Frank knew he should call you. It was the least he could do, considering the shit you’ve put up with for the past ten months. He’d put you through hell, showing up on your doorstep at all hours of the night, bleeding and in serious need of medical attention. It was something you handled with grace, even though he was undeserving of your gentle nature.
He was a moody, cut-throat bastard, and you both knew it. He was emotionally withdrawn, irritable, and had very little trust left in him to give. But you never minded, and he spent most of his time with you perplexed at your ability to forgive and forget so easily.
His phone buzzed on the coffee table, and he knew it was you calling without having to look. You had called him this morning, too, and left a short voice message about how you’d be free this evening, if he wanted to see you. The serene warmth in your voice had caused his chest to ache, an all too familiar feeling when it came to you.
Of course, he wanted to see you. He always did, even when he was being the angry bastard version of himself that he hated so much. Your tone, so doubtful and hesitant, fueled a heavy rage in Frank’s heart, and he cursed himself for being the cause of it. He should fucking answer the phone.
He watched as the screen faded to black. He hadn’t moved from his unrelaxed position on the floor, and he’d just ignored you, again. He shoved his face into his palms, running his fingers through his hair and tugging it in a motion fueled completely by anger. Anger wasn’t foreign to Frank – he'd had his fair share of things to be angry at – but this type of anger, the one caused completely by his own actions, was new to him.
You didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve you, and he was actively fucking it up more as the night went on. Despair weighed heavy on his heart, and he wanted so badly to explain it to you – beg you for your forgiveness and apologize for being a broken man who still loved his wife, even years after her death. But the date on the calendar had paralyzed him, and he hadn’t moved from his hunched position in eight long hours.
Five years. It had been five years since his family had been taken from him, and he was still just as broken as he was the day it happened. You knew, of course, that his family had been murdered in cold blood, right in front of him, but he’d never told you the details, and you never asked. You had no idea that today would push Frank beyond his boundaries, like it did every year, completely shutting down his ability to function.
Frank used to let the rage consume him, let it burn through him until all he could see was red, but he had personally killed every fucker involved in the plot to murder his family, and once that rage had sputtered out, he was left with nothing but a massive, aching hole in his chest.
This year felt a little different, if he really thought about it. The patch you’d begun mending in his heart was present, a gentle reminder that someone, somewhere cared for him deeply. But as hard as he tried to pick up the phone and call you, he couldn’t find it within himself to do it. Every time his thoughts drifted, and he ended up thinking about you, a pang of betrayal would wind its way through his chest until he felt like he couldn’t breathe. Would Maria be okay with this? Would she like you? Would the kids? It all felt very surreal to Frank, so he did what every other jarhead had been trained to do and shut it all down until the numbness finally overpowered the ache.
His phone flashed with a notification, and he glanced over, expecting it to be a text from you, angry and done with whatever this thing was between the two of you, but it wasn’t. Of course, it wasn’t. It was you, and your kindness would always win when pinned against your anger. It was a simple message, one that Frank couldn’t figure out how to feel about.
‘I’m coming over, and I’m bringing you dinner. I won’t stay, unless you want me to.’
Clearly you were aware something was going on with him, and his heart ached at the thought of you worriedly walking through Hell’s Kitchen to come to his aid. He thought about leaving, going out and walking around until he was sure you wouldn’t be here when he got back. You shouldn’t see him like this, so beaten down by life that he could barely move. He could text you, tell you to turn around and go home. Maybe you’d be so put off by his rude behavior that you would turn around without a second thought.
Frank didn’t do any of those things though. Maybe he needed a lot of things, or maybe he didn’t, he didn’t know, but more than anything, he knew he needed love, and he would be a fool to turn down what you were trying so hard to offer him. He slowly picked up his phone and typed out a short response.
‘Okay.’
-
You stared at the door for three long minutes before you finally reached forward and knocked. The adrenaline that had been coursing through your veins earlier had caused you to rush into this plan, and now you were second guessing the bold text you’d sent Frank. Was it too much? Too harsh for him on a day when he deserved the utmost softness?
His rapid response had fueled your hurried haze, and you had picked up your already-brisk pace, only stopping to rethink your plan when you arrived on his doorstep. You could take the coward’s way out – leave the bag of takeout food on his front steps and bolt before he opened the door – but something about that felt inherently wrong.
The squeal of the floorboards on the other side of the door sounded, a precaution Frank had purposely installed to make him aware of anybody entering his home, and you tightened your grip on the bag. You didn’t know which Frank would be on the other side of the door, but you were determined to at least give him something to eat.
