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[ 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. ]
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. ]
[ 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. ]
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. ]
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. ]
Frank gets home at 18:03 and makes sure his shit is more-or-less in order. He puts on a pot of coffee and eats an MRE while he waits for the doctor to arrive. When he does, he'll still be in his work clothes, a simple henley and dark wash jeans all but destroyed with the same concrete dust that's somehow all through his hair too, a bit on his face.
The one room apartment is efficient and nothing more, save for scant touches that a person lives here. There's an old TV with bunny rabbit ears as well as a short couch with an equally short and dumpy coffee table. Propped up against the far wall is a plain mattress and hidden behind it is an ancient laptop. The only thing hung on the walls is a Taylor guitar, easily worth more than the sum of the room's contents otherwise and a whole year's rent for this shithole. Through a low-hanging open doorway is a tiny kitchen, the only section of the apartment that looks truly lived in. There's a tall pantry cabinet that looks ordinary but houses a ham radio and a bright bouquet of peonies sits on the singular strip of counter space. There's a tiny table and two tiny mismatched chairs somehow jammed into the postage stamp of a room as well.
Frank seems in good enough spirits when he answers the door, ushering Spencer inside with only the shadow of a smile and a nod for a greeting.
The one room apartment is efficient and nothing more, save for scant touches that a person lives here. There's an old TV with bunny rabbit ears as well as a short couch with an equally short and dumpy coffee table. Propped up against the far wall is a plain mattress and hidden behind it is an ancient laptop. The only thing hung on the walls is a Taylor guitar, easily worth more than the sum of the room's contents otherwise and a whole year's rent for this shithole. Through a low-hanging open doorway is a tiny kitchen, the only section of the apartment that looks truly lived in. There's a tall pantry cabinet that looks ordinary but houses a ham radio and a bright bouquet of peonies sits on the singular strip of counter space. There's a tiny table and two tiny mismatched chairs somehow jammed into the postage stamp of a room as well.
Frank seems in good enough spirits when he answers the door, ushering Spencer inside with only the shadow of a smile and a nod for a greeting.
Reid is prompt, because of course he is. He's trained extensively in de-escalation, negotiation, empathy-- things that are overkill in the average conversation, but that he employs instinctively when dealing with someone dangerous, no matter how well-contained. He doesn't truly judge himself to be in any danger or he'd never have come (he's not as reckless as his teammates say he is, honestly), but he's been on the job long enough now that it's just instinct. It helps that it's motivated primarily by compassion, and not fear.
For someone as tall, lanky, and, well, reedy as he is, he's remarkably unafraid. That doesn't mean he isn't nervous. It's just a more normal sort of social nerves. Reid has a loose cardigan on over a patterned button-up and a thin tie, and except for the pistol in a front holster, he could be ten years younger than he really is and wandering around some campus. Spencer gives a characteristic wave when Frank opens the door, smiling back with less reservation.
He really is excited. He has an old-school yellow flip-top notepad in his messenger bag, ready for notes.
"Hi. Thank you for having me-- and agreeing to this-- again." He reminds himself not to just lurch into twenty questions the second the door opens, which is really progress, for Spencer. "You really didn't have to."
That's high on his list of questions: why had he? The human urge to unburden himself, to share? Spencer would believe it of anyone.
For someone as tall, lanky, and, well, reedy as he is, he's remarkably unafraid. That doesn't mean he isn't nervous. It's just a more normal sort of social nerves. Reid has a loose cardigan on over a patterned button-up and a thin tie, and except for the pistol in a front holster, he could be ten years younger than he really is and wandering around some campus. Spencer gives a characteristic wave when Frank opens the door, smiling back with less reservation.
He really is excited. He has an old-school yellow flip-top notepad in his messenger bag, ready for notes.
"Hi. Thank you for having me-- and agreeing to this-- again." He reminds himself not to just lurch into twenty questions the second the door opens, which is really progress, for Spencer. "You really didn't have to."
That's high on his list of questions: why had he? The human urge to unburden himself, to share? Spencer would believe it of anyone.
He isn't surprised by any of the above really, though the profuse thank-yous get under his skin. He doesn't want to have to think about why he agreed to this. All he knows is, Daredevil would approve. What a prick.
"Yeah," he says, dismissively, turning his back on Reid to go get himself some coffee as it starts to brew. He's going to need it if this initial meeting is any sort of indication. "You take cream or sugar?"
