She eyes the chair warily, but shuffles over to sit in it. It takes a slow and careful sinking down into the chair before she's able to make herself comfortable. Sighing once she's able to find a position that's remotely tolerable, she looks over to him with an attempt at a smile.
"We could order something," she suggests, not wanting him to feel like he needs to get up and make something for her. "Or I could make sandwiches." She's become obsessed with more American things like peanut butter and jelly or grilled cheese sandwiches. Apparently they're for children, but she absolutely loves them.
He holds onto her gently while she sits, not about to risk her falling so soon after the incident. The rest, of course, makes him laugh.
"You're in recovery and you want to make me a sandwich?" he confirms, taking his hand off her to gesture towards the kitchen around them. "Well go on then, you know where to find everything."
Frank is well aware he shouldn't encourage her shenanigans, but sometimes when it comes to Clara he can't help but poke the bear. Sometimes it's entirely too tempting to see how far she'll go, if only because most of the time it seems like she doesn't have a limit at all.
There's confusion on her face at first, because she thinks he must be messing with her. Either that, or it's a trap for him to scold her for pushing herself too quickly. That causes her to hesitate, up until she realizes he isn't stopping her. The dimpled grin that breaks out across her face is pleased and confident.
She's got this. It's just sandwiches. How hard can it be?
All she has to do is push herself to stand up. Which she has to grip hold of his arm to do, but she only winces a little. And she hardly makes any pained sounds of discomfort. Once she's on her feet, it's just a matter of leaning in to steal a kiss before she's shuffling off into the tiny kitchen to work.
Which she does slowly, stubbornly refusing to admit that she should be resting. Yes, she hurts. But is that going to stop her from making peanut butter sandwiches and cutting off the crust? No.
"We should talk," she says about halfway through the second sandwich. "About what happened."
He's likely going to stubbornly refuse. But she's ready for that possibility.
It takes everything in his body not to pop up after her, but Frank is assessing how much recovery this will take. He knows this is partially just stubbornness, but he's hoping it's also serving the dual purpose of distracting Clara from her own mortality. It would have made a neat replacement for "talking about it" if not for her follow-up, to which Frank swivels his head to regard her seriously.
"Alright, yeah. You're right." He bounces his knee as he waits for the questions to start rolling in. "What part of it specifically do you wanna talk about over peanutbutter sandwiches with the crusts cut off?" Sometimes, he can't help a bit of trolling even while being 100% sincere as well.
Now that? That earns her slowly turning toward him, pointing a jelly coated knife in his direction. A glob winds up falling right off and landing on the old laminate floor, and she glances down at it sadly. She'll get that later. You know, when she can move properly again.
"You love my sandwiches as much as you love me," she teasingly points out, before turning back to finish making the second sandwich. She doesn't speak again until she's finished. But instead of going right back to him she stays in place, holding on to the edge of the countertop.
"I want to know what you're thinking. What you're feeling. I need to know that my getting hurt isn't going to make you think I'm not safe with you."
They've become so hopelessly entangled with one another that her life is completely with him. She doesn't know where she ends and he begins anymore. The thought of him pulling away even slightly is terrifying to her. And after waking up alone in bed twice now, she's very concerned he might be planning something that he thinks is for her own good.
He laughs outright at the jelly glob falling to the floor. "Don't you dare get that." Frank is already letting her run wild with those injuries, and again he's about to get up when her words hit him over the head like an anvil. He does love her which is exactly why this is so dangerous. But he knows they're too entangled to simply leave - that won't protect her as well as he can.
"They aren't mutually exclusive," he finally pipes up after a long silence, but he's hunched over his seat and staring into the flowers rather than over at Clara's face. "I'm not going anywhere." Shouldn't that be enough?? And if it isn't, what's their alternative?
She lets him have his space for the time being, taking her time shuffling back to the table with the plates. It takes her well over a minute to make her way from the dinette to the table, and his plate is wordlessly slid over toward him to take. She carefully sits, sighing in place of hissing in pain as she does. And instead of eating right away, she just stares at her meticulously made peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
"I love you," she finally speaks, her voice cracking slightly as she whispers. She'll blame it on the excitement of being shot, but she's getting a little emotional with him saying he's not going anywhere.
"And I'm not going anywhere either."
