It's - [ Finally she reaches up with her free hand, wiping tears and sweat off of her face. She looks down at her hand, somehow surprised that there's no blood mixed in, too. She can taste copper at the back of her throat. ] - I'm sorry.
[ Her heart is beating a mile a minute, and she can barely breathe, nauseous and dizzy. Well, at least she knows what this is, rationally, medically. She doesn't have them often, but. ]
I'm having a panic attack.
[ It's not life or death. There's no reason for her call, really, besides hearing a voice that reminds her she's not entirely alone. At least, he picked up. She forces herself to try and regulate her breathing. ] Sorry, if I woke you up.
[ she's sorry. his face falls, feeling for her even as he pulls on his jeans, cellphone tucked under his chin. she sounds awful, and as her next words filter in frank knows exactly what happened. if she hadn't woken him up then he would have a rude awakening anyway in 3 hours time when rem kicked in so it isn't like he could begrudge her. ]
No, hey-- it's fine. [ and there's nothing in his voice to suggest it isn't. he locates a shirt next, haphazardly pulling it on, fumbling with the phone in case she speaks while he's dressing. ] Do you want me to come over?
[ it's only after he says it that he realizes that might be... forward, looking down at himself with a shake of his head. he's getting ready to move out like this is an emergency. he knows from experience how real it feels; and how bad. it sucks having other people around, but it sucks even worse not having anyone. frank sits down on his couch, burying a hand in his hair while he tries to think this out. he isn't exactly firing on all cylinders yet. ]
Or you could come here. I'll make coffee. [ equally lame, but it's all he's got. frank worries his lip between his teeth and waits for her verdict. ]
[ She shouldn't think it is, but his voice, and the undertone of care in it, the concern coating his words, it's reassuring. She can't breathe any easier, and she's knows it's irrational but she's starting to wonder if there isn't someone in her apartment, moving through the rooms she's not in.
But she can't move and check. She's stronger than this, and yet, right now, she's never felt so weak. ]
You don't have to - [ She manages to say between gulping breaths as she pushes her knuckles into an eye, trying to rub the images out, trying to stop the tears, the pounding in her head.
She says he doesn't have to, because he doesn't, but she's pretty sure she sounds like she's saying the exact opposite.
She's getting a cramp in her calf from how tense she is. And all she can think about is how she wants to apologize again, because this is unlike her. She deals with her problems on her own, like the grown-ass woman that she is. She doesn't need rescuing.
And yet. ]
I don't think I can move. And I know I'm alone but it feels like there's someone here.
[ probably a stupid thing to say. Her filters are jumbled up. ]
[ frank straps on his knife and hunts down his boots, which never stray far from his bed anyway. he knows exactly how claire feels, and if he can lessen the pain in any minute way he needs to, for both of their sakes.
he tries to remember the things he was told in group. coping mechanisms. he's finding his jacket and his keys next, grateful there won't be much traffic at this hour. ]
Just... breathe, alright? Can you do that? Think of... uh, something familiar. [ wow he sucks at this. frank grimaces, making his way to his truck and starting it up without thinking of ending the call. it's been a long time since someone needed him. especially for anything that wasn't bloody violence. it's hard to dredge up pieces of the man he once was, but he wants to, if it'll help claire now.
the problem is, too, that once she's mentioned an intruder, frank knows he'll have to check every inch of her place. his paranoia won't even allow him to tell her she's safe now, not until he sees for himself. he doesn't know what might be comforting to her. surely it can't be the men who'd hurt her strung up -- but that's what he's picturing now, and it gives him plenty of solace for the drive over. ]
She can hear him move, do his Frank thing, she guesses, she doesn't know - she doesn't know anything anymore, it seems, can't even recall what she's been told and what she's done countless times before when dealing with patients suffering from panic attacks.
Something familiar. Sitting at the window at the diner, catching up with her mom. The smell of bacon and pancakes and her dad's singing from the kitchen. The Cuba sunshine, warming her up all the way to her bones. Her family. Familiar.
