[ 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. ]
I know. [ he'll live on scraps, seeing as that's what she gives him. She's definitely done hoarding the brunt of that responsibility. he likes it vicious so no wonder her handful of half-hearted attempts to warn him off universally backfired. Jess sighs, stepping towards the wall and meeting it first with her hand, then her shoulder, then her back. she slides down to the floor with a soft thump and lets her legs fall straight in front of her. setting her bottle on the ground, she cups her hands together, tucking her fingertips between her palms to warm them up. ]
[ he frowns as he watches her slide down the wall, wondering what she's responding to even. probably his general patheticness. whatever, he owns it. ]
Do you wanna lie down? There's a couch and a bed, take your pick. [ and he'll take the other, is the heavy-handed implication. she has to know she's probably safer here than anywhere else. he wants to believe that's why she came. that and no one else would ever find her. he wonders too who might be looking. ]
Edited (i always fuck that one up ) 2018-01-14 06:05 (UTC)
[ yes. but if she shuts her eyes, the room somehow spins more wildly than when she's actually looking at it and disturbing the liquid contents of her stomach is sure to send them back up. it's best to stay upright for now. with a temporary handle on the room's orientation, she looks over to him, from his knees at her eye level and then up to his goddamn open book of a face. oh right, she's putting him out. ]
"Not tired anymore. Gonna make coffee." He can't stare at her anymore without feeling some type of way, so he stops at his box of clothes that he really should fucking get drawers for or something and pulls on a shirt before wandering into the kitchen to do what he said.
Edited (oops i surprosed u ) 2018-01-14 06:57 (UTC)
[ coffee sounds fucking great. asshole. Jess leans her head against the wall and keeps her eyes on the spot he was standing, watching thoughts partially form, disperse, and their remnants do the same. or those are the usual spots and blurs in her vision that she's accustomed to ignoring 99% of the time. yeah, it's too pretty a distraction to be the former.
once her fingertips are no warmer than the rest of her hands, she peels off her gloves and vigorously rubs them together. it's dull and dizzying to watch and her gaze wanders over to his bed. unmade, it reminds her he was tucked into it a minute ago. it's a piece of crap, one step up from a cot, and it looks nefariously inviting with the blanket thrown back. Jess grabs her liquor by the neck and drowns the urge to go and rest her head on it. ]
[ he puts the coffee on expediently and starts poking through his fridge for leftovers. whenever she's with it enough to notice, there's also a tin bowl of water on the floor in here. frank leans against his counter and stares as a single orchid petal detaches itself from a flower and floats to his table top. elektra's words seem especially relevant now. it doesn't matter as long as you're together. this couldn't have been what she meant. could it?
frank stays that way until there's enough liquid in the carafe for both of them. here goes nothing. he pours them each a cup, hers is little more than half full and her cup says Alaska on the front with a happy doodle of a penguin. all but forcing himself back into the room, he moves to sit by (but not close to) her on the floor and hands it over. ]
[ she makes a game of guessing what he's doing depending on the sounds that come from the kitchen. in the long pause where it's only the drip of water filtering through the grounds, she works her jacket off without ever fully sitting up. the friction from her inelegant wiggling crams her scarf full of static that crackles when she pulls it free of her hair. by the time they're in a pile beside her, she feels more heated from the struggle than the room. hairs are still adhering to her fingers with mild electricity as she swipes them from her cheeks and mouth. ]
Decaf? [ she asks instead of thanking him, grateful as she is. really more grateful than a cup of coffee should make her feel but the coffee's all she's capable of looking at right this second, so it's the coffee's fault. for how much she missed the coffee. ]
No. [ he leans his head back against the wall and watches her, feeling like it's through binaculars instead of a foot in front of him. he sets his cup on his knee as he waits for it to cool down a little. he feels pleasantly drowsy now that he isn't asleep, but he's definitely not risking another dream with her around so awake it is. ]
[ she was kidding, or maybe she wasn't. she ventures a glance at his window but can't suss shit from the deep grey of snow plummeting through smog. it's night, that's for sure, the same one as the last time she checked, and that's not nothing. ]
What time is it? [ Jess finds the handle of the mug and slips her fingers through, covering the top with her other hand so the steam beats against her palm. ]
[ he left his phone plugged in and he hadn't bothered to internalize the numbers on his ancient coffee maker so he hazards a guess. ] 400-ish. [ maybe 4:15, 4:30. something like that. he decides to just come out and ask: ] Is someone looking for you?