That being said, she picks up her sandwich and slowly takes a bite. It's in that moment she realizes she forgot a glass of milk, and gives out a muffled and sticky sounding fuck beneath her breath.
He murmurs a thank you even as he regrets letting her do that. Frank opens his mouth to try to respond to any part of that - he's not capable of it anyway so it's better left alone. He chuckles at her cursing as he sets a massive hand down on the table to push himself up and go get her milk and clean up the jelly from the floor.
Frank puts the glass in front of her before sitting again with the cup he poured himself of horrifically cold and black coffee. "Better?" he asks even while grimacing at the taste of his chosen beverage. He's not used to napping so the caffeine is necessary, but he probably should have just brewed a fresh pot. Hindsight, and all that.
He doesn't address anything she's said, and for a moment she's hurt by that. That hurt quickly brings on tears, which she refuses to let fall because she's stubborn and knows he doesn't mean anything by it. She bites into her sandwich and starts eating, not looking his way when he brings her the milk. And shamefully, she actually starts crying while she sits there refusing to look at him.
She swallows the lump that's in her throat and takes a drink before nodding in response. "Thank you."
There's no real reason why she should be crying. She doesn't know why she is. Maybe it's the emotion from the ordeal she's just been through finally coming out. She blames it on that as she wipes at her eyes and stares down at the remains of her sandwich on her plate.
"Did you kill them?" she finally asks, emotion thick in her voice. she doesn't specify who she means. she knows that he'll know exactly who she's referring to.
Frank's eyes widen when Clara starts crying, something he's certain somehow is his fault though he can't pinpoint what he did wrong yet. He watches like a deer-in-headlights like he's waiting for further instruction when instead she asks him that. The question they've always left open between them in the past. He knows Clara is no innocent herself, though she's also not a brutal killer like himself. Very few are so it's not that shocking - and for that reason her inquiry shouldn't shock him either.
"You're safe," he croaks out, not sure if that's why she's asking but he needs to be straightforward about this, he knows. His watery eyes reflect back her sadness as he admits, "Two of them got away, but I'll take care of it."
She has no idea why she asked. It's not that she minds him killing, because the people he kills are the sort that deserve whatever happens to them. It's not like he goes around just hurting people because he can. So his answer adds a layer of guilt that makes her stomach twist to the point that she further loses her appetite.
"You make everything safe," she murmurs, wiping at her eyes. "Remembering that was the only thing that kept me going. I was absolutely terrified."
And that little admission of her fear is a big deal. She never admits when she's afraid, she just puts on a brave face and deals with it. But she doesn't feel like hiding that terror she had felt. Not when she needs to talk about it, even a little.
Those words hit him like hot iron slicing through his own body this time. A familiar feeling, but one he hasn't grown accustomed to with Clara. It was always going to happen, wasn't it? They got too comfortable, someone must have seen them together; she's been here too long... The thoughts swirl and swirl to the same end. She isn't safe here with him, despite her claims. This never would have happened if she were.
"Me too," is all he manages at first, swallowing past the rapidly growing dry patch in his throat. What a foolish endeavor. The Punisher in love? What was he thinking? "This was never supposed to happen." Frank deliberately doesn't specify which 'this' he's referring to as his eyes dart away from hers again and travel back down to his untouched sandwich.
She's unintentionally caused a rift between them. It's noticeable, even with as small as the shift is. He's questioning whether he can love her and keep her safe. It leaves her hoping that her love is enough to keep him from slipping into his own mind. Him obsessively going over details that don't matter now that she's home safe with him aren't going to do him any favors.
"But it did happen. And we'll figure out what to do next."
Her hand seeks his out, simply pressing over it without expectation of him turning his so their fingers can lock together. She never presses when he's like this, too lost in his own thoughts and regrets.
"Do you think it's too soon for a shower?"
That gives him something to focus on. A way to take care of her. He can help her in the shower, a clear plan of action that he needs right now.
He doesn't startle or move away from her hand, though it's noticeable the way he doesn't lean into the touch either.
"I thought you were hungry," he teases even though his heart clearly isn't in it. Frank levels her with a look he means to be gentle, but ends up being bludgeoning instead. "Go on, eat, then we'll shower."
