gulp and has a second, dropping the bottle to her thigh with a slosh. She twists it, checking the volume. She doesn't know why. It wouldn't feel like enough to get her through this even it were full. ]
Sorry. [ he repeats only he's sorry for saying sorry this time... which is worse. ] Fuck.
[ frank takes a deep breath and backs off a little, giving her space though it's the last thing he actually wants to do. he lets his knee press against hers as he brings one leg under himself on the couch and tips his head against the back of it. ]
I know it should just be... easy. Simple. It's not for me. [ sex. ]
[ Stop talking, she thinks, yet he goes on. Any opportunity to avoid discussing herself, she'll exploit, even if it hurts him. He knows so little about her compared to the wealth of digging she's done on him, that she could resume at any time and kick over some more bones, and the precious pieces that he hid away special, he all but gives her a hand in unearthing. How does he do that?
Oh yeah. Group. ]
Why? [ Jess is disappointed in herself before she even asks. He doesn't have to answer if he doesn't want to. She isn't sure she wants to hear it. ]
[ he's all too willing to have his own bullshit fucked up if it keeps her in the clear. and so they both throw him squarely under the bus. it helps that he knows enough to be angry about what happened to her, but the truth is he'd do it anyway. still, the way she asks has his eyes lighting on hers, wondering if she wants to know. he'd be surprised if she did. but she asked so he's going to tell her. because he told her he'd always be honest. ]
Because I've only ever... I've only ever made love to one woman, Jess. I slept with girls, in school. Just fooling around really, but it wasn't like her. No one was ever like her. [ he pulls in a sharp breath through his nose and hates himself. and then he'd met jess. and they had done... whatever it is they had done. he still cares for her a lot. he wants her right now despite ruining the mood. it shouldn't be complicated but everything he does is just because it's him. ]
And I thought that was gonna be it for me. We were in it for the long haul, you know? I'm not saying we had the perfect marriage, hell. Not even close. We were vicious to each other, but. [ frank shakes his head. he probably shouldn't say the rest. ] I don't want to think about her when I'm with you like that. I know it's... [ like that for her, in a way. maybe it's worse. who could say? ]
I say your name to remind myself I'm here with you. I want to be here with you. [ maria's hand, reaching out to him. he'd dropped it. he'd chosen to live. this is his cross to bear, and he's made it jess' by extension without meaning to. ]
[ she regrets asking more than she regrets pushing them too far, too fast. Piece of shit. clumps of words get stuck to the sides of her skull: made love, long haul, we were vicious. one woman. Jess stares ahead, at her hands initially, then her gaze becomes tetherless, settled on nothing. "nothing" is the word contained at the centre of her brain, going off quietly with every beat of her pulse.
nothing he says has any bearing on her. it's selfish to slake blame for the choice he made in accepting his feelings for her. it's psychotic to think about herself when he's confessing his fears to her. it's hypocritical when they're of losing control of what goes on in his mind. when he's in bed with her. ]
I'm sorry. [ Jess looks over to the blinds, turning her head imperceptibly away from him. out there somewhere is that truth-seeking strawberry blonde or any number of women with whom things could be simpler, no matter what he thinks. Her chest constricts and she steadies her breath as silently as possible. she shouldn't have asked, though she doesn't know what else she would have said. she can't make it better, can't get outside herself long enough to help him. she shouldn't be saying anything now, either. what's an apology worth from Jessica Jones? nothing. ]
[ the second he sees that blank look on her face, he knows he's overshared. frank is quick to dismiss her apology, reaching over to put his hand on the top of her thigh without moving his head from its loll against the back of the couch. his posture is downright lazy compared to the first time they met. he's comfortable here, next to her. ] Don't be. It's not on you.
[ he never even considered the possibility of being intimate with someone after maria, though he supposes that's part of moving on. isn't it? frank finds the tiniest smile from the depths of somewhere, squeezing her leg gently. ] I just wanted you to know
I'm sorry you came all the way here. [ his hand squeezing her thigh registers the same as it tumbling off when she gets to her feet. Jess doesn't know if she sounds angry, for the negligible effort she puts in to sterilize her tone. she's not. and she is. overwhelmed at a gentle pace, at least she can shut herself down before she steals his tragedy thunder. weird, how she can feel the air move around her face when she takes a step towards the hall, but not what's going on inside her, heavy blocks of emotion tearing up the ground as they shift about. it'll come to her clearly soon, lying in bed with a bottle. ]
You can sleep there if you want. [ or leave. she doesn't give a shit about the door. ]
[ rage spikes in him to meet hers when she rises up off the couch, but the second he sees her -- taking her in from floor to ceiling -- he realizes what's happened. the anger is gone as quickly as it came and frank finds himself nodding complacently, his hand dropping like dead weight onto the couch. she had pushed him too far too fast physically and now here he is looking for a type of intimacy jess can't deliver on either. maybe that should be discouraging, but instead he thinks it means that he was right to come here tonight; even if it didn't pan out the way either of them thought. ] I'm not. [ sorry that he came here. even a moment with her is better than the long nights he spends alone in that stupid room.
