Ophelia ↠ Frank Castle

05 | consequences (II)

IT WAS QUIET when Frank woke, with nothing but Amy's irregular breathing pattern interrupting the otherwise undisturbed peace of early dawn.

Frank quite liked the peace and serenity the early morning gave him. There were no requirements of him from the world that expected so much, and in the early hours of the morning — he could just be.

A shift in the kitchen and a creak of the floorboards told him that Amy was awake. He slipped on a long sleeved shirt and wiped the tiredness from his face (albeit not completely, his eyes still held a dark aura— a side effect of sleep trauma).

He met Amy in the kitchen with a curt nod, an amused expression fleetingly glimpsed his face as her hair visibly shone in the light that streamed out from the window. It was a mess, all frazzled and tangled, and he hoped she didn't expect him to help her tame it.

He cringed, God forbid that moment arrived.

She looked up at him as he hesitantly stepped around the couch before crouching down in front of her. "You alright?" he asked, extending a hand out to her wound, but backtracking at the last moment in hesitation, immediately returning his hand propt up on his knee instead, a brief flash of regret leaving an tense awkwardness in its wake.

She gave a tense smile to mask just how much pain she was in. "I'm alright." Her gaze drifted down at her wound before looking past it, and around the kitchen, which he knew she'd purposely done to dodge his questions so he wouldn't get mad. She hated when he got mad at her.

And he hated yelling at her too, but sometimes he couldn't help it. Especially when she out herself in danger and he couldn't save her. He hated feeling so helpless in those moments. That's why he got angry—so she wouldn't get hurt again.

But alas, here they were, in a cramped apartment, both hurting but too arrogant
to tell the other, nothing but tense air circulating their lungs and the apartment around them. Both unsure about how to reconnect in the way they used to.

Amy picked at the edge of the blanket Frank gave her, the knitted wool fraying at the seams the more she picked, but she couldn't help it. "I'm sorry." She whispered into the blanket, refusing to meet his gaze, unaware that it was concerning, and not squinting in barely subdued animated-like rage as her irrational thoughts had imagined.

She kept her gaze downcast, expecting a lecture of passive aggressive nature that only Frank could pull off and still come across as being caring, but it never came. Instead, he gingerly wrapped an arm around her midsection carefully, before circling her into a hug. He sniffed, concealing his slightly wet eyes into her unruly hair.

"Don't you ever do that again," he whispered, matching her previous tone. "I cant stand watching you get hurt."

* * *

It was midafternoon and Amy was growing tired. She couldn't stay awake for longer than 3 hours at a time, but she felt she had to, given how lonely Frank always seemed.

She wiped at her tired eyes with the back of her sleeve. She was growing increasingly frustrated with waiting for her wound to heal, so as soon as Frank returned from buying groceries she asked if he could call Ophelia, thinking she'll provide good company, unaware of the implications that would result from a split-second decision of boredom. And longing for familial attachment too, she supposed. The pair had grown quite close since their abrupt arrival in each-others' lives.

"You should call Ophelia." Amy suggested to Frank when he finally returned to the apartment.

He stared at her, struggling to register what she was saying while balancing a decent amount of groceries in his arms, shuffling awkwardly to the counter to get rid of them, and the steady ache now straining his arms.

"What?"

She huffed, rolling her eyes in the theatrical way only an exasperated teenager could. "Ophelia." she repeated. "She looks after me, and I want her here. She's good company."

Frank huffed, "And I'm not?" Although backtracked when he noticed Amy's agitation. He replied again, this time in a much softer tone. "Fine, kid." And, after a moment's hesitation as he observed the pile of essentials on the countertop, "But you're calling. I don't even know this person. It'd be weird." He pulled a face, then started to unpack the groceries and put them in the correct places they belonged in the kitchen, occasionally grumbling to himself at the food Amy made him buy.

Who the hell needs four packets of cookies anyways?

He noticed Amy hadn't made a sound since he unloaded the food, and looked over at her from behind the bench, internally cursing to himself when he saw her slumped figure on the couch, asleep.

He sighed. Great. Now he'd have to ring.

He picked up her phone, and, reminding himself to lecture her about not having a password, sifted through her contacts. He quirked his eyebrow slightly when he noticed the contact name, "Momma Bear", but made the call anyway, against his initial gut reaction, which was to throw the phone in his opposite direction. Not before checking his own name in her contacts, and was relieved when it only said 'Frank'.

Having nicknames just complicated things, and he'd be damned if they started using cutesy pet names for each other. He'd make sure to deliver himself personally to hell's doorstep before that day ever came.