Frank cast a long look at your sleeping form for the hundredth time in what felt like as many hours, raptly studying the way your hair spread out against his pillows like a halo, how your full lips were slightly parted as you huffed in gentle, relaxed breaths, the way the angles of your face softened in sleep. He could gaze at you unendingly, both perplexed and fascinated by the tiny woman who had awakened within him feelings that he'd thought were long gone. He was trying to be cautious here, to stay at arm's length, but as he paced back and forth in the bedroom of the small studio apartment that served as one of his safe houses here in Hell's Kitchen, he just couldn't keep his eyes from you, an undeniable tenderness aching in his chest as you breathed gently in slumber, relaxed and peaceful.
Once he'd gotten both of you safely to the apartment he'd promptly set you under the covers to rest, letting you sleep in his bed, trying hard to ignore what the sight of you there did to him, and hopped into the shower adjoining the bedroom to clean off any blood or grime that tonight's activities had accumulated. He'd lingered under the waters hot stream, watching the dirt and filth drain down the tub, indulging himself in a rare moment of pampering as the scalding water sluiced over his sore muscles. He justified his extravagance with the hope that you might be awake when he exited so that he could talk with you. He found that despite his lingering caution he was intensely curious about you, questions forming quickly in his mind as thoughts of you pervaded his consciousness.
How long had you been in the basement with the Russians? What had they intended for you? How had you stayed sane in that dark, damp prison? How would that experience affect you now that you were safe?
While he wanted answers to those inquiries, he also found himself wanting to see how your eyes glittered in the sun, wondering how you took your coffee, did you have siblings? Strange ponderings, but they flitted through his mind nonetheless. To his equal parts dismay and satisfaction he'd found you sleeping peacefully when he'd exited the shower, those burning questions forced to the backburner for the moment. He'd dressed swiftly and begun pacing before the bed, turning over the events of the last few hours in his mind. Gradually he realized that you couldn't go back to wherever you called home until he was sure the Russians didn't have you on their radar anymore. Frank would find out their plans and stop them, no matter what it took him. You deserved a safe, happy life, and he intended to give that to you. In the meantime you'd have to lay low, stay out of the public eye; maybe you could stay here with him. He could keep you safe, that he was sure of, and he'd feel better if he could see you, could have tactile proof that you were okay.
It soon dawned on him that if you were going to be with him you'd need things; clothes, toiletries, womanly stuff. That is if you even agreed to stay here, but he latched onto the bright hope that you'd see things his way. Those questions drifted back to his mind and he absently wondered what your favorite color was before he shook himself hard and tried not to focus on the fact that he barely knew anything about you. You were the first woman to grace his bed in ages, real, warm and so beautiful, and he didn't even know your name. He quietly bit out a curse, the speed of his pacing increasing as he ran a hand through his hair.
After casting another long look your way, dutifully committing to memory the graceful curves of your face and the delicate shadows that played in the hollows of your collar bones, he grabbed his jacket and wallet, setting out to get essentials for you. How could you leave if everything that you needed was already here?
With that justification running through his mind, he eagerly prowled the streets of New York City. It felt good to be out in the crisp night air, though he felt an inexplicable tug as he strode away from you, as if with every step he took he was moving further from a part of himself. He hastened his steps, wanting to get back to the apartment as soon as possible. He quickly came upon several stores that had what he sought; first he bought food, careful to select enough variety that you'd be sure to find something you liked in the assortment. On impulse he bought a bottle of whiskey; although he didn't drink he figured you might need one after everything you'd been through. Next he'd stopped at a drug store and, after staring dumbfounded at the alarmingly immense number of women's products for several long moments, told the woman working there that he and his daughter were going on trip and she needed toiletries. He ignored the sharp pang in his chest at the mention of a daughter, fervently pushing away those blood tinged memories, bringing thoughts of you to his mind to calm himself. Surprisingly it worked, though not before the woman had seen the pained look on his face, smiled warmly in misunderstanding and helped him get what you needed.