When she opens her eyes, she can breathe a little easier. It's like she can smell her mom's perfume lingering in her nose, and it helps calm down the erratic beating of her heart. She still can't move, but she feels an inch more like the person she knows she is. ]
Thanks. [ She isn't even sure he's still on the line, but it makes her feel better to say it anyway, makes the vice around her lungs ease up a little. She knows he's on his way. She knows he'll check her apartment for her. She knows. It's what she needs. ]
[ he's not sure what she's thanking him for, but the acknowledgment is good all the same. she sounds a little more like herself, he thinks, at least from their limited interactions. ] Sure. Just stay put. [ she already said she couldn't move, asshole. frank white-knuckles his one hand on the wheel as he lets his memory provide her address. he's never actually been there, but he knows the way all the same. ]
ETA 10 minutes. [ it's muttered so maybe it wasn't meant for her at all. he isn't sure whether it's reassuring to have the punisher on the way, but that seems to be what she wants right now. he doesn't have to get it to oblige. ]
[ He wouldn't understand if she tried to explain, or maybe he just wouldn't agree. She isn't sure - it isn't about safety so much than it is about company, comfort from someone who gets it. Someone who's yet to let her down, unlike others.
The familiar, soft thoughts of her mother dissipate as Claire thinks of Matt, and her chest tightens up again. The constant worry, the dread of seeing his name in the obituaries one morning, or just working when he's being wheeled in to the ER, all of it wrenches the panic back, fresh tears running down her face. She bites her lip, stays as silent as she can be.
Matt doesn't want her worry, even if she can't help herself. Ten minutes. ]
The chain isn't on, but the door's locked. Living-room window is open, though.
[ She talks in a rush, unsure if the information is helpful, her voice still shaky, still barely feeling like herself. She wonders, if she was to look in a mirror right now, if she'd recognize herself at all. ]
[ he files the information away, it won't tack an extra minute on even he doesn't think so he doesn't bother editing his eta. the sound of her muffled cries get to him anyway, wrenching in someplace deep he usually keeps shut off. a part of frank castle reserved for private moments with david lieberman or group therapy at the va. he doesn't let other people get to him this way, or rather, he likes to pretend it isn't even possible. the truth is very different, especially faced with no other alternative than to accept that claire -- a person who usually holds it together for his benefit is breaking down; and she's chosen him to be her savior. ]
Shhh, it's okay. You're alright. Almost there... [ murmured again, almost muffled against the receiver. this is feeling more urgent with each street sign he passes, though rationally he knows she's safe. but there's nothing rational about this, is there? he's saving her from demons in her head by battling the ones in his. how poetic. ]
[ frank's diesel truck roars up onto her road at long last, and he spies her apartment building from across it. he parks carelessly, not really worrying about a ticket this late/early or you know, in general at all. abandoning it, he walks around to the window she says is open and finds his way inside, knowing he has to be quick or her neighbors might actually think he's an intruder. that's easy enough -- they're old windows and he's nothing if not efficient. he slips the screen up silently so he can get his hand under the ledge and push up. then he's scaling the short distance until he can climb inside, setting down the screen and then the window and latching it behind him all with... 19 seconds to go. ]
Claire? It's me. [ obviously. he's hanging up and pocketing his phone before drawing his knife instead. his combat boots telegraph his every movement as he moves through every room, leaving no closet or cupboard unturned. every inch of her place is catalogued and cleared before he makes his way into her room and clears the closet and bathroom first before cautiously returning his kabar to its rightful place at his side. he stands by her bed, unsure if he should reach out, and incapable of it besides. ] Cleared. [ every square inch, no bad guys in sight. well, except one. ]
[ Claire doesn't hear him come in, not until he calls out, until his steps tap out a beat on her floor, calmer than the rapid fore of her heartbeat. Bile rises in her throat and she swallows it down, her face feeling too tight, her skin itching, like she needs to shed it, fears growing too big for it.