"Yeah," he says, dismissively, turning his back on Reid to go get himself some coffee as it starts to brew. He's going to need it if this initial meeting is any sort of indication. "You take cream or sugar?"
Okay, okay, he'll tone himself down. He's trying to be polite, but suppressing his solving-a-puzzle piqued curiosity is a real challenge for Reid.
"Both if you have it, please." He steps into the tiny apartment, letting the door close behind him. His hands rest comfortably on his messenger bag strap out of rote habit. "Um, out of a sense of fairness, you're welcome to ask me anything you like, too." Maybe that will help him get more comfortable. Step one: give him control of the conversation?
"Both if you have it, please." He steps into the tiny apartment, letting the door close behind him. His hands rest comfortably on his messenger bag strap out of rote habit. "Um, out of a sense of fairness, you're welcome to ask me anything you like, too." Maybe that will help him get more comfortable. Step one: give him control of the conversation?
Frank is easily overwhelmed by any and all eagerness, but religiously attending Curtis' veteran's group helps, as much as he hates to admit it. He's getting better at sharing though the truth of his lone-wolf personality is such that if one presses him enough about any one thing and the rest falls out anyway.
"I'll see what I can dig up." Since to the surprise of no one, Frank Castle likes his coffee black and bitter and in a big mug. After some digging, he finds some milk he sniffs for freshness and a packet of brown sugar to fix Spencer his own cup. He drinks out of a cup that declares Go Indiana Hoosiers! though he has no idea what that means. The mug he hands Reid has a Canadian flag on it, which seems equally as unlikely. "What made you want to dissect freaks like me?" There's a tiny, private smile that he hides, cocking his hip against the counter as he takes his first sip, much too hot though he doesn't even flinch.
"I'll see what I can dig up." Since to the surprise of no one, Frank Castle likes his coffee black and bitter and in a big mug. After some digging, he finds some milk he sniffs for freshness and a packet of brown sugar to fix Spencer his own cup. He drinks out of a cup that declares Go Indiana Hoosiers! though he has no idea what that means. The mug he hands Reid has a Canadian flag on it, which seems equally as unlikely. "What made you want to dissect freaks like me?" There's a tiny, private smile that he hides, cocking his hip against the counter as he takes his first sip, much too hot though he doesn't even flinch.
Brown sugar? Well, okay. Reid has a sweet tooth but after years in the FBI and in college, he can drink coffee any way he can get it. He detangles his hands from his bag to accept the coffee, both palms curled around it.
"First of all, it's not freakish," he says immediately, barely needing any prompting. Reid is easy to set off on a topic, taking direction equitably and unrushed for now, yet to warm up. "It's a completely expected part of human nature to respond to trauma by developing coping mechanisms, even if they're maladaptive. And I prefer not to 'dissect' anyone." He actually lifts one hand to make air quotes, briefly, since that isn't a literal use of dissect.
"To answer your question," Reid goes on, making a fast decision on how much truth to reveal, which leans toward quite a bit but not everything, "I've always wanted to help, and I know what it's like to be the person no one else can understand." He shrugs one shoulder. "If I can save victims and do that at the same time... It seemed worth it."
He finally actually takes a sip of his coffee.
"First of all, it's not freakish," he says immediately, barely needing any prompting. Reid is easy to set off on a topic, taking direction equitably and unrushed for now, yet to warm up. "It's a completely expected part of human nature to respond to trauma by developing coping mechanisms, even if they're maladaptive. And I prefer not to 'dissect' anyone." He actually lifts one hand to make air quotes, briefly, since that isn't a literal use of dissect.
"To answer your question," Reid goes on, making a fast decision on how much truth to reveal, which leans toward quite a bit but not everything, "I've always wanted to help, and I know what it's like to be the person no one else can understand." He shrugs one shoulder. "If I can save victims and do that at the same time... It seemed worth it."
He finally actually takes a sip of his coffee.
Maladaptive. Yeah, Spencer can say that again. Frank says nothing for a long time, looking down into his coffee as he processes the other man's answer. Which was predictably thorough for such a bullshit question to begin with.
"I'm not like this because of trauma." He's always been like this. It's how he ended up in the military and how that military ended up betraying him. And then he had had to hunt down every single responsible party because that's who he is. Not who he became, but who he always was. Reid should know that off the bat, even if it isn't necessarily easy to admit.