Next he ducked into the nearest department store and selected some generic clothes that he thought would fit you. He had studied you more intently than he'd be willing to admit, so he felt safe with his estimations of your size. He purchased several pairs of pants, jeans, t shirts, a few sweaters, socks and a light jacket, all in basic, no nonsense colors. For shoes he went with a pair of sturdy boots, keeping in mind that if you had to run they wouldn't hinder you. He was about to head back to the apartment when he realized he was missing one key thing amid his numerous purchases.
Undergarments.
You undoubtedly needed those, but the thought of picking out delicate panties and bras that would later grace your curvy form had his mouth suddenly dry and his palms sweating. He momentarily considered entering one of those brightly lit lingerie stores that displayed all manner of wicked lacey confections, tempting him maddeningly when he imagined them on your body, but in the end he chickened out and bought basic black panties and sports bras; the kind that came in a pack of 3 or 5, boring and safe from his carnally inclined thoughts.
Frank had always been turned on by the sight of a woman stripping down to just her bra and panties before his riveted gaze, he'd thoroughly enjoyed quite a few stripteases in his day, but after everything with his family he'd resigned himself to never again being treated to the beauty of a womans body bared just for him. He'd steadfastly forgone even the simplest intimacies, the brush of warm skin against his, glittering eyes meeting his own gaze, all human contact, trying to punish himself for not being able to protect his family from those evil men. And yet, as he strode hastily back to the apartment, purchases in hand, he couldn't stem the warmth that bloomed in his chest at the slight possibility of reveling in those little affections with you.
He reached the safe house quickly, his eager anticipation making his movements efficient and hasty, his feet flying up the stairs, his heart pounding in anticipation. He reminded himself to tread carefully with you; you'd just been through a traumatic event, he could only speculate about your resulting mental state. Confident that you'd be awake by now, but still cautious in case you were asleep, he gently opened the door and locked it behind him, moving swiftly to the bedroom.
The sight that greeted him as he peered into the space, scanning for your presence, had his jaw slackening and his body heating, the purchases still laden in his arms forgotten. You sat in the tub he'd showered in hours ago, naked as the day you were born, humming gently as you washed between your toes. The high, steaming water was filled with bubbles, obscuring your more delicious curves from view, teasing him with small glimpses of a slim thigh here and a delicate ankle there. Your wet hair clung to the damp skin of your shoulders, your glistening skin catching the dim light of the street lamps outside, and the soft glow of the light in the bedroom.
Shit, if he'd thought buying your underwear was trying, he was in for one hell of a time watching you luxuriate in the most erotic bubble bath he'd ever witnessed. Tread carefully, he reminded himself, and yet he found himself quite unable to tear his eyes from your glistening form.
You were just starting to wash between your toes when you noticed Frank Castle standing in the middle of the bedroom, openmouthed and frozen as he took in the view of you in his bathtub. In hindsight you probably should've closed the door, at least tried to keep up the pretense of modesty, but the idea of a warm bubble bath was too tempting to resist and you'd leapt at it without any further thought. After you'd woken from your nap you'd found the apartment regrettably devoid of a certain brooding male, the heavy silence in the room making you increasingly uncomfortable, unpleasant memories beginning to prick at the corners of our mind. To occupy yourself, and find out more about the tall, dark and handsome man whose bed you'd passed out in, you'd done what any other self-respecting young woman would've. You'd snooped shamelessly, rummaging through the various shelves cabinets and dressers scattered through the tiny studio apartment, your mission either food or painkillers, but you'd found little that wasn't half-moldy and not even a single Advil despite your aggressive efforts. What you did find, however, was a small bottle of vanilla scented bubble bath, stashed away amidst a box of undoubtedly stolen hotel soaps that had been thrown haphazardly under the sink.
Making delighted noises that would've embarrassed you immensely had you not been alone, you'd promptly stripped and drawn a bath, adding the whole bottle of bubbles to the toasty water. You'd washed yourself as best you could despite the lack of proper toiletries, luxuriating in finally scrubbing the accumulated filth from your hair, not even able to formulate a single complaint as you'd vigorously scrubbed. Compared to where you were yesterday, this was practically heaven, and your fellow inhabitant of this paradise wasn't so bad either.