The door swung open, revealing an incredibly disheveled looking Frank. The red sting of his eyes was immediately noticeable, and your heart broke looking at him. You wanted to hug him, kiss him, anything to remind him that you loved him, but you didn’t know how he’d react to physical affection on a day like this. A day of mourning, of loss, of immense and immeasurable grief.
He glanced down at the food in your hands, and you stiffened at the thought of him taking the food and shutting the door in your face. You had given him that option, but the last thing you wanted to do was abandon Frank on the rare occasion when he needed someone else to lean on.
“Hi.” You mumbled, raising your hand in an awkward wave. “I brought you food.”
“Hi. Thank you.” His voice was a hoarse whisper, and your heart broke just a little bit more hearing the sorrow in it. He opened the door wider. An invitation beckoning you to come inside.
You stepped through the doorway, awkwardly shuffling your feet as Frank closed the door and deadbolted it behind you. No one said anything for a moment. You didn’t know how to comfort this level of grief, but you’d always been taught to make yourself present in a grieving person’s life, so you ignored the awkward silence and tried to act like this was a normal interaction between you and Frank.
“Have you eaten?” You asked, lifting the bag of food for emphasis.
Frank shook his head. You turned, setting off towards the kitchen to unload the food. You’d gone a little overboard, probably, but you didn’t know what type of food he would want, so you got a little bit of everything. When Frank saw the spread of cuisines you had laid out on the counter, his eyes widened.
“Did you stop at every restaurant in Hell’s Kitchen?” He raised an eyebrow at you, and you quickly turned away, unsure if you should feel ashamed under his gaze.
“It’s,” you paused, trying to figure out what to say, “comfort food. I just didn’t know which kind was your comfort.” You shrugged, looking over the array of food in front of you.
He shifted beside you, and you suddenly became aware of his hand on the small of your back. He pressed a long kiss against your temple and grabbed the box of Thai food closest to him. His affection eased some of the tension in your shoulders, and you leaned against the counter with him as he dug into his food.
“Should I... I mean do you want me to...” your question trailed off as you motioned towards the door.
He glanced between the door and your hand, still hung in the air in an awkward pointing position, and shook his head.
“Stay.” He murmured, and added, after a pause, “Please.”
Frank Castle didn’t beg, but you could’ve sworn that it sounded like he was pleading with you. Stay. Don’t go. Don’t leave me alone with my demons. You nodded and began to put the extra food in his refrigerator as he devoured his meal.
The silence between the two of you was no longer awkward, now that Frank had made it clear that he wanted you to be here. As you finished organizing the contents of his fridge, he moved across the kitchen, grasping your hand between his and fiddling with your fingers.
“How did you know?” He asked, eyes cast downward where your hands met.
“About today?” You leaned into his hold, pressing your knuckles against his hard abdomen. He nodded, the only response he could give you at the moment.
“I had a funny feeling when I woke up this morning, and then I hadn’t heard from you all day, so when Karen asked me how you were holding up, I sort of put the pieces together myself. I’m sorry if I overstepped.”
He shook his head, bringing the tips of your fingers to his lips.
“I don’t know what to say.” He murmured against your fingertips. You reached forward, cupping his cheek with your free hand.
“You don’t have to say anything, Frank. I’m with you no matter what, okay? Whatever that means for you.”
He nodded and leaned into your palm, closing his eyes.
“I will always love Maria.” He mumbled, tears threatening to spill behind his closed eyelids. “But I love you, too. And, after Maria, I didn’t know I was still capable of that until I met you. Is that enough for you? To share me with someone who’s de-,” He stumbled over the word, clearing his throat, “Who’s dead?”
You’d never heard Frank speak so plainly about Maria before, and the ache cascading from him was a palpable feeling. You held back your tears as you pressed your other hand to his face.
“Frank, she was your wife, and she was taken from you. Of course, you still love her. I wouldn’t expect anything different.” You pressed your forehead against his, fully leaning into his warmth. “You’re always enough.”
Your final statement had Frank collapsing against you, pulling you into a tight hug. His body shook with sobs against yours, and you clung to him like you would a life raft in the middle of the ocean.
“I love you.” His voice was a muffled whisper against your shoulder. You lightly ran your fingers along the nape of his neck.
“I love you too, Frankie.”
“Thank you for coming over, baby.”
“I’ll always come for you, Frank.”
It was a promise you knew you would never break, and you’d spend your life proving it to him if need be. Frank would always be hurting, even in the good moments, and you were determined to show him a love deeply enough to help remind him during those times that he was cared about and loved, flaws and all.