the offer to stay is welcome, though he isn't sure if she says it expecting him to leave. either way, frank is going to take it at face value. ] Okay. Good night, Jess. [ he watches her with that same soft expression, tone mild and accepting. ]
[ Jess drinks on her way out, not one to look back. She mills around in her bathroom, whiskey perched on the toilet tank as she goes through the motions preceding sleep. she can't help looking at herself, finally, after she spits out her toothpaste and rinses her mouth. all her features are there but Jess isn't, like some impressionist art student's first year portrait. she sees smears of makeup contouring her face and cutting it apart, lifting here, tucking there. Jess nearly spits up the huge gulp of whiskey she takes; with the minty toothpaste lining her mouth, it goes down like a bad shot. she cups some water in her hands and splashes her face with it before leaving, finding the light switch by touch and shutting it off, then opening her eyes.
there's less than a glass's worth of liquor left as she ambles into her bedroom, hooking the door with her ankle and nudging it closed. she hasn't bothered to in ages and now there's a stubborn gap from damage to the hinge or the threshold or there's just a shirt on the floor she doesn't know. what's important is that there is a bottle of rum in her bedside drawer. she sets it on top of the night stand and then crawls under her blanket, resting on her side. Jess puts the whiskey bottle in front of her on the mattress for something to look at, idly twisting the base in her fingers. when the numbness wears off, she'll empty it, and then nurse the rum until she hears the door close. it could be hours. her limbs feel locked there, each breath piling more weight into her until it becomes onerous merely to think of moving. it's as close to comfortable as she gets and it's not so bad, compared to sleeping or crying.
one will definitely lead to the other, if she gives in, but she only has to stay awake to within four hours of when she expects he goes under, so that he ought to be gone REM hits. and if he isn't, she's been conditioned to be a quiet sleeper, no matter what she dreams about. it's the shit she ends up breaking that makes the noise. ]
[ when she turns away, he feels a familiar numbness settle over his bones. is he making a mistake? maybe it's better for both of them if he leaves right now and doesn't look back, but there's something that keeps him firmly in her orbit. it isn't the same as it was with maria -- he didn't know the second he saw jess where the rest of his life would end up. but there are things that remind him of his late wife, and they're undeniable. jess is fierce, sarcastic; and often mean to him. she makes him guess at her mood and keeps hope dangled on a string.
what's missing are the good parts, the laughter and the fun shared on weekend outings. movie nights and pillow forts. though he supposes it had been easy to be 'fun frank' when he knew he was leaving again soon. jess and he live maybe a dozen blocks away from each other, and neither of them stray far from the roost. it's a more stable sort of life, as fucked up as that is to think about. in a lot of ways, this could actually be more sustainable than his fucking marriage. a bond that should have been eternal.
but he'd been fucking that up long before it had all been snatched away. and maybe that's the true lesson here.
frank tries not to listen for her when she shuts herself in her room, but his ears prick anyway for any tiny sound of distress. he can't help it, it's ingrained in him. he's folded up small, his face pressed into the back of the couch, but he's not sure how long he can lay here. not when the comparisons are making his head spin, memories layered until he squeezes his eyes shut and begs them silently to stop. what comes to the fore is worse still as he wonders not for the first time about what made jessica this way. who. a man who the papers say is dead, but frank knows better. he sees him in every plane of her face, and he hates him. he hates him more than he's ever hated anyone, even agent orange. even billy fucking russo.
that's it. he gets to his feet and goes to the kitchen. he doesn't think about leaving at all, but he busies himself easily -- knowing jessica never cleans so there's plenty for him to do. malcolm takes care of some things but it's easy for him to get lost in the work all the same. he washes what few dishes there are and clears debris off the counter. he checks every meager food item in her cupboards and fridge for expiration and general safety. in lieu of a sponge, he papertowels the counters and cabinets until they're shiny. all through the tasks, it's easy to keep his mind occupied, and so he feels better for it.
frank goes to the bathroom to pee and wash up. he steals some of her toothpaste and splashes water on his face. then he stumbles out into the living room and shuts out the light. he tosses one glance to the cracked bedroom door and wonders if she's asleep. he hopes if she is it's peaceful, even if he knows it can't be. and if she's awake hopefully she's drunk because he knows that's the only thing that helps. he strips off his shirt and belt and drapes them over the back of the couch. his kabar and strap are relegated to the coffee table and he curls up once again under the fleece blanket left for him.
in a few minutes he's asleep, which is welcome now that his mind is blank. for hours, there's nothing, just like always. he thinks he might get away with it too, but then it starts. he's with the lieberman's, it's leo's birthday this time. everyone is happy and smiling, most of all frank. he gives leo a toolkit and watches her light up, his heart swelling with pride as her parents fuss over him and the gift. how thoughtful uncle pete is. how much he really shouldn't have.