You'd known about Frank Castle since his trial, conviction and escape had gone public, but you really hadn't given him much thought until recently. Very recently. And you found you liked what you saw. He was a large man, imposing and fearsome when he doled out his grisly justice, but you found that you weren't afraid of him. When he'd appeared in the doorway of that god forsaken room he'd seemed like some kind of dark angel to you, saving you from evil men and their even more evil intentions, but as he'd spoken with you, and swept his gaze over your bedraggled, dirty form with apparent interest, you'd seen that he was very human. You had been, and still were, starved for safety, yearning for human contact that didn't involve Russian curses or clenched fists. In such sharp contrast to your captors, he actually made you feel protected, his strength and fierceness assuring you that he could keep you from harm. He regarded you with only your well being in mind, his touch so gentle and his words filled with shining promises that you wholeheartedly believed.
And the expression on his face when he'd asked if you really did trust him? Mm, enough to make you melt like ice cream in the sun.
His face now, as he took in the sight of you sitting naked in his tub, was somewhere between that gentle, endearing incredulity and a fiery I'll-fuck-you-up-against-a-wall; the unexpected combination doing strange, butterfly-like things to your stomach. You were just as surprised at his arrival as he seemed to be, though he stared at you for several long moments before he spoke.
"Oh shit- I'm sorry," You swore you could almost see the barest hint of a blush on Frank Castle's carved cheekbones before he whirled around so that his broad back was to you, "I wasn't trying to find you- Well I was, but I didn't know you'd be-" He peeked over his shoulder to sweep his molten gaze down your form again, making delight curl deep in your belly before he murmured something that sounded suspiciously like Sweet Christ..
You giggled just a bit, the sound deep and throaty due to your voice still being scratchy, "Frank, really it's okay, I should've closed the door." Really though, as you studied his imposing body from the top of his crew cut and hulking shoulders, down his strong legs to the bottom of his rugged combat boots, you found that you weren't all that sorry that you hadn't. "What's in the bags?" You questioned, crossing your arms over the edge of the tub and leaning forward to peek at them.
"Stuff for you," He answered over his shoulder as he used his foot to scooch one of the numerous parcels closer to you, his strained efforts not quite working while he faced away from you. He finally gave up and turned around to bring some of the bags into the bathroom, his gaze trained anywhere but your body. It wasn't as if he could see anything, all of your good bits were covered by piles of bubbles, but you appreciated the gesture anyway. "I did the best I could, but I'm not sure if I got everything you need."
"Everything I need for what?" You questioned absently as you pawed through the bag closest to you, finding a vast array of toiletries.
"To stay here with me," He said quietly, his tone unguarded, the gentle hopefulness thrumming in his voice making you pause your study of the items and gaze up at him, finding his eyes locked on your upturned face.
"You want me to be here with you?" The idea had flitted through your mind, along with a wild, burning hope, but you had assumed he'd want you out of his hair as soon as possible. You had figured you'd only be a burden to him, an extra mouth to feed, but here he was practically begging you to stay, his dark eyes soft as they gazed into yours. What a pleasant surprise.
He nodded, moving down to a crouch so that his face was level with yours. Up close, you saw small details about him that you hadn't noticed before; the way his cupids bow curved gently down, those lofty cheekbones that looked as if they had been carved from marble, the molten brown of his eyes, shining and hopeful as he gazed at you. You found yourself lost in the light in his face, as if he could cleanse away the darkness of your past with one smile from those delicious looking lips.
"If you'll have me, I'd love to stay," You said quietly, leaning in closer to him, your body shifting of its own accord. He moved too, his palm coming to rest beside yours on the ledge of the tub. When your pinky brushed his index finger in just the lightest of touches he seemed to start, realizing suddenly how close you were. He cleared his throat, his eyes darting around the room as he shifted back on his heels, moving away from you.
"It's safer this way; the Russians could still be looking for you so it's best that you don't go home until we know for sure that you aren't on their shit list anymore." He explained needlessly, his tone more formal that before. He didn't need to elaborate, you were already on board with this plan.
