[ She feels the bed dip, and relaxes. Just a tiny bit, just a fraction, but it's - something. She sniffles, loud and hard and sounding as ugly as she feels, sweaty and blotchy and uncomfortable, and presses her closed eyes against her knees. ]
Yeah. [ Another breathe. Another beat. Another staccato of her heart. ] Used to, when I was a kid. When we went to Cuba.
[Home, mom would call it.
Claire doesn't think to ask why Frank is asking. ]
[ he doesn't think she looks ugly now at all, just hurting. he wants to take even some of that away if he can. he smiles softly at her revelation, he just wanted to make sure she didn't almost drown one time or something. the last thing he needs to do is make things worse right now. ]
Sometimes, when I feel this bad... I think I'm underwater. It takes all I have to swim to the surface. [ so make like dory, nurse. he knows you have it in you. ] I'm right here, I'll make sure you get there. [ he nods his encouragement. ]
[ Not being alone, in itself. It takes her a little while, but Claire looks up finally, puffy, blurry eyes taking in Frank's form, the bruises on his face, the bump of his broken nose, the scruff on his cheeks. She's not alone, but it's no one that wants to hurt her. It's no one that has hurt her. ]
Happens to you often?
[ She attempts to regulate her breathing, following his own, focusing on the rise and fall of his chest. Slow and steady. It wins the race. ]
[ he feels her start to even out more than sees it, nodding after a long beat. realizing he's staring at her, he ducks his head, not wanting her to feel any more self-conscious than he can assume she does already. ] Yeah. [ a soft admittance, but he owes her a lot more than just that; so it's easy to give that much of himself. ]
[ She nods, wiping her eyes and cheeks with the heels of her hands some more, trying not to breathe too deeply but calmly - she doesn't need to start hyperventilating again, or throw up.
She's still shaking, but less than she was before. ]
Would you - [ She stops, frowning at herself. It feels like too big an ask, like a line she's about to cross. And yet. ]
[ he glances up from his stooped position, eyes only just barely reaching her face when she speaks up. frank doesn't try to interrupt, just waits her out with a careful patience. the question doesn't surprise him as much as it possibly should, though the source of it is another story. she had asked him here, though, and not anyone else. for whatever reason, claire feels safe with him though he's possibly the last person she should trust. or maybe not -- he would kill for her. matt wouldn't. luke wouldn't. frank might not have superpowers like they do, but what he lacks in enhanced senses and strength he more than makes up for in pure fiery tenacity and a stern refusal to die.
frank gets up in a sudden move on the tail of her inquiry, not realizing how she might misconstrue it as rejection. it won't take long for her to figure out that isn't the case, however, as he starts unencumbering himself of his many vestiges. first goes the .45 caliber pistol that he unstraps from his ankle, checking the safety before unloading it onto her bedside table. next, with a bit of hesitation, is the kabar from around his waist he had had out only moments earlier. he then sits in the chair by her bed to unlace and strip off his boots, leaving his jacket there as well. the entire process takes maybe 10 seconds.
she gets a look then, a silent confirmation of her certainty. he seems to find what he needs in her skittering gaze, because then he's slipping onto the bed, scooting in from the edge until he can hold out his arms for her to crawl inside them. if this is weird or uncomfortable, he doesn't let on, only hoping she doesn't come to regret this in the sanitizing power of daylight. ]
[ Claire's breath catches and holds in her chest as Frank moves. At first, she isn't sure, thinks the boundary she crossed was too far, and he's going to leave, but then he's taking his weapons off, then his boots, his jacket. The way he sits back on the bed is open to her, a Frank she isn't used to seeing, that Frank himself is probably not used to seeing.