there's a knock at the door and sarah goes to answer it as david and frank drink wine and laugh, two peas in a pod. jessica. she's here, at last and sarah lieberman ushers her back into the room so that the kids can ooh and ahh over her. zach starts singsonging about uncle pete and his girlfriend and frank jokingly gestures to him that he's dead meat with a finger to his throat. jess kisses him and slumps into her seat by his side, ever sullen and unaffected. it's even more obvious in a room full of people having too much fun, but frank doesn't mind her bringing the mood down, even when she drinks the rest of their wine straight from the bottle.
and then it happens. the same way it always does except with a dastardly twist. billy russo comes barging into the room, hopelessly disfigured thanks to frank. he looks like a super pissed off quasimodo and who else should he set his sights on but jessica jones. he wakes bolt upright, drenched in sweat, just as her brains splatter on his face and the wall behind them. he's spared from seeing the liebermans murdered for the millionth time this month, but his heart is hammering anyway, like it could punch right through his chest. his gaze darts around as he desperately tries to remember where he is. ]
[ by the time he starts milling about, cluttering the silence with gentle clinks and thuds, the whiskey bottle is lying drained on its side and she has turned over to stare at the rum bottle, within reaching distance. after it goes on for a while, she fools herself into thinking it's Malcolm, who has been known to sneak quietly in and replace a grocery or two (often peanut butter) and straighten a couple things out while he's there. insomnia is what keeps her awake but the noise doesn't hurt, punctuating the monotony of her repetitive non-thoughts.
it's just a series of questions, shuffled and droned over and over again to the point that they might as well be nonsense. in her head, the question mark has worn out its inflection and it plays like one long, never-ending run-on sentence. How much of her is an inkblot of his dead wife? How can she claim that it matters? Were those flowers of his bought in her memory? Did he let them die to sharpen the distinction between her and Maria or to dull it? If he's using her for that, what is she using him for? And if she's not using him, and he's not using her, where does that leave them? And with what?
eventually the noises die away and Jess catches up to the silence when her tongue runs dry. she wades into it with a mouthful of rum and the same track playing in her head. she's been sick of it for hours but sticks to it stubbornly when memories trickle in, of Frank lying beside her, of him straining underneath her, of him saying her name in full, which he never did, of a body collapsing on top of her and caging her under it with weak arms that never let go. then, the ceaselessly tangled string of questions is pulled over almost like a blanket or a pillow in which to smother herself. a couple of times, her eyes sink leadenly behind her eyelids, but something primitive in her must know she's not alone so she mercifully doesn't sleep.
after several long hours and no time at all, the room begins to lighten as day breaks. a shot or two remains in the rum bottle; Jess takes it with her into the bathroom, drinks it on the toilet and tosses it in the trash for her environmentally conscious assistant to fish out later. she stays in the shower a long time, wondering if Frank will be gone when she gets out. it's difficult to get going, actually washing her hair and body, but once she starts, the tasks sort of carry themselves out, and then her biggest obstacle is shutting the water off. as if an entire day or week in there would make her feel any cleaner. it's stupid and all she can do is tell herself it's stupid until the short supply of hot water ushers her out. she wraps a towel around her chest and goes directly from the bathroom to the kitchen to put on coffee. for however long it's hot, it might steam away the layer of grime she still feels between her skin and the water drying on it.
strung out on her own uninterrupted bullshit, Jess doesn't know if it's waking or dream logic that keeps her from entering her living room in the hope that her denial itself will render it empty. ]
[ the scent of stale whiskey and something uniquely jessica jones filters through to remind frank that he's here, in her place. that she's safe. though he wants to check on her, a part of him is scared that she isn't. that what he'll find in her room is exactly what he'd seen behind his eyelids. he stays there for a long time, and who could say how long? he holds his knees to his chest and just tries to breathe, watching the sun come up. does she want him to go before she's up and about? probably. he doesn't know if she has any clients visiting today but he knows a hulking marine on her couch isn't exactly inviting.
just as he's about to get up and make coffee himself -- because apparently he's stuck here; like some echoing limbo place -- he hears her. she's in the shower now and the sound calms him, knowing that dead women don't take showers even in his most delusional state. he stands and straps his knife on, pulling down his shirt over it and threads his belt back through its loops. he finds his boots by the door, creeping around silently though she must know he's still here?
after lacing his shoes he stares at the door, as if attempting to compel himself to open it. he stands there until he hears her pad out into the kitchen, the hair rasing on the back of his neck and arms. he can't leave without seeing her. not after--
frank does his best to make some noise so as not to creep up on her, which is easy enough now with his boots on. they clomp into the room ahead of his body, but he hangs in the doorway, needing to stop seeing his dream in an endless loop. he's distracted briefly by a water droplet, stubbornly tracking down the back of her leg. his throat goes dry and his gaze fixes on the back of her head. ] Hey.
[ Jess takes out one clean mug for herself and then roots around for any liquor she might have lying around in a drawer or cupboard. she checks the fridge as well but no dice. the kitchen is typically the last place her alcohol can be found so it's no surprise. she has until the coffee finishes percolating to peek into the living room, so she stands there and watches it, still finding it simple to become entirely absorbed in one basic accomplishment.
she hears Frank scuff his way along the floor, giving her a heads up as he approaches. Did he sleep? it's the first question in her head to sound like one in hours and it reminds her how tired she is and that she could have filled these hours trying to think of a solution instead of fixating on herself as the problem. her stare stays glued to the dark water dripping into the carafe. ] Hi.
