summary: After coming to your senses, you and Frank hash out your issues to decide what your future holds.
warnings: swearing, Frank being a Man and having to learn to apologize on the fly(he does a good job though), slight angst, Frank being controlling kinda but it's because he cares, hopeful ending
a/n: Praying to the fanfic gods that I continue to have motivation to continue this fic because I wrote a decent chunk for it and it's going unusually smoothly. This is the second to last chapter of angst!! Only a teeeeeny bit more to go. As always, please PLEASE comment and reblog if you like this fic :)
w/c: 2.9k (the next one is longer, don't worry)
Forcing the dented kettle lid into its slot, you cranked the burner on, leaning a hip against your counter as you waited. Amidst the haze of restless exhaustion, you’d completely fumbled the process of making tea–ruining two bags before successfully placing a third in your mug without puncturing it, only to realize you hadn’t begun to boil water. Fuck, you were tired, and more than a little out of it.
But that was understandable, given that you had been up against your family and confronted by Frank twice unexpectedly. Last night–was it still night? Was it morning? Regardless, when Frank had come over to save you from yourself, it hadn’t taken much cajoling for you to give in. You were desperate to be comforted, to be loved, to belong. A handful of reassuring words out of Frank’s stubbled mouth and you were putty in his hands. Then a few hours later, you were bolting upright in a cold sweat, coming to your senses and scrambling out of bed.
Were you lacking a fucking spine? Three weeks after Frank single-handedly flipped your world on its head and he was sleeping beside you in your fucking bed because you needed support? Heaven forbid you call someone that actually cares about you instead of relying on the first breathing person to walk through the door.
But he does care about you. That relentless optimist hidden away in your brain chirped, apparently undeterred by Frank’s attempts to push you away.
Resolutely ignoring that side of your head, you brought the image of Frank’s wrathful face back to mind, once again imagining the vitriol he’d spit at you. You were a mistake. You mean nothing to him. You are nothing to him.
That’s not what he said last night. The optimist piped up again.
Well, then he needs to make up his fucking mind. You snorted audibly, irritation bubbling under your skin. You weren’t a goddamn translator for emotionally stunted men. If he wanted you in his life, he needed to say that explicitly.
Your train of thought burst as the kettle whistled shrilly. Right, tea. Tea would help.
Pouring a gracious amount of boiling water into the cup, you stared at the tea bag as it began to steep, rivulets of color seeping into the clear water from the dried leaves. Your knuckles brushed against the ceramic material. The heat was torturous, making the air around you feel clammy and tight. Like you were slowly suffocating. Grabbing the handle of your mug, you scurried to the edge of your apartment, seeking solace in the fresh air.
The pop of the rubber insulation strip peeling away from the frame of your balcony door made you flinch. Hissing quietly, you slid the glass panel as quietly as you could, feeling like a bumbling idiot making all this noise when Frank was asleep in the other room—getting rest that he most likely needed, you’d seen the shadows under his eyes recently...
Stop it. You chastised yourself. Stop worrying about him when he doesn’t want you to. With quick, silent steps, you were through the door and on your balcony, exhaling heavily as the fresh air smacked against your face.
Unlike the last few weeks, the air was almost chilly outside your 4 walls. Or maybe your body had finally reached a point in its emotional overload where thermal regulation had been thrown to the wayside. That had happened a few times before, but only when your psyche was especially strained.
As much as you didn’t want to compare the past few weeks to some of the lowest points in your life, it was hard not to. The emotional tug-of-war game you’d been captured in was taking its toll–if your breakdown a few hours ago and subsequent loss of sleep were anything to go by.
Sighing heavily, you leaned on the railing of the outcropping, your tight grip the only thing keeping the mug from falling to the street below. Once you were outside, the exhaustion crept back to the surface of your conscience, blurring every minute together until the sun began to rise and you were still holding a half-full mug of chamomile. You didn’t even notice the change until the balcony door opened, startling you so roughly you almost flung your dish into oncoming traffic.
“Whatcha doin’ out here, sunshine? You’ll catch your death.” Frank stepped out of your door with a poorly stifled yawn, stretching his arms on the frame before padding over to you. The display of tiredness elicited a rush of fondness in your stomach. You squashed it to the best of your ability, turning back to face the brick wall that composed your view.
“It’s mid July, Frank. I’m pretty sure I’ll be ok.” You reasoned, taking a drag of your herb water (it would be rude to refer to it as tea in its current state.)
Steady footsteps echoed off of concrete as he approached you. A bulky piece of fabric was draped over your shoulders. It was scratchy and drenched in the scent of gun oil and coffee. His jacket, then. “Humor me.”
Your cheek twitched, but you said nothing, simply rotating the cup in your hands as you continued to stare ahead. The thin coat continued to hang from your slouched back, a tentative acceptance of an obvious peace offering.
“There somethin’ real interestin’ about those windows or are you avoidin’ me?” Frank had the audacity to sound amused as he asked.
You scoffed, bringing your drink to your lips again. “I wasn’t aware I had to look at you all the time.”