It feels like hours, Claire listening to Frank moving around. When he steps into her bedroom, she doesn't look up. Just drops her phone on the sheets in front of her, her knees pressed to her chest as close as they'd go. Her eyes are wide when she runs a hand over her face again, fixed on a burn mark on her sheets.
She reminds herself to breathe again. Frank's here, now, standing by her bed, like he has no idea what to do now that he's in the room, and Claire lets out an hysterical chuckle, pressing her face between her knees. Knowing that she was right and it was irrational and no one is in her apartment doesn't make her feel any better. ]
Thank you. [ She shakes the words out, because she might be seized by panic, she's still lucid. ] I feel like I'm about to claw my way out of my own skin.
[ that unstable laugh makes him uncomfortable, and he frowns a bit, trying to get his footing in this situation. there's no physical threat that he can take out for her. just... emotional uphieval. it isn't exactly his strong suit, but he can sure as fuck try, right? can't hurt, since he came all the way down here. ]
Do you like to swim? [ it sounds like a random question, but he's going somewhere with it. he gestures to her bed before sitting on the edge facing her, his legs bent so his boots remain on the floor. ]
[ 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.
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[ Her heart is beating a mile a minute, and she can barely breathe, nauseous and dizzy. Well, at least she knows what this is, rationally, medically. She doesn't have them often, but. ]
I'm having a panic attack.
[ It's not life or death. There's no reason for her call, really, besides hearing a voice that reminds her she's not entirely alone. At least, he picked up. She forces herself to try and regulate her breathing. ] Sorry, if I woke you up.
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No, hey-- it's fine. [ and there's nothing in his voice to suggest it isn't. he locates a shirt next, haphazardly pulling it on, fumbling with the phone in case she speaks while he's dressing. ] Do you want me to come over?
[ it's only after he says it that he realizes that might be... forward, looking down at himself with a shake of his head. he's getting ready to move out like this is an emergency. he knows from experience how real it feels; and how bad. it sucks having other people around, but it sucks even worse not having anyone. frank sits down on his couch, burying a hand in his hair while he tries to think this out. he isn't exactly firing on all cylinders yet. ]
Or you could come here. I'll make coffee. [ equally lame, but it's all he's got. frank worries his lip between his teeth and waits for her verdict. ]
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But she can't move and check. She's stronger than this, and yet, right now, she's never felt so weak. ]
You don't have to - [ She manages to say between gulping breaths as she pushes her knuckles into an eye, trying to rub the images out, trying to stop the tears, the pounding in her head.
She says he doesn't have to, because he doesn't, but she's pretty sure she sounds like she's saying the exact opposite.
She's getting a cramp in her calf from how tense she is. And all she can think about is how she wants to apologize again, because this is unlike her. She deals with her problems on her own, like the grown-ass woman that she is. She doesn't need rescuing.
And yet. ]
I don't think I can move. And I know I'm alone but it feels like there's someone here.
[ probably a stupid thing to say. Her filters are jumbled up. ]
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he tries to remember the things he was told in group. coping mechanisms. he's finding his jacket and his keys next, grateful there won't be much traffic at this hour. ]
Just... breathe, alright? Can you do that? Think of... uh, something familiar. [ wow he sucks at this. frank grimaces, making his way to his truck and starting it up without thinking of ending the call. it's been a long time since someone needed him. especially for anything that wasn't bloody violence. it's hard to dredge up pieces of the man he once was, but he wants to, if it'll help claire now.
the problem is, too, that once she's mentioned an intruder, frank knows he'll have to check every inch of her place. his paranoia won't even allow him to tell her she's safe now, not until he sees for himself. he doesn't know what might be comforting to her. surely it can't be the men who'd hurt her strung up -- but that's what he's picturing now, and it gives him plenty of solace for the drive over. ]
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She can hear him move, do his Frank thing, she guesses, she doesn't know - she doesn't know anything anymore, it seems, can't even recall what she's been told and what she's done countless times before when dealing with patients suffering from panic attacks.