He pulls his hand away to pick up his sandwich and take a first bite, smiling softly at her to show his approval. She has given him tasks to focus on which helps, but that won't keep his mind from wandering to the men he had to leave behind. They won't get off nearly as easy as their companions.
Instead of arguing that she's lost her appetite, she picks at her sandwich a bit more. He wants her to eat so she can maintain her strength, and she doesn't want to make him worry anymore than he's already doing. So she eats and she teases him, laughing a bit as she does. That of course makes her wince, and she's very careful to keep from giggling further as she slowly swallows a bite of sandwich.
"Of course. It's a dangerous place for an invalid," he deadpans as he takes another bite. He does want to nag her about the food, but she's laughing so it can't be all bad (even if that clearly hurts her.) Frank looks down into his plate with a bemused smile as he takes another bite or two himself, but even he can't finish his meal so it takes the pressure off of lecturing Clara about hers.
"Ha ha." Clara tries to act offended, but it falls flat since her cheeks are currently stuffed with the rest of her sandwich. It turns out she was hungrier than she thought.
As soon as she's done and deems he's not going to eat anymore, she stacks the plates and moves to stand up. Only that...really hurts, so she hisses in a sharp intake of air and freezes in place. Maybe the dishes can wait until later. No matter how tidy she likes to keep things.
"How do you manage to deal with being shot all the time? I can hardly move."
He finds himself grinning at her scarfing down the rest of her sandwich, but then chases after her when she clears their plates.
"For starters, I don't try to do dishes after." His hand gently rubs at her farthest shoulder in sympathy while his head falls to the other as softly as he can manage. He finally lets her feel how devastating it is to see her hurt this way. "Let me take care of you, Clara. Please."
She knows she's being stubborn. That she's going to make things harder on herself in the end by pushing herself right now. It's all a defense mechanism, and he knows it. And he gets her to relent using his honest desire to just take care of her.
How can she deny him that? She's not going to hurt him further. That isn't what you do to someone you love.
"Okay," she breathes out the word, whisper soft. Her hand goes to touch at the side of his head, cradling him in close to her.
He blows out a long breath, just staying close like this for as long as he can stand. Frank expects to be knocked over by a memory of his former life, but when it doesn't come he isn't sure if he's relieved or upset. Rather than try to analyze, instead he takes Clara's hand and starts silently leading her towards the bathroom. His eyes are clear, if wet, as he glances back at her before pulling them both inside and shutting the door.
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"We could order something," she suggests, not wanting him to feel like he needs to get up and make something for her. "Or I could make sandwiches." She's become obsessed with more American things like peanut butter and jelly or grilled cheese sandwiches. Apparently they're for children, but she absolutely loves them.
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"You're in recovery and you want to make me a sandwich?" he confirms, taking his hand off her to gesture towards the kitchen around them. "Well go on then, you know where to find everything."
Frank is well aware he shouldn't encourage her shenanigans, but sometimes when it comes to Clara he can't help but poke the bear. Sometimes it's entirely too tempting to see how far she'll go, if only because most of the time it seems like she doesn't have a limit at all.
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She's got this. It's just sandwiches. How hard can it be?
All she has to do is push herself to stand up. Which she has to grip hold of his arm to do, but she only winces a little. And she hardly makes any pained sounds of discomfort. Once she's on her feet, it's just a matter of leaning in to steal a kiss before she's shuffling off into the tiny kitchen to work.
Which she does slowly, stubbornly refusing to admit that she should be resting. Yes, she hurts. But is that going to stop her from making peanut butter sandwiches and cutting off the crust? No.
"We should talk," she says about halfway through the second sandwich. "About what happened."
He's likely going to stubbornly refuse. But she's ready for that possibility.
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"Alright, yeah. You're right." He bounces his knee as he waits for the questions to start rolling in. "What part of it specifically do you wanna talk about over peanutbutter sandwiches with the crusts cut off?" Sometimes, he can't help a bit of trolling even while being 100% sincere as well.
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"You love my sandwiches as much as you love me," she teasingly points out, before turning back to finish making the second sandwich. She doesn't speak again until she's finished. But instead of going right back to him she stays in place, holding on to the edge of the countertop.
"I want to know what you're thinking. What you're feeling. I need to know that my getting hurt isn't going to make you think I'm not safe with you."