It's all too easy to lean into him when he opens his arms to her, to fall against his chest and breathe out against the solid wall of muscle, her shoulders relaxing a fraction. ]
[ he closes his eyes when she leans into him, heavy arms draping across her back to keep her as close as she wants to be. it's difficult and simple in almost equal measure, remembering the shape of maria pressed against him, but claire's differences stand out. the scent of sweat and fear is something frank understands too, slotting his cheek in against hers without allowing himself to think about it. his heartbeat drums out its steady beat against her chest and he tries to clear his mind, trying to be present for her if there's nothing else he can do. ]
Don't. [ thank him. recognizing this as a favor or the return of one twists the knife in his guts. that isn't why he's helping her, and he knows it. ]
[ She takes a shaky breath, right against his ear, feeling him so alive under her hands, steady and strong. It's working wonders, surprisingly enough, when 20 minutes ago the idea of anyone touching her was enough to make her want to lash out. Now she clings to him a little, keeps her tears held in. ]
Why not?
[ She wants to know. She wants his words. Wants to hear him say he doesn't think he deserve it. That his motives aren't pure. That he's not doing this for her.
[ that breath against his ear is enough that he has to bite into his lip to keep from issuing a sigh for an answer. the words break the spell, and frank isn't sure whether to be grateful for that or not. why not? he knows she won't accept a nonanswer this time, not when they've both so decisively crossed this line together. ]
Least I could do. [ a murmur but sincere. he doesn't try and tell her he's trash even though he believes it. he can say it another way; can actually make it sound like he's a real person. he isn't whole, but maybe after being dragged into this world, neither is she. ] I don't mind.
[ it feels good to be useful in a way that isn't blowing some guy's brains out. and maybe he doesn't mind the way she presses against him now either, anchoring her fingers into him like he's her lifeline. ]
[ She isn't whole, hasn't felt whole in a very long time. And here, in his arms, there is no chance for her to feel whole, either, but it's okay. She lost a piece of herself when she told Matt how to torture to man. When she told him how to save the life of another that hurt her so deeply it gave her night terrors. When she bypassed her oath and what made her who she was to save the lives of vigilantes.
And now here she was, held tight in the arms of a man who killed for a living. Her complete opposite, and yet here and now, she felt like she was in the right place. Not quite belonged, but she was weirdly, incomprehensibly safe.
She chuckles, but this time, it's actually heartfelt. Her fingers relax a little, but she doesn't let him go. ]
[ that laugh sounds good, and he finds himself happy to have been the cause, not fully conscious of the way his calloused fingers dig in at her waist, a lopsided smile pressed against her cheek. ]
I did come all the way across the borough for this. [ a reminder, maybe for himself too. ]
[ She's amused, calmer, more in touch with herself now, like all the ways she's pressed against him are reminding her of what she's made of. Skin and hair and spit and sweat and spilled red wine, teeth and claws and fierceness.
But she's also sincere. When she digs bullets out of his flesh, it's her job. It's what she does and it's how she matters. This? This isn't what he does, this isn't what they know each other for. This is extracurricular, and he's putting in time and effort to be there for her, and.
[ he swallows, thinking of all the people he owes. and of david lieberman saying he wouldn't forget what frank had done for him. when he does things for others, it's never with the expectation of a return. in fact, he'd rather they just take what he gave freely and not talk about it. but he knows claire isn't that way, and he likes that about her almost as much as the rest.
realizing he's doing some of his own clinging belatedly, he starts to gingerly back out of their deep embrace, which is difficult without letting go entirely. he just needs to put some space between them, to think. something he'd never been great at for prolonged periods of time, let alone forming them into words. ]
I, uh. I'm sure I'll be calling you soon enough. [ to dig more bullets out of him and generally save his life? or whatever. they both know he can't stop what he's doing, he won't. ]
[ When she feels him start to pull away, Claire lets him, a little reluctantly. She's already taken so much tonight, she can't ask for more of him. ]
I don't mean to repay you by stitching you back up. That's - different.
[ This moment right now, is the two of them. Not what they do, and what brings them together more often than not. This is them shedding layers, offering bits and pieces about themselves that have nothing to do with their chosen vocations.