[ she sounds miserable. how do you sleep? he takes a breath in through his nose and eases his way into the room, going for another mug from the drying rack. he hopes she isn't miserable because he's here but that really can't be helped now, can it? ] I'm staying for coffee. [ obviously. stupid... he shakes his head, trying to get a glimpse of her eyes. even this close to her he's still trying to convince himself that she's alive. here, if nothing else is 'okay' about her at all. ]
Then I'll get out of your hair. [ he doesn't sound happy about it, but he doesn't sound happy about most things anyway. ]
[ she can't guess at what the point of that will be for him nor summon the will to care. the last time they talked about coffee they were lying in bed. Jess knew then that nothing would get easier. she knew she would hate herself for being a coward in the moment and not telling him so outright. on point as usual, past Jess. ]
Okay. [ he'll put himself through whatever he wants to, always does. he can have the first pour then. Jess turns on her heel, headed back to her room; she checks the state of him in her periphery, too quickly to learn anything. ducking into the bathroom to grab her jeans, she tosses her towel over the bathtub rim and crosses to her room naked. getting dressed is a sloppy process, drunk and out of it. once she's done, or mostly, her tank top still rolled up above her back with the fibres stuck to her damp shoulder blades, Jess stops in the bedroom doorway and rests her head to the jamb.
the coffee smells pungently cheap and pleasant. it bolsters her from her spot, where she could probably fall asleep standing, and gets her trudging back to the kitchen and then into her office, cup in hand. like a sack of shit, she drops into her chair. she flips open her laptop screen and starts pulling open desk drawers in search of liquor that she doesn't quite need yet. what she needs is to do her goddamn job, even when it's just deleting old photos of other peoples' lives. idiots and saps that she universally loathes, any of whom she would trade places with in a heartbeat this morning. ]
[ he doesn't watch her though the temptation is there. her tiny 'okay' might as well be a full-on speech for how relieved he is to hear her voice. frank settles back against the counter with his coffee, listening to her haphazard drunk sounds and taking his comfort from every single one.
frank steps aside to let her get her coffee, but then instead of going to the door to get his coat and be on his way... his feet carry him after her, dropping into the narrow chair wedged between her desk and the door to her office. he remembers acutely the first and only time he sat here, asking her about daredevil. he studies her face and drinks his coffee, resting the cup on his thigh, his other leg bouncing idly. ]
Can I get you... something? Breakfast, maybe. [ he expects the rejection, and it doesn't bother him. he just wants to interact for a minute before he's on his way. or at least that's what he tells himself to justify sticking around. ]
That's what the coffee's for. [ It ought to trick her stomach into shutting up for another thirty minutes or full hour. surely, by then he'll have left, and then she can sleep through the hunger. maybe when she wakes up, she'll feel like dealing with it. Jess is too tired to get or not get why he's still there, lazily assuming he's mocking up a domestic scene for himself. trying to make amends after a night on the couch. he didn't do anything wrong.
rather than tell him that, she hunkers down in front of her computer and swipes at the track pad until the screen comes to life. the top window is the preview she left open of a man and his mistress at dinner. Jess hits delete and starts to highlight any similar-looking thumbnails as she rests heavily back in her chair. he is now officially bothering her at work. ]
[ he nods. he expected it and he should accept it gracefully, right? slowly, he rises out of the little chair and wonders how to tell her that she didn't do anything wrong, either. nothing comes to the top of his head, so he doesn't try to dig further than that. he knows she wouldn't appreciate the effort anyway. ]
Okay. [ that's that, apparently. he can't just keep skulking around her like a creep, he knows that much. he needs a shower and a meal and to think long and hard about why he's doing this -- a process of analysis he already hates before it's begun. ] I'll see you later, Jess. [ or whenever she decides to show up again, because he's going to make himself scarce until then. frank turns and leaves after one more study of her face, as if memorizing its arrangement for some later assignment. he stops at the kitchen sink to deposit his cup and then mills back around to the front of the apartment to collect his coat and be on his way.
his phone will be on and he'll be at home whenever she decides to "deal with this." or just speak to him again in more than one syllable. ]
[ after that, Jess puts all her waking hours into work to best budget the bender she throws herself into in her off hours. it has nothing to do with him except that he may have postponed it for her by a day or two. she's reluctant to give him that much power. between binging, investigating, and avoiding conversation with Trish by any means necessary, she successfully forgets about Frank throughout her day, whatever odd and scattered hours it overtakes. at night, however, both men are there.
within a week, she's worn thin, but it's another several days before she snaps at her sister over the phone. it's hard to remember what it was she said that was over the line when she was scrambling for anything within reach. Trish threatened to come down and five minutes later Jess was already a block away from her building, headed away from Manhattan. all her pre-gaming convinces her that the dive bar by the diner is the place to haunt. three hours before last call, they're exorcising her from the grounds by force. she doesn't presently remember how she started that either but she's certain she did.