"I'm not like this because of trauma." He's always been like this. It's how he ended up in the military and how that military ended up betraying him. And then he had had to hunt down every single responsible party because that's who he is. Not who he became, but who he always was. Reid should know that off the bat, even if it isn't necessarily easy to admit.
Reid takes this without batting an eyelash. He's a good listener, attentive, and he doesn't discredit what he's told-- but he isn't bothered by it, either.
"There's extensive theoretical debates about that very question," he answers. "You can think of it as the classic nature versus nurture argument, although it's more refined and nuanced within the realm of violent crime psychology. Our best guess right now is that the end result is due to both. Maybe someone has a predisposition, but--" Spencer slows, for once, tone growing quieter. "We always look for catalysts. People don't do things for no reason. Under the right conditions, I've also killed people."
"There's extensive theoretical debates about that very question," he answers. "You can think of it as the classic nature versus nurture argument, although it's more refined and nuanced within the realm of violent crime psychology. Our best guess right now is that the end result is due to both. Maybe someone has a predisposition, but--" Spencer slows, for once, tone growing quieter. "We always look for catalysts. People don't do things for no reason. Under the right conditions, I've also killed people."
He isn't really paying attention until Spencer admits to killing. His eyes flash on the younger man's and he wonders if they shouldn't be sitting for such a heavy topic. Deciding to take the initiative, he moves to the rickety little table and sits in the freshly painted black chair by the only window in the whole place, leaving Reid the mismatched chair opposite him in peeling blue paint. He takes a shallow sip as he tries to parse through it all and come up with something to say.
"I don't regret any of what I did. Do you?" Most police officers never even discharge their weapons. He knows a lot of agents who haven't either. Suddenlt he thinks that Spencer Reid would be in good company with Special Agent Dinah Madani. He wonders idly if they know each other.
"I don't regret any of what I did. Do you?" Most police officers never even discharge their weapons. He knows a lot of agents who haven't either. Suddenlt he thinks that Spencer Reid would be in good company with Special Agent Dinah Madani. He wonders idly if they know each other.
Reid's whole life is overly serious conversations. He finds room for friends, his mom, stupid TV shows and enjoying books, here and there. But by and large he is at home with topics most people rarely touch upon, including judging the necessity of taking a life. Avoiding the idea isn't really possible, for him.
He sits, drinks some more coffee before answering. "I don't know," he says honestly. This isn't his first year on the job, and with experience he's gained... not clarity, but acceptance. "I'm not saying it doesn't keep me up at night, sometimes. But I know I'd rather live with it than live with failing to save someone I could've saved... Or dying myself," Spencer admits. "So that's the choice I made."
He sits, drinks some more coffee before answering. "I don't know," he says honestly. This isn't his first year on the job, and with experience he's gained... not clarity, but acceptance. "I'm not saying it doesn't keep me up at night, sometimes. But I know I'd rather live with it than live with failing to save someone I could've saved... Or dying myself," Spencer admits. "So that's the choice I made."
Frank's nod is respectful, he understands that perspective. For certain instances, he can even relate. But it isn't his kills that ever kept him up. It was the people left alive to fuck shit up for him. Which he supposes Reid also touched on. "Good choice." Better than dying at some scumbag's hand. He seems like a good kid, someone who really cares about other people. Frank's never fully been formed that way though, even if he can recognize it easily in others.
"I didn't want to live through it. No one does, right? They all off themselves at the end." He shrugs a shoulder like it's nothing. But it's not nothing, not even to him. At the end, he had a change of heart. Frank Castle wanted to live. And maybe now, he wants to change.
"I didn't want to live through it. No one does, right? They all off themselves at the end." He shrugs a shoulder like it's nothing. But it's not nothing, not even to him. At the end, he had a change of heart. Frank Castle wanted to live. And maybe now, he wants to change.
He doesn't take his approval too much to heart-- Spencer's used to distancing himself-- but he appreciates it nonetheless. Before he can answer, though, Frank says that like it's something to be expected, and a frown manifests on his face, denial and concern.
"Not all of them." He has to think quickly, decide where to go with this. He sounds tentative. "And you did. You did live through it. So-- where are you going from here?"
"Not all of them." He has to think quickly, decide where to go with this. He sounds tentative. "And you did. You did live through it. So-- where are you going from here?"
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