If he was expecting his sweet, playful “Sunshine”, he’d be disappointed. After putting you through hell and practically disappearing for days after, you weren’t ready to just forgive and forget. And you definitely weren’t in the mood to flirt.
Sneaking a glance out of the corner of your eye, you were slightly satisfied when Frank’s eyes widened, his lips parting in surprise at your snippy comment. Yah buddy, I can have my moods too.
“Thank you, for yesterday,” You murmured, still not meeting his inquisitive eyes. “But I’ll be fine. You can go home now.”
Frank barked out a laugh. “That’s the biggest pile of horseshit I’ve ever heard.”
You rolled your eyes, not dignifying his comment with a response. Unfortunately for your rapidly dwindling composure, he wasn’t done.
“I mean, c’mon honey. You nearly ended up needing stitches last night. You expect me to just pack up and leave?”
“I don’t understand you, Frank. You tell me I don’t matter to you, ignore me for weeks, then follow me to a bar and show up to a dinner with my fucking relatives because you suddenly know what’s good for me? I asked you to leave.” You fumed, setting your mug down so you could cross your arms.
“You and I both know you don’t always ask for what you want, sunshine.” Frank shot back, less aggressively.
“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” You asked incredulously, whipping around to glare at him.
Holding his hands up, Frank deflated a bit. “I’m just sayin’, I don’t want you to be alone if it ain’t what ya really want.”
“Maybe I’ll just take a lesson from you, then. Learn to enjoy being alone” You snarked, not willing to give in to his protective nature at the moment, even though the thought of being alone made you viscerally nauseous.
Frank ran a hand over his face, sinking into one of the cracking porch chairs laid out on your tiny balcony. With a sigh, he propped his chin on his hands. “I don’t enjoy it, sunshine. I never have.”
“No? Then what the hell happened with us, Frank?” Your tone was still sharp, but your question was genuine. “Sure seemed like you were happier without me.”
When your query was met with silence, you shook your head. “You know what? Forget I asked–”
Frank reached for your hand, grasping it hesitantly. “No, I’ll explain, it’s just..it ain’t an easy story to tell.” His voice was apologetic as his eyes bore into yours.
Nodding skeptically, you let him hold onto you as you sank into the chair across from him. He was right. You were being overly impatient out of spite. If he truly wanted to explain, you’d sit and listen.
Heaving out a great breath, Frank’s eyes dropped to your tangled hands. “A few weeks ago, you asked me to try that thing, the babka–”
“Please tell me this wasn’t because I made you try some bread–” You groaned, feeling equal parts annoyed and embarrassed at the idea, but Frank cut you off.
“My wife used to make that.”
A shudder ran through you, your body freezing in place as you were overtaken with shock. Whatever reason you expected Frank to give, it wasn’t this. You could feel your icy guard starting to melt, all the work you’d done putting the barrier between you and your neighbor being washed away in exchange for sympathy and surprise.
Thumb running over your knuckles, Frank continued. “Maria, sh– she made cinnamon babka for every special occasion. It was her specialty, a family tradition. And, I don’t know, sunshine..I guess I wasn’t ready to eat it again.”
“Oh, Frank.” Tantrum sufficiently forgotten, all lingering resentment vanished when you studied Frank’s pained expression. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
He huffed a bitter laugh. “How could you? I didn’t say anythin’.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? Did you think I wouldn’t understand? That I’d be upset?” You asked, thinking back to the day you’d given it to him and how quickly things had gone downhill afterwards.
“No.” Frank stated emphatically, gripping your fingers with a bit more force. “No, it’s not your fault, honey. I’m a grown man. I could’ve said somethin’ before I let it get outta hand. Before I said a buncha shit I didn’t mean.”
Nodding in tentative agreement, you squeezed his hand back. “You could’ve.”
“I should’ve.” He added. “Instead, I blew up on you and that wasn’t fair. I’m sorry.”
“What did I do wrong, Frank?”
He tilted his head at you as your vision blurred with tears, his harsh words still having an effect on you days later. “Nothin’ at all, sweetheart. You showin’ up at my work, it made me think I was movin’ on before I was ready. I thought that I wasn’t over my wife and that I was doing both of you wrong by moving too fast, but that’s not true.”
“It’s not?” You looked up, chomping down on your lip to keep your sobs reigned in.
“No honey, it’s not.” Frank promised, squeezing your hands.
“If it was, well, I wouldn’t blame you, I guess. You wouldn’t be the first person to think those things about me.” You shrugged, fighting back the memories of manly sneers and wandering hands. “Though your delivery could’ve been better.”
“If I was half the man you deserve, I’d never have hurt ya. You’re so so good to me, and that scares the shit outta me, sunshine. Because I haven’t had that in so long, and because I am not a good man and thought...I dunno.” He trailed off, gesturing indiscriminately.
You nodded, wiping your face with your free hand while you composed yourself. After Frank didn’t continue, you figured he was done for now. “Thank you. For explaining, I know ‘deep, emotional chats’ aren’t really your speed.”
The man across from you laughed quietly, pitching forward to the edge of his seat like he wanted to hear every syllable out of your mouth as clearly as possible.