she pulls out her phone to check the time and immediately pockets it again without doing so, unnerved by the amount of notifications dominating the lock screen. she turns it off, too, and then ambles to the diner only to be refused service for coming in with an open bottle that followed her out of the bar and ended up in her hand. it's her only consolation considering she was sort of planning to sleep in one of the corner booths. her sister is no less stubborn than her and Jess won't put it past her to be staking the place out. if nothing else, she'll return first thing in the morning.
the fact that it's too cold to plant her ass on the sidewalk and nod off is all that prevents her from doing it. despite not knowing the hour, she's acutely aware that she's due for sleep in a couple hours at most, and only a few more hours after that, she will be seeing Frank anyway. she's sufficiently drunk not to wonder if Maria ever showed up shitwrecked with a bottle of O'Harren's she didn't plan on sharing. ]
[ frank's life goes on pretty much as usual. the cold has shut down work almost completely, but he fills the gaps with the liebermans and elektra. and her new dog, more to the point. he thinks of jess often, but doesn't call or stop by though it's all he can do not to some days. instead he turns to his routine, he works out too much he eats too little and everything else is really just a time killer.
the orchids he bought for elektra's visit still sit in his vase, though they're starting to wither. there are dishes in his sink like he's been cooking for more than one. but everything else is exactly the same as she'll remember, down to the hidden picture of his family that frank knows she knows is there.
he had only just nodded off properly when the knock at the door startles him. his whole body tenses like he's taking fire, blinking panic and sleep out of his eyes as he slowly comes back to reality. he checks his phone for the time even while getting up to put pants on, realizing who it must be the second he does. the bars just let out too so he can guess at the state she'll be in.
steeling himself, he makes his way to the door in only his jeans, racking his brain for what the right thing to do here is. as usual, he's drawing blanks. the door opens swiftly to reveal him, and his eyes soften with palpable relief to see her there, standing in his doorway. swaying, actually. in the interest of expediency and not freezing his balls off, frank takes gentle hold of her free arm and tugs her inside the warm(ish) apartment. maria definitely never showed up like this, so it's easy to only think about her. though truthfully in this moment, he would be even if he had the comparison to draw. ]
[ shoulders furled in and nose ducked into her scarf, the wind picking up has forced her to huddle against it. it glances right off her jacket but seeps through her jeans and her cheap gloves, and over the snowy gusts, she can't hear his sneaky ass stir. the light is off so he is either asleep or out and to her knowledge, he doesn't have anywhere to go. her shifting from foot to foot to keep warm turns into a tired, drunken sway before he finally opens up and she's just as quickly yanked inside. ]
Whoa, hey. [ she shakes him off without being certain of her footing but manages to face him with relative composure. if relative is hair strewn all over her face that's gone pink from walking headlong into the gathering bluster to get there. (it is.) ] Just pretend I'm not here, okay?
[ he lets go the second she's safe and shuts then locks the door behind her. ] Kind of impossible. [ a soft admittance, but they both know he'd do whatever she asked... maybe that's part of their problem. frank crosses his arms so he isn't tempted to reach out for her. nothing in his expression would suggest he's judging her -- because he isn't. ]
It's good to see you. [ even if she's only here because she's wasted. she's always wasted in some capacity, so it might be moot. he gnaws on the inside of his lip and tries to resist the urge to get her water and food and all the other ways he desperately wants to care for her right now. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
idk y just putting this here
no subject
no subject
no subject
Jess swallows her first gulp and has a second, dropping the bottle to her thigh with a slosh. She twists it, checking the volume. She doesn't know why. It wouldn't feel like enough to get her through this even it were full. ]
no subject
[ frank takes a deep breath and backs off a little, giving her space though it's the last thing he actually wants to do. he lets his knee press against hers as he brings one leg under himself on the couch and tips his head against the back of it. ]
I know it should just be... easy. Simple. It's not for me. [ sex. ]
no subject
Oh yeah. Group. ]
Why? [ Jess is disappointed in herself before she even asks. He doesn't have to answer if he doesn't want to. She isn't sure she wants to hear it. ]
no subject
Because I've only ever... I've only ever made love to one woman, Jess. I slept with girls, in school. Just fooling around really, but it wasn't like her. No one was ever like her. [ he pulls in a sharp breath through his nose and hates himself. and then he'd met jess. and they had done... whatever it is they had done. he still cares for her a lot. he wants her right now despite ruining the mood. it shouldn't be complicated but everything he does is just because it's him. ]
And I thought that was gonna be it for me. We were in it for the long haul, you know? I'm not saying we had the perfect marriage, hell. Not even close. We were vicious to each other, but. [ frank shakes his head. he probably shouldn't say the rest. ] I don't want to think about her when I'm with you like that. I know it's... [ like that for her, in a way. maybe it's worse. who could say? ]
I say your name to remind myself I'm here with you. I want to be here with you. [ maria's hand, reaching out to him. he'd dropped it. he'd chosen to live. this is his cross to bear, and he's made it jess' by extension without meaning to. ]