But it's also more difficult when they're not hiding behind them, when she's here, feeling raw and exposed and younger than she actually is. ]
Like. I could make you dinner, one of these days. A proper Cuban meal.
[ different. one broad hand still palms her hip, but they're far enough apart now that he can look at her face; and somehow that feels twice as dangerous. he takes a sharp breath in through his nose and pretending he isn't making the connection. the offer of a meal makes him think of the liebermans again, how many dinners he's turned down. ]
...Okay. [ his wide, soft gaze searches hers, the slightest frown of uncertainty tracing his lips. his own agreement seems to take him by surprise, but he doesn't open his mouth again to take it back. ]
[ She can feel his eyes track over her face, like he's unsure - and maybe he is, but she doesn't know of what. There are a million things she could offer, and if he was someone else, maybe she would. Maybe she would lean in, right here, press her lips to his in a grateful kiss, but.
She's already pushed so many boundaries, tonight, and she has no idea if rejection wouldn't send her spiraling again. She wouldn't risk their fragile connection just for a physical one, as much as she'd like it - some things are more important than sex, and intimacy is still there, in the few inches between them, his hand on her and her hand on him and her vulnerability, spilled out on the sheets. ]
It's all pretty much staples - beans and rice. Ropa vieja is a family favorite.
[ It feels easier to keep talking about food than the tension between them right now. ]
[ he nods minutely at her description. it sounds good, and it will be all the better because it'll be made by her hand. his breath shakes a little when he exhales, unable to tear his eyes away from hers and sure she can hear his heart thundering loudly because that's how it sounds in his own ears. ]
[ She nods too, barely noticeable. There's something she'd ask him, if she was feeling her usual kind of bold, but right now it feels like she's too fragile to handle being told no, so she stashes the question away, looking down, tucking hair behind her ear. ]
Yeah, I do, thanks. [And thanks to you, she doesn't add because she knows he doesn't want to hear it again. Completely absentmindedly, her fingers toy with the hem of his shirt, flipping it back and forth between thumb and index. ]
Don't think I'm going to sleep again any time soon, though.
Sun's coming up anyway. [ he says like it means something. once he's up he's up too so he gets it. ]
Want me to make some coffee? [ a tiny, involuntary twitch goes through his middle at the way she plays with his shirt, wishing he could shove all those feelings aside and just focus on helping her now. without thinking, his hand comes up to brush some of her sweat-slick hair out of her face. ] You might feel better after a shower, too.
[ Licking her lips, Claire nods, smoothing his shirt down and pulling back a little, managing not to lean into his touch, even though she wants to. Wants to curl up right here, stay safe in his arms.
It's a pretty unusual thought for Claire, and she's quick to shake it off. ]
Yeah. I'll take a quick shower. Coffee would be nice. I could cook you breakfast, if you're hungry.
[ She's not much for domesticity, but she's half Cuban - feeding people is in her very blood. ]
[ his lips part on a tiny exhale, as silent as it is affected. she pulls away and he stays rooted to the spot, as grateful for the distance as he wants to bridge it all over again. ] Uh. [ frank swallows, then slowly nods. he knows how grounding it could be, to cook for someone else. and maybe it would encourage her to eat, too, which he knows she needs. slowly, he starts to move away, planting one foot on the ground and then the other. he looks over her from the edge of the bed, and hopes that he helped. even if it was only a fraction of a tiny amount, he'd like that. to have helped her, and not for all the times she's helped him. but just because he wanted to.
frank goes back to his things and starts slowly reassembling himself like the snap-pieces of a late model g.i. joe. it takes a little longer to make the pieces fit than when he had removed them, but he manages before turning to offer her a brave smile. ] I'll see you soon.
[ he lingers in the doorway just a moment, feeling strange about leaving her even if the apartment isn't all that big. she can call if she needs help easily, but it's hard to let go when you're frank castle. when the only things he ever cared about were snatched from him without him even having to leave the room. despite the lingering rawness, frank swallows and carries onto her kitchen. whenever she emerges, he'll be drinking coffee with his bulky frame propped up by the counter and his jacket held on the back of a chair. ]
[ She turns back towards Frank after she stands up, wrapping her arms around herself for a moment before thinking fuck it to herself, leaning in and pressing her lips to his cheek, just for an instant, so fast that it could almost be something both of them pretend never happened. ]
Yeah.