"Sounds logically to me," you said, trying to catch his eye again. When he nodded briskly and moved to rise you unthinkingly darted out a hand to catch him, your seeking fingers finding the warm expanse of his palm, "No, stay," You breathed, fearing that dark, twisted memories would find you in his absence, "Please?" You peeked up at him under your lashes, noting the way his broad chest heaved in steady breaths as he regarded you. If he was worried about your modesty he was fretting needlessly, there were plenty of bubbles between the two of you, and you had never had a strong sense of prudish virtue. Besides you liked the way he looked at you, so different from your captors. It made you feel better, knowing that there were men like Frank in the world.
After a pregnant pause he sighed and sat beside the tub, his expression looking for all the world like he'd just fought a battle with reason – and lost. When you smiled and slid your fingers from his palm he frowned slightly at the loss of contact. You put your appendage back on the ledge of the tub, neutral territory, to let him know your hand was available for holding in case the mood struck him. The arm that lay out of the water exposed the skin of your forearm to his gaze and you watched as his attention was drawn there, his keen gaze fixing on the dark, finger shaped bruises that wrapped around your slim wrist. Rage colored his expression briefly before he rasped in a few ragged breaths and reached out shaking fingers to trace the darkly colored marks, as if he could heal them with that simple touch.
"Those men got what they deserved," You said quietly, passion coloring your words, "Thanks to you."
"And you," He replied, his eyes flicking back up to yours, "You got justice for their crimes too."
"Again, thanks to you. I don't think I'll ever be able to repay you for what you've done for me," Your voice shook, heavily laden with emotion. You were surprised by the depth of feeling you saw reflected in his dark eyes, momentarily floored by the flecks of green flaring through the dark brown of his irises. Beautiful.
He broke his gaze away first, his fingers slipping from your skin as he said, "Just doing my duty ma'am."
Your lips quirked before you supplied him with your name, realizing you hadn't been formally introduced. When he repeated your name, the syllables rolling nicely off his tongue, a small smile curved his lips, making you grin in response. He had such a nice smile, it was infectious. You began to talk, just simple, easy questions, bantering back and forth as you grew more comfortable in each other's presence.
"You seem…alright," He said at one point, his gaze wary as he referred to your surprisingly stable mental state. You laughed lightly at that; if only kidnapping had been the worst thing to happen to you.
"I guess I'm just used to life not being pretty," You replied, the smile slipping from your lips, as you stared down at the sloshing water, "I've experienced things much darker than Russian mobsters."
"You've been kidnapped before?" He questioned, his eyes intent on your face.
"The risk has been present," You supplied after a pause, knowing your response was cryptic, "Why are you helping me?" You asked, making your voice gentle as his brow furrowed in response to your question, "It's not that I don't want your help, or appreciate it, I do! I'm just," you fidgeted slightly, frowning as you continued, "I'm not used to having someone who actually cares."
"Because it's what I do…" He said after a moment, his brow still furrowed, this time in introspection.
"You rescue kidnapped, injured women and let them take long baths in your tub?" You said, hoping your question might wring a smile from those down turned lips of his. Sure enough it did, his mouth quirking slightly at the corners. You felt an absurd rush of pride at making him smile.
"I give people what they deserve, and you deserve to be protected, to feel safe." He replied, that smile still coloring his voice, making his words sound lighter, but you felt their impact down to your very bones. As you gazed into his eyes, a fiery longing flared to life in your chest. For the first time in recent memory you felt hope for the future, hope for the goodness in the world, all from the man sitting next to you who believed that you deserved more. You hoped, no you prayed, that he could be patient with you, that he could sit with the questions you knew he had for just a little while longer. You may not be able to tell him everything about you just yet, but damn, as you looked into his smiling eyes, did you want to.
You craved closeness, human contact, someone to lean on. Could you find that in Frank Castle? When he skated his fingers over the ridges of your knuckles, just the barest brush of skin on skin, nothing more implied in the gentle touch, that simple action both comforting and slightly arousing, you thought, yes, maybe, just maybe….