no subject
nothing he says has any bearing on her. it's selfish to slake blame for the choice he made in accepting his feelings for her. it's psychotic to think about herself when he's confessing his fears to her. it's hypocritical when they're of losing control of what goes on in his mind. when he's in bed with her. ]
I'm sorry. [ Jess looks over to the blinds, turning her head imperceptibly away from him. out there somewhere is that truth-seeking strawberry blonde or any number of women with whom things could be simpler, no matter what he thinks. Her chest constricts and she steadies her breath as silently as possible. she shouldn't have asked, though she doesn't know what else she would have said. she can't make it better, can't get outside herself long enough to help him. she shouldn't be saying anything now, either. what's an apology worth from Jessica Jones? nothing. ]
no subject
[ he never even considered the possibility of being intimate with someone after maria, though he supposes that's part of moving on. isn't it? frank finds the tiniest smile from the depths of somewhere, squeezing her leg gently. ] I just wanted you to know
no subject
I'm sorry you came all the way here. [ his hand squeezing her thigh registers the same as it tumbling off when she gets to her feet. Jess doesn't know if she sounds angry, for the negligible effort she puts in to sterilize her tone. she's not. and she is. overwhelmed at a gentle pace, at least she can shut herself down before she steals his tragedy thunder. weird, how she can feel the air move around her face when she takes a step towards the hall, but not what's going on inside her, heavy blocks of emotion tearing up the ground as they shift about. it'll come to her clearly soon, lying in bed with a bottle. ]
You can sleep there if you want. [ or leave. she doesn't give a shit about the door. ]
no subject
the offer to stay is welcome, though he isn't sure if she says it expecting him to leave. either way, frank is going to take it at face value. ] Okay. Good night, Jess. [ he watches her with that same soft expression, tone mild and accepting. ]
no subject
there's less than a glass's worth of liquor left as she ambles into her bedroom, hooking the door with her ankle and nudging it closed. she hasn't bothered to in ages and now there's a stubborn gap from damage to the hinge or the threshold or there's just a shirt on the floor she doesn't know. what's important is that there is a bottle of rum in her bedside drawer. she sets it on top of the night stand and then crawls under her blanket, resting on her side. Jess puts the whiskey bottle in front of her on the mattress for something to look at, idly twisting the base in her fingers. when the numbness wears off, she'll empty it, and then nurse the rum until she hears the door close. it could be hours. her limbs feel locked there, each breath piling more weight into her until it becomes onerous merely to think of moving. it's as close to comfortable as she gets and it's not so bad, compared to sleeping or crying.
one will definitely lead to the other, if she gives in, but she only has to stay awake to within four hours of when she expects he goes under, so that he ought to be gone REM hits. and if he isn't, she's been conditioned to be a quiet sleeper, no matter what she dreams about. it's the shit she ends up breaking that makes the noise. ]
no subject
what's missing are the good parts, the laughter and the fun shared on weekend outings. movie nights and pillow forts. though he supposes it had been easy to be 'fun frank' when he knew he was leaving again soon. jess and he live maybe a dozen blocks away from each other, and neither of them stray far from the roost. it's a more stable sort of life, as fucked up as that is to think about. in a lot of ways, this could actually be more sustainable than his fucking marriage. a bond that should have been eternal.
but he'd been fucking that up long before it had all been snatched away. and maybe that's the true lesson here.
frank tries not to listen for her when she shuts herself in her room, but his ears prick anyway for any tiny sound of distress. he can't help it, it's ingrained in him. he's folded up small, his face pressed into the back of the couch, but he's not sure how long he can lay here. not when the comparisons are making his head spin, memories layered until he squeezes his eyes shut and begs them silently to stop. what comes to the fore is worse still as he wonders not for the first time about what made jessica this way. who. a man who the papers say is dead, but frank knows better. he sees him in every plane of her face, and he hates him. he hates him more than he's ever hated anyone, even agent orange. even billy fucking russo.
that's it. he gets to his feet and goes to the kitchen. he doesn't think about leaving at all, but he busies himself easily -- knowing jessica never cleans so there's plenty for him to do. malcolm takes care of some things but it's easy for him to get lost in the work all the same. he washes what few dishes there are and clears debris off the counter. he checks every meager food item in her cupboards and fridge for expiration and general safety. in lieu of a sponge, he papertowels the counters and cabinets until they're shiny. all through the tasks, it's easy to keep his mind occupied, and so he feels better for it.
frank goes to the bathroom to pee and wash up. he steals some of her toothpaste and splashes water on his face. then he stumbles out into the living room and shuts out the light. he tosses one glance to the cracked bedroom door and wonders if she's asleep. he hopes if she is it's peaceful, even if he knows it can't be. and if she's awake hopefully she's drunk because he knows that's the only thing that helps. he strips off his shirt and belt and drapes them over the back of the couch. his kabar and strap are relegated to the coffee table and he curls up once again under the fleece blanket left for him.
