SUNSHINE [Frank Castle]

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO - STAY OR GO

Charlotte walked into Lieberman's and was immediately met with Frank storming toward her. She sighed. He was angry, and she really didn't want to deal with it, not after talking to Russo all day.

"Where the hell have you been?" He demanded, raising his voice beyond a reasonable level.

"With your darling friend Billy."

"You didn't come back. You wouldn't pick up your damn phone— I thought. . . I thought. . ." He was worried for her. God, he'd been so worried about her and she hadn't even cared to call.

"I'm sorry, Frank. I'm sorry that I made you worry, I am." She pulled him into a hug, which he received reluctantly. Though he did eventually reciprocate. When she let him go, she sighed and said: "I told Billy he can see you."

"Tell me," he said, quietly. He could see how tired she looked, how completely spent she was.

"At first I was just going to play it like I always do. Tough, emotionless. But then I realized how he thinks, and I switched to something I haven't done in a while." She let out a shaky breath. "He told me I'd have to get a drink with him to get information. I flirted with him, acted like I wanted to sleep with him. Would have, if. . . if I hadn't realized that Billy would probably give me what I wanted anyway. He's arrogant. He seemed like a snake, like he had something to hide. So I lead him into a back alley and put a knife to his throat. He told me he just wanted to help you, and I believed him."

There was a short silence before Frank spoke. "You do that kind of thing before?"

"What? Use my body for information? Yes, I have." She shifted uncomfortably where she stood. "I've whored myself out for far less."

"You're not—"

She laughed. The sound was cold and bitter. "Oh, I am. Believe me. When I worked for the KGB it was my main method. I can't even remember the number of men I let fuck me while I took the information I needed or killed them."

"You didn't have a choice."

"No." She nodded her head in agreement. "No, I didn't. But I still did it."

Before Frank could reply, Lieberman entered the room. "Christ, Romanoff, we thought you were dead."

"Worried about me, Lieberman?" She teased, though half-heartedly.

"Just call next time."

"I will," she assured him. Once he was gone again, Frank took Charlotte's hand.

"Don't think of yourself like that. You're more than what they made you."

You're more than what they made you. The words echoed in her ears over and over and over. You're more than what they made you.

It sounded so strange, coming from Frank. Sweet things usually did.

"Do you believe that?"

"If I didn't, I wouldn't be here."

She let out a breath, and changed the subject. "You should go. Call him, meet him tomorrow. He wants to help you."

His hand fell away from hers, and his facial expression changed from soft back to how it always was— a hard mask. "Yeah, I will."

She didn't realize just how much his touch meant until it was gone, and her hand was alone at her side again.

Charlotte knew what Russo would offer Frank. A new name, a new home, a chance to get out of the god forsaken place that was Hell's Kitchen. She knew there was a good chance that Frank would take it, and he would leave.

And she wanted him to. If he could be happy somewhere else, she would pack his bags herself. She wanted that kind of life for him. She wouldn't pretend that it wasn't going to hurt, but she wouldn't stop him from going.

He could have left. Could have said yes. But he didn't.

Instead, he came back to her apartment, where he somehow knew she'd be, and knocked on her door. It was late, almost midnight, but she answered it. She was surprised to see him standing there, hood up over his head and a soft expression on his face once again.

"What are you doing here? Did you leave something in the spare room?" She asked.

He shook his head. "No."

"Then what? I thought you'd be packing. He gave you a chance to leave, didn't he?"

"I can't leave. I can't. . . I can't just go."

"Why?"

"This is where I belong." He took a long breath, as if just trying to get the words out was difficult. "In this city, with you. I couldn't just leave the only person I've got left. The only person who still cares."

"I wouldn't have minded," she told him. "Even if. . . Even if I never saw you again. If you wanted to leave, I wouldn't have minded."

"I know." He attempted a small smile, and she couldn't help but mirror the expression. "But then who would you call an asshole everyday?"

"I'm sure I could find someone. You're very replaceable," she teased, though weakly.

"Is that right?"

"Absolutely." Her smile slowly faded as she looked up at him. "So, are you going back to your apartment, or Lieberman's?"

"I was kinda hoping I could stay here. I know you said I could just stay 'till we found Micro, but my place just. . . it doesn't feel like home." But you do, he seemed to hold back saying.

"Of course you can stay here, Frank." She stepped aside and let him walk past her into the apartment. "You can move your stuff in tomorrow."

She shut the door and walked into the living room where he stood in the light of the television screen. "What were you watching?"

"The Princess Bride," she said. "It's my favourite. You're welcome to watch it with me, if you want to. Everyone I've ever met likes at least one aspect of it."

"As you wish." It was so quiet that for a moment she thought she'd misheard. When she realized that she hadn't, a grin broke out onto her face.

"You've seen it before."

"My daughter liked it." He shrugged it off, and sat down on the couch.

"I hope you know that that is my favourite thing about you." She sat down next to him and pressed 'play' on the remote.

"You're never lettin' that go, are you?"

"Absolutely not." Without really thinking, they mimicked what they'd done the last time, hands intertwined and Charlotte's head on Frank's shoulder. On the screen, Westley tumbled down the hill and Buttercup after him, shouting 'as you wish' as he did.

A/N: This chapter isn't my favourite, but I certainly hope you guys liked it, and thank you so much for reading. Comments are always appreciated.