Blowing out a breath, you brought your hands to your face, rubbing forceful circles into your temple as your head threatened to pop like a balloon.
“Frank, I-I’m not Maria. We both know that. I can't ever replace Maria and I don’t want to. That wouldn’t be fair to either of us. The only thing I can do is be me. That’ll happen whether it’s with you or with someone else or if I end up an old spinster with a hundred cats.” You joked, trying to lighten the mood a smidge.
Blowing out a breath, you clasped his hand in both of yours. “I’m sorry you lost her, Frank. I don’t understand what that feels like. But it’s up to you to decide if moving on is an option. You need to decide if you’re ready to love her memory AND someone else. If you are, then…I don’t know. Ball’s in your court, I guess.”
“And if I think I am..?” Frank looked at you questioningly, blush crawling across his cheeks. You picked up the subtext in his question, even through the consistent layer of self-doubt you harbored.
Squeezing his hand one final time, you dropped his fingers with a sniff. “… I'm still mad at you.”
His chuckle was strained, his throat clearly tight with emotion. “That's okay sunshine, I'm still mad at me too.”
“Can I ask you one more question, before you clam up on me again?” Drawing his jacket more snugly around yourself, you raised a brow.
Frank smirked. “Shoot.”
“Not to be presumptuous, or whatever, but..just..what does that mean for us?” Heat engulfed your cheeks, sliding up your neck and towards your ears as you shied away from Frank’s mirthful gaze.
“Shit, throw me a soft ball next time.” Frank shook his head, grinning at you when you lightly kicked his shin. “I dunno, honey. I think it means I’ll try to be better for you.”
“So, you don’t regret meeting me?” Your voice was pitifully small, still in disbelief that Frank hadn’t been telling the truth when he’d hurt your feelings. “I’m–I’m not a mistake?”
Falling from the porch chair to his knees, Frank clasped your hands in his, looking at you pleadingly. “No, God no. You are anythin’ but a regret, darlin’.”
“Then why–” Your voice crumbled, the churning weight of inadequacy and abandonment dragging you down once again. “Why did you say that?”
“I’m so sorry, sunshine.” Bowing his head, Frank pressed a kiss to the back of your hand. His stubble rasped over your skin as he lifted his head to look at you. “The way it sounded…fuck, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Then why?” You broke eye contact, your lashes saturating with tears as you blinked them away.
Sighing roughly, Frank brushed the calloused tip of his thumb over your knuckles. “To be honest, darlin’…I don’t have a fuckin’ clue. I was angry at myself and it just..came out wrong.”
“So, I am a mistake?” You held your breath, waiting for him to confirm that fear again. For him to tell you that you meant nothing to him, that he wished he’d never met you. That you were unlovable.
“No.” Yanking on your arm, Frank pulled your hand towards him like a treasured possession, worry painted on his face as you tensed beneath his touch. “You are the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time, sunshine. You ain’t a mistake. Not now, not ever.”
Chewing your bottom lip, you nodded, swallowing around the sob that had lodged in your throat. You wanted to trust him. Every cell in your body was drawn to him, like they’d been magnetized. You wanted to tell him he was forgiven and forget this had ever happened. But you couldn’t.
“Sorry for asking, it just..it wouldn’t be the first time, ya know?”
“Whattaya mean?” His brows furrowed with confusion as his grip on you softened slightly.
“I’m not—I’m not the girl people choose to love, Frank. Every man I’ve met, they’ve all made that abundantly clear. What happens when you realize it too?” You tried to laugh off the agonizing despair building in your chest, but it was no use. Frank saw right through it. Because Frank saw you.
Two calloused hands cupped your cheeks, cradling your face with far too much tenderness for the infamous Frank Castle to possess. “Ain’t gonna happen sunshine. You deserve better than those animals. And, if you’ll have me, I’ll prove it to you.”
Not trusting your fragile voice, you nodded, pressing a meek kiss to the heel of his left hand. He stroked a nail along your cheekbone as he spoke again, his voice ripe with uncertainty.
“Gotta warn ya though, I don’t have a clue what I’m doin’. Wouldn’t blame ya if you wanted somethin’ better for yourself.” A scoff of a laugh punctuated the sentence as Frank’s touch dropped from your face.
Catching his hands before he could fully retreat, you were suddenly awash with clarity. “I’m not looking for anything else, Frank. Besides, after..everything, it would be good to take it slow.”
“Yah?” Frank looked doubtful, drawing insults and criticisms of crushes past to the forefront of your mind. Did he think you couldn’t handle taking it slow?
“Yah.” Your head bobbed with a hesitant nod, your throat clenching involuntarily as abusive voices screamed in the back of your mind.
“Takin’ it slow. I can work with that.” The tiniest glimpse of a smile glimmered on Frank’s lips, his giant palm cradling your hand as he adjusted his grip on you. For a moment, you ignored the rampant skeptic ringing every alarm bell in your mind, instead choosing to let the flicker of optimism in your chest glow brightly as you accepted your neighbor’s promise.