in a few minutes he's asleep, which is welcome now that his mind is blank. for hours, there's nothing, just like always. he thinks he might get away with it too, but then it starts. he's with the lieberman's, it's leo's birthday this time. everyone is happy and smiling, most of all frank. he gives leo a toolkit and watches her light up, his heart swelling with pride as her parents fuss over him and the gift. how thoughtful uncle pete is. how much he really shouldn't have.
there's a knock at the door and sarah goes to answer it as david and frank drink wine and laugh, two peas in a pod. jessica. she's here, at last and sarah lieberman ushers her back into the room so that the kids can ooh and ahh over her. zach starts singsonging about uncle pete and his girlfriend and frank jokingly gestures to him that he's dead meat with a finger to his throat. jess kisses him and slumps into her seat by his side, ever sullen and unaffected. it's even more obvious in a room full of people having too much fun, but frank doesn't mind her bringing the mood down, even when she drinks the rest of their wine straight from the bottle.
and then it happens. the same way it always does except with a dastardly twist. billy russo comes barging into the room, hopelessly disfigured thanks to frank. he looks like a super pissed off quasimodo and who else should he set his sights on but jessica jones. he wakes bolt upright, drenched in sweat, just as her brains splatter on his face and the wall behind them. he's spared from seeing the liebermans murdered for the millionth time this month, but his heart is hammering anyway, like it could punch right through his chest. his gaze darts around as he desperately tries to remember where he is. ]
no subject
it's just a series of questions, shuffled and droned over and over again to the point that they might as well be nonsense. in her head, the question mark has worn out its inflection and it plays like one long, never-ending run-on sentence. How much of her is an inkblot of his dead wife? How can she claim that it matters? Were those flowers of his bought in her memory? Did he let them die to sharpen the distinction between her and Maria or to dull it? If he's using her for that, what is she using him for? And if she's not using him, and he's not using her, where does that leave them? And with what?
eventually the noises die away and Jess catches up to the silence when her tongue runs dry. she wades into it with a mouthful of rum and the same track playing in her head. she's been sick of it for hours but sticks to it stubbornly when memories trickle in, of Frank lying beside her, of him straining underneath her, of him saying her name in full, which he never did, of a body collapsing on top of her and caging her under it with weak arms that never let go. then, the ceaselessly tangled string of questions is pulled over almost like a blanket or a pillow in which to smother herself. a couple of times, her eyes sink leadenly behind her eyelids, but something primitive in her must know she's not alone so she mercifully doesn't sleep.
after several long hours and no time at all, the room begins to lighten as day breaks. a shot or two remains in the rum bottle; Jess takes it with her into the bathroom, drinks it on the toilet and tosses it in the trash for her environmentally conscious assistant to fish out later. she stays in the shower a long time, wondering if Frank will be gone when she gets out. it's difficult to get going, actually washing her hair and body, but once she starts, the tasks sort of carry themselves out, and then her biggest obstacle is shutting the water off. as if an entire day or week in there would make her feel any cleaner. it's stupid and all she can do is tell herself it's stupid until the short supply of hot water ushers her out. she wraps a towel around her chest and goes directly from the bathroom to the kitchen to put on coffee. for however long it's hot, it might steam away the layer of grime she still feels between her skin and the water drying on it.
strung out on her own uninterrupted bullshit, Jess doesn't know if it's waking or dream logic that keeps her from entering her living room in the hope that her denial itself will render it empty. ]
no subject
just as he's about to get up and make coffee himself -- because apparently he's stuck here; like some echoing limbo place -- he hears her. she's in the shower now and the sound calms him, knowing that dead women don't take showers even in his most delusional state. he stands and straps his knife on, pulling down his shirt over it and threads his belt back through its loops. he finds his boots by the door, creeping around silently though she must know he's still here?
after lacing his shoes he stares at the door, as if attempting to compel himself to open it. he stands there until he hears her pad out into the kitchen, the hair rasing on the back of his neck and arms. he can't leave without seeing her. not after--
frank does his best to make some noise so as not to creep up on her, which is easy enough now with his boots on. they clomp into the room ahead of his body, but he hangs in the doorway, needing to stop seeing his dream in an endless loop. he's distracted briefly by a water droplet, stubbornly tracking down the back of her leg. his throat goes dry and his gaze fixes on the back of her head. ] Hey.
no subject
she hears Frank scuff his way along the floor, giving her a heads up as he approaches. Did he sleep? it's the first question in her head to sound like one in hours and it reminds her how tired she is and that she could have filled these hours trying to think of a solution instead of fixating on herself as the problem. her stare stays glued to the dark water dripping into the carafe. ] Hi.
no subject
Then I'll get out of your hair. [ he doesn't sound happy about it, but he doesn't sound happy about most things anyway. ]
no subject
Okay. [ he'll put himself through whatever he wants to, always does. he can have the first pour then. Jess turns on her heel, headed back to her room; she checks the state of him in her periphery, too quickly to learn anything. ducking into the bathroom to grab her jeans, she tosses her towel over the bathtub rim and crosses to her room naked. getting dressed is a sloppy process, drunk and out of it. once she's done, or mostly, her tank top still rolled up above her back with the fibres stuck to her damp shoulder blades, Jess stops in the bedroom doorway and rests her head to the jamb.