[ And then she's in the bathroom, shedding her sleep clothes after turning on the water, letting it heat up, the room soon steaming up. If she mostly sits in the tub under the spray of water, well. No one has to know, and it still feels good, makes her feel more like herself, shaking the remnants of the fear that was clinging to her frame.
She isn't long in the shower, or to get herself back into clothes, clean sweats and a loose tank top, padding barefoot to her kitchen and going straight for the coffee pot, and then the fridge, bending over to check what she's got. ]
I can make us some huevos rancheros. Not Cuban food exactly, so don't go telling my mom.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Yeah. [ Another breathe. Another beat. Another staccato of her heart. ] Used to, when I was a kid. When we went to Cuba.
[ Home, mom would call it.
Claire doesn't think to ask why Frank is asking. ]
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Sometimes, when I feel this bad... I think I'm underwater. It takes all I have to swim to the surface. [ so make like dory, nurse. he knows you have it in you. ] I'm right here, I'll make sure you get there. [ he nods his encouragement. ]
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Happens to you often?
[ She attempts to regulate her breathing, following his own, focusing on the rise and fall of his chest. Slow and steady. It wins the race. ]
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She's still shaking, but less than she was before. ]
Would you - [ She stops, frowning at herself. It feels like too big an ask, like a line she's about to cross. And yet. ]
Would you hold me? [ Voice tiny, eyes worried. ]
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frank gets up in a sudden move on the tail of her inquiry, not realizing how she might misconstrue it as rejection. it won't take long for her to figure out that isn't the case, however, as he starts unencumbering himself of his many vestiges. first goes the .45 caliber pistol that he unstraps from his ankle, checking the safety before unloading it onto her bedside table. next, with a bit of hesitation, is the kabar from around his waist he had had out only moments earlier. he then sits in the chair by her bed to unlace and strip off his boots, leaving his jacket there as well. the entire process takes maybe 10 seconds.
she gets a look then, a silent confirmation of her certainty. he seems to find what he needs in her skittering gaze, because then he's slipping onto the bed, scooting in from the edge until he can hold out his arms for her to crawl inside them. if this is weird or uncomfortable, he doesn't let on, only hoping she doesn't come to regret this in the sanitizing power of daylight. ]
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It's all too easy to lean into him when he opens his arms to her, to fall against his chest and breathe out against the solid wall of muscle, her shoulders relaxing a fraction. ]
Thank you.
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Don't. [ thank him. recognizing this as a favor or the return of one twists the knife in his guts. that isn't why he's helping her, and he knows it. ]
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Why not?
[ She wants to know. She wants his words. Wants to hear him say he doesn't think he deserve it. That his motives aren't pure. That he's not doing this for her.
Because she's not sure she'd believe any of it. ]
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Least I could do. [ a murmur but sincere. he doesn't try and tell her he's trash even though he believes it. he can say it another way; can actually make it sound like he's a real person. he isn't whole, but maybe after being dragged into this world, neither is she. ] I don't mind.
[ it feels good to be useful in a way that isn't blowing some guy's brains out. and maybe he doesn't mind the way she presses against him now either, anchoring her fingers into him like he's her lifeline. ]
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And now here she was, held tight in the arms of a man who killed for a living. Her complete opposite, and yet here and now, she felt like she was in the right place. Not quite belonged, but she was weirdly, incomprehensibly safe.
She chuckles, but this time, it's actually heartfelt. Her fingers relax a little, but she doesn't let him go. ]
A hardship, holding me in your arms, huh?
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I did come all the way across the borough for this. [ a reminder, maybe for himself too. ]
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[ She's amused, calmer, more in touch with herself now, like all the ways she's pressed against him are reminding her of what she's made of. Skin and hair and spit and sweat and spilled red wine, teeth and claws and fierceness.