[ she cringes gently, not at the data but at his delivery of it. at least there wasn't an "oh" in front of it. ]
What? [ she heard and understood him perfectly. it's a stalling tactic to get her words in order, try and prevent them from skidding into each other ] No. Fighting with my sister.
[ who shouldn't be driving home in this weather anyway so now Jess is starting to hope she is there, as obnoxious and overbearing as it would be. ]
[ he knows she understood so he waits her out. he's learning about so many family connections lately!!! ] Didn't know you had a sister.
[ not like that matters right now, but he's just saying. there's an edge of tired bemusement to the words. frank has the same thought about the weather, honestly, but he's mostly just relieved it's not someone he should be worried about. ]
[ how did he not know that? what a shit P.I. he'd make. she can almost work up something like a smile over it. thankfully, he takes care of that with his next comment. he's right, jagoff. Trish is probably asleep but there's every chance she's not, considering the hell Jess had to put her through when she went missing. reluctantly, Jess digs around in her jacket until she hits upon the right pocket, then retrieves her phone and tosses it the short distance to him. ]
You do it. [ her head lolls his way. ] Don't say who it is. I don't need you two talking to each other.
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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. ]
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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.
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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.
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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. ]
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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. ]
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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. ]
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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. ]
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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. ]
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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. ]
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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. ]
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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?
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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. ]
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Do you wanna lie down? There's a couch and a bed, take your pick. [ and he'll take the other, is the heavy-handed implication. she has to know she's probably safer here than anywhere else. he wants to believe that's why she came. that and no one else would ever find her. he wonders too who might be looking. ]
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[ yes. but if she shuts her eyes, the room somehow spins more wildly than when she's actually looking at it and disturbing the liquid contents of her stomach is sure to send them back up. it's best to stay upright for now. with a temporary handle on the room's orientation, she looks over to him, from his knees at her eye level and then up to his goddamn open book of a face. oh right, she's putting him out. ]
Go back to sled-- to bed. Take the bed.
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once her fingertips are no warmer than the rest of her hands, she peels off her gloves and vigorously rubs them together. it's dull and dizzying to watch and her gaze wanders over to his bed. unmade, it reminds her he was tucked into it a minute ago. it's a piece of crap, one step up from a cot, and it looks nefariously inviting with the blanket thrown back. Jess grabs her liquor by the neck and drowns the urge to go and rest her head on it. ]
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frank stays that way until there's enough liquid in the carafe for both of them. here goes nothing. he pours them each a cup, hers is little more than half full and her cup says Alaska on the front with a happy doodle of a penguin. all but forcing himself back into the room, he moves to sit by (but not close to) her on the floor and hands it over. ]
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Decaf? [ she asks instead of thanking him, grateful as she is. really more grateful than a cup of coffee should make her feel but the coffee's all she's capable of looking at right this second, so it's the coffee's fault. for how much she missed the coffee. ]
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What time is it? [ Jess finds the handle of the mug and slips her fingers through, covering the top with her other hand so the steam beats against her palm. ]
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What? [ she heard and understood him perfectly. it's a stalling tactic to get her words in order, try and prevent them from skidding into each other ] No. Fighting with my sister.
[ who shouldn't be driving home in this weather anyway so now Jess is starting to hope she is there, as obnoxious and overbearing as it would be. ]
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[ not like that matters right now, but he's just saying. there's an edge of tired bemusement to the words. frank has the same thought about the weather, honestly, but he's mostly just relieved it's not someone he should be worried about. ]
You should tell her you're safe.
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You do it. [ her head lolls his way. ] Don't say who it is. I don't need you two talking to each other.
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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
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