the coffee smells pungently cheap and pleasant. it bolsters her from her spot, where she could probably fall asleep standing, and gets her trudging back to the kitchen and then into her office, cup in hand. like a sack of shit, she drops into her chair. she flips open her laptop screen and starts pulling open desk drawers in search of liquor that she doesn't quite need yet. what she needs is to do her goddamn job, even when it's just deleting old photos of other peoples' lives. idiots and saps that she universally loathes, any of whom she would trade places with in a heartbeat this morning. ]
no subject
frank steps aside to let her get her coffee, but then instead of going to the door to get his coat and be on his way... his feet carry him after her, dropping into the narrow chair wedged between her desk and the door to her office. he remembers acutely the first and only time he sat here, asking her about daredevil. he studies her face and drinks his coffee, resting the cup on his thigh, his other leg bouncing idly. ]
Can I get you... something? Breakfast, maybe. [ he expects the rejection, and it doesn't bother him. he just wants to interact for a minute before he's on his way. or at least that's what he tells himself to justify sticking around. ]
no subject
rather than tell him that, she hunkers down in front of her computer and swipes at the track pad until the screen comes to life. the top window is the preview she left open of a man and his mistress at dinner. Jess hits delete and starts to highlight any similar-looking thumbnails as she rests heavily back in her chair. he is now officially bothering her at work. ]
no subject
Okay. [ that's that, apparently. he can't just keep skulking around her like a creep, he knows that much. he needs a shower and a meal and to think long and hard about why he's doing this -- a process of analysis he already hates before it's begun. ] I'll see you later, Jess. [ or whenever she decides to show up again, because he's going to make himself scarce until then. frank turns and leaves after one more study of her face, as if memorizing its arrangement for some later assignment. he stops at the kitchen sink to deposit his cup and then mills back around to the front of the apartment to collect his coat and be on his way.
his phone will be on and he'll be at home whenever she decides to "deal with this." or just speak to him again in more than one syllable. ]
no subject
within a week, she's worn thin, but it's another several days before she snaps at her sister over the phone. it's hard to remember what it was she said that was over the line when she was scrambling for anything within reach. Trish threatened to come down and five minutes later Jess was already a block away from her building, headed away from Manhattan. all her pre-gaming convinces her that the dive bar by the diner is the place to haunt. three hours before last call, they're exorcising her from the grounds by force. she doesn't presently remember how she started that either but she's certain she did.
she pulls out her phone to check the time and immediately pockets it again without doing so, unnerved by the amount of notifications dominating the lock screen. she turns it off, too, and then ambles to the diner only to be refused service for coming in with an open bottle that followed her out of the bar and ended up in her hand. it's her only consolation considering she was sort of planning to sleep in one of the corner booths. her sister is no less stubborn than her and Jess won't put it past her to be staking the place out. if nothing else, she'll return first thing in the morning.
the fact that it's too cold to plant her ass on the sidewalk and nod off is all that prevents her from doing it. despite not knowing the hour, she's acutely aware that she's due for sleep in a couple hours at most, and only a few more hours after that, she will be seeing Frank anyway. she's sufficiently drunk not to wonder if Maria ever showed up shitwrecked with a bottle of O'Harren's she didn't plan on sharing. ]
no subject
the orchids he bought for elektra's visit still sit in his vase, though they're starting to wither. there are dishes in his sink like he's been cooking for more than one. but everything else is exactly the same as she'll remember, down to the hidden picture of his family that frank knows she knows is there.
he had only just nodded off properly when the knock at the door startles him. his whole body tenses like he's taking fire, blinking panic and sleep out of his eyes as he slowly comes back to reality. he checks his phone for the time even while getting up to put pants on, realizing who it must be the second he does. the bars just let out too so he can guess at the state she'll be in.
steeling himself, he makes his way to the door in only his jeans, racking his brain for what the right thing to do here is. as usual, he's drawing blanks. the door opens swiftly to reveal him, and his eyes soften with palpable relief to see her there, standing in his doorway. swaying, actually. in the interest of expediency and not freezing his balls off, frank takes gentle hold of her free arm and tugs her inside the warm(ish) apartment. maria definitely never showed up like this, so it's easy to only think about her. though truthfully in this moment, he would be even if he had the comparison to draw. ]
no subject
Whoa, hey. [ she shakes him off without being certain of her footing but manages to face him with relative composure. if relative is hair strewn all over her face that's gone pink from walking headlong into the gathering bluster to get there. (it is.) ] Just pretend I'm not here, okay?
no subject
It's good to see you. [ even if she's only here because she's wasted. she's always wasted in some capacity, so it might be moot. he gnaws on the inside of his lip and tries to resist the urge to get her water and food and all the other ways he desperately wants to care for her right now. ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
are you ready to take this to turbo cute because it's boyfriend shirt time
um HALE YEA who do you take me for huh
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)