But she's also sincere. When she digs bullets out of his flesh, it's her job. It's what she does and it's how she matters. This? This isn't what he does,
this isn't what they know each other for. This is extracurricular, and he's putting in time and effort to be there for her, and.
She doesn't know how to repay him. ]
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realizing he's doing some of his own clinging belatedly, he starts to gingerly back out of their deep embrace, which is difficult without letting go entirely. he just needs to put some space between them, to think. something he'd never been great at for prolonged periods of time, let alone forming them into words. ]
I, uh. I'm sure I'll be calling you soon enough. [ to dig more bullets out of him and generally save his life? or whatever. they both know he can't stop what he's doing, he won't. ]
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I don't mean to repay you by stitching you back up. That's - different.
[ This moment right now, is the two of them. Not what they do, and what brings them together more often than not. This is them shedding layers, offering bits and pieces about themselves that have nothing to do with their chosen vocations.
But it's also more difficult when they're not hiding behind them, when she's here, feeling raw and exposed and younger than she actually is. ]
Like. I could make you dinner, one of these days. A proper Cuban meal.
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...Okay. [ his wide, soft gaze searches hers, the slightest frown of uncertainty tracing his lips. his own agreement seems to take him by surprise, but he doesn't open his mouth again to take it back. ]
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She's already pushed so many boundaries, tonight, and she has no idea if rejection wouldn't send her spiraling again. She wouldn't risk their fragile connection just for a physical one, as much as she'd like it - some things are more important than sex, and intimacy is still there, in the few inches between them, his hand on her and her hand on him and her vulnerability, spilled out on the sheets. ]
It's all pretty much staples - beans and rice. Ropa vieja is a family favorite.
[ It feels easier to keep talking about food than the tension between them right now. ]
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Do you feel any better?
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Yeah, I do, thanks. [ And thanks to you, she doesn't add because she knows he doesn't want to hear it again. Completely absentmindedly, her fingers toy with the hem of his shirt, flipping it back and forth between thumb and index. ]
Don't think I'm going to sleep again any time soon, though.
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Want me to make some coffee? [ a tiny, involuntary twitch goes through his middle at the way she plays with his shirt, wishing he could shove all those feelings aside and just focus on helping her now. without thinking, his hand comes up to brush some of her sweat-slick hair out of her face. ] You might feel better after a shower, too.
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It's a pretty unusual thought for Claire, and she's quick to shake it off. ]
Yeah. I'll take a quick shower. Coffee would be nice. I could cook you breakfast, if you're hungry.
[ She's not much for domesticity, but she's half Cuban - feeding people is in her very blood. ]
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frank goes back to his things and starts slowly reassembling himself like the snap-pieces of a late model g.i. joe. it takes a little longer to make the pieces fit than when he had removed them, but he manages before turning to offer her a brave smile. ] I'll see you soon.
[ he lingers in the doorway just a moment, feeling strange about leaving her even if the apartment isn't all that big. she can call if she needs help easily, but it's hard to let go when you're frank castle. when the only things he ever cared about were snatched from him without him even having to leave the room. despite the lingering rawness, frank swallows and carries onto her kitchen. whenever she emerges, he'll be drinking coffee with his bulky frame propped up by the counter and his jacket held on the back of a chair. ]
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Yeah.
[ And then she's in the bathroom, shedding her sleep clothes after turning on the water, letting it heat up, the room soon steaming up. If she mostly sits in the tub under the spray of water, well. No one has to know, and it still feels good, makes her feel more like herself, shaking the remnants of the fear that was clinging to her frame.
She isn't long in the shower, or to get herself back into clothes, clean sweats and a loose tank top, padding barefoot to her kitchen and going straight for the coffee pot, and then the fridge, bending over to check what she's got. ]
I can make us some huevos rancheros. Not Cuban food exactly, so don't go telling my mom.