They've become so hopelessly entangled with one another that her life is completely with him. She doesn't know where she ends and he begins anymore. The thought of him pulling away even slightly is terrifying to her. And after waking up alone in bed twice now, she's very concerned he might be planning something that he thinks is for her own good.
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"They aren't mutually exclusive," he finally pipes up after a long silence, but he's hunched over his seat and staring into the flowers rather than over at Clara's face. "I'm not going anywhere." Shouldn't that be enough?? And if it isn't, what's their alternative?
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"I love you," she finally speaks, her voice cracking slightly as she whispers. She'll blame it on the excitement of being shot, but she's getting a little emotional with him saying he's not going anywhere.
"And I'm not going anywhere either."
That being said, she picks up her sandwich and slowly takes a bite. It's in that moment she realizes she forgot a glass of milk, and gives out a muffled and sticky sounding fuck beneath her breath.
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Frank puts the glass in front of her before sitting again with the cup he poured himself of horrifically cold and black coffee. "Better?" he asks even while grimacing at the taste of his chosen beverage. He's not used to napping so the caffeine is necessary, but he probably should have just brewed a fresh pot. Hindsight, and all that.
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She swallows the lump that's in her throat and takes a drink before nodding in response. "Thank you."
There's no real reason why she should be crying. She doesn't know why she is. Maybe it's the emotion from the ordeal she's just been through finally coming out. She blames it on that as she wipes at her eyes and stares down at the remains of her sandwich on her plate.
"Did you kill them?" she finally asks, emotion thick in her voice. she doesn't specify who she means. she knows that he'll know exactly who she's referring to.
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"You're safe," he croaks out, not sure if that's why she's asking but he needs to be straightforward about this, he knows. His watery eyes reflect back her sadness as he admits, "Two of them got away, but I'll take care of it."
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"You make everything safe," she murmurs, wiping at her eyes. "Remembering that was the only thing that kept me going. I was absolutely terrified."
And that little admission of her fear is a big deal. She never admits when she's afraid, she just puts on a brave face and deals with it. But she doesn't feel like hiding that terror she had felt. Not when she needs to talk about it, even a little.
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"Me too," is all he manages at first, swallowing past the rapidly growing dry patch in his throat. What a foolish endeavor. The Punisher in love? What was he thinking? "This was never supposed to happen." Frank deliberately doesn't specify which 'this' he's referring to as his eyes dart away from hers again and travel back down to his untouched sandwich.
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"But it did happen. And we'll figure out what to do next."
Her hand seeks his out, simply pressing over it without expectation of him turning his so their fingers can lock together. She never presses when he's like this, too lost in his own thoughts and regrets.
"Do you think it's too soon for a shower?"
That gives him something to focus on. A way to take care of her. He can help her in the shower, a clear plan of action that he needs right now.
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"I thought you were hungry," he teases even though his heart clearly isn't in it. Frank levels her with a look he means to be gentle, but ends up being bludgeoning instead. "Go on, eat, then we'll shower."
He pulls his hand away to pick up his sandwich and take a first bite, smiling softly at her to show his approval. She has given him tasks to focus on which helps, but that won't keep his mind from wandering to the men he had to leave behind. They won't get off nearly as easy as their companions.
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Instead of arguing that she's lost her appetite, she picks at her sandwich a bit more. He wants her to eat so she can maintain her strength, and she doesn't want to make him worry anymore than he's already doing. So she eats and she teases him, laughing a bit as she does. That of course makes her wince, and she's very careful to keep from giggling further as she slowly swallows a bite of sandwich.
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As soon as she's done and deems he's not going to eat anymore, she stacks the plates and moves to stand up. Only that...really hurts, so she hisses in a sharp intake of air and freezes in place. Maybe the dishes can wait until later. No matter how tidy she likes to keep things.
"How do you manage to deal with being shot all the time? I can hardly move."
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"For starters, I don't try to do dishes after." His hand gently rubs at her farthest shoulder in sympathy while his head falls to the other as softly as he can manage. He finally lets her feel how devastating it is to see her hurt this way. "Let me take care of you, Clara. Please."
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How can she deny him that? She's not going to hurt him further. That isn't what you do to someone you love.
"Okay," she breathes out the word, whisper soft. Her hand goes to touch at the side of his head, cradling him in close to her.
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