Something familiar. Sitting at the window at the diner, catching up with her mom. The smell of bacon and pancakes and her dad's singing from the kitchen. The Cuba sunshine, warming her up all the way to her bones. Her family. Familiar.
When she opens her eyes, she can breathe a little easier. It's like she can smell her mom's perfume lingering in her nose, and it helps calm down the erratic beating of her heart. She still can't move, but she feels an inch more like the person she knows she is. ]
Thanks. [ She isn't even sure he's still on the line, but it makes her feel better to say it anyway, makes the vice around her lungs ease up a little. She knows he's on his way. She knows he'll check her apartment for her. She knows. It's what she needs. ]
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ETA 10 minutes. [ it's muttered so maybe it wasn't meant for her at all. he isn't sure whether it's reassuring to have the punisher on the way, but that seems to be what she wants right now. he doesn't have to get it to oblige. ]
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The familiar, soft thoughts of her mother dissipate as Claire thinks of Matt, and her chest tightens up again. The constant worry, the dread of seeing his name in the obituaries one morning, or just working when he's being wheeled in to the ER, all of it wrenches the panic back, fresh tears running down her face. She bites her lip, stays as silent as she can be.
Matt doesn't want her worry, even if she can't help herself. Ten minutes. ]
The chain isn't on, but the door's locked. Living-room window is open, though.
[ She talks in a rush, unsure if the information is helpful, her voice still shaky, still barely feeling like herself. She wonders, if she was to look in a mirror right now, if she'd recognize herself at all. ]
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Shhh, it's okay. You're alright. Almost there... [ murmured again, almost muffled against the receiver. this is feeling more urgent with each street sign he passes, though rationally he knows she's safe. but there's nothing rational about this, is there? he's saving her from demons in her head by battling the ones in his. how poetic. ]
[ frank's diesel truck roars up onto her road at long last, and he spies her apartment building from across it. he parks carelessly, not really worrying about a ticket this late/early or you know, in general at all. abandoning it, he walks around to the window she says is open and finds his way inside, knowing he has to be quick or her neighbors might actually think he's an intruder. that's easy enough -- they're old windows and he's nothing if not efficient. he slips the screen up silently so he can get his hand under the ledge and push up. then he's scaling the short distance until he can climb inside, setting down the screen and then the window and latching it behind him all with... 19 seconds to go. ]
Claire? It's me. [ obviously. he's hanging up and pocketing his phone before drawing his knife instead. his combat boots telegraph his every movement as he moves through every room, leaving no closet or cupboard unturned. every inch of her place is catalogued and cleared before he makes his way into her room and clears the closet and bathroom first before cautiously returning his kabar to its rightful place at his side. he stands by her bed, unsure if he should reach out, and incapable of it besides. ] Cleared. [ every square inch, no bad guys in sight. well, except one. ]
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It feels like hours, Claire listening to Frank moving around. When he steps into her bedroom, she doesn't look up. Just drops her phone on the sheets in front of her, her knees pressed to her chest as close as they'd go. Her eyes are wide when she runs a hand over her face again, fixed on a burn mark on her sheets.
She reminds herself to breathe again. Frank's here, now, standing by her bed, like he has no idea what to do now that he's in the room, and Claire lets out an hysterical chuckle, pressing her face between her knees. Knowing that she was right and it was irrational and no one is in her apartment doesn't make her feel any better. ]
Thank you. [ She shakes the words out, because she might be seized by panic, she's still lucid. ] I feel like I'm about to claw my way out of my own skin.
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Do you like to swim? [ it sounds like a random question, but he's going somewhere with it. he gestures to her bed before sitting on the edge facing her, his legs bent so his boots remain on the floor. ]
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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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