Frank strummed a few chords on his guitar. He tuned one of the strings and tried again. He began cycling through a few different chords. There wasn't a lot he got to bring with him from home out here, so his guitar had become a place of reminiscing and looking forward to his return home.
"You taking requests?"
Frank looked up. Billy Russo had just walked into the communal room Frank was playing in. A few other members of their team were there as well. All of them a part of Operation Cerberus.
"Only if they're any good, Billy," chuckled Frank, "I ain't playing any of that country shit you listen to."
"I do not," laughed Billy, "I told you, that was Tommy, not me!"
Frank laughed as well. He continued fooling around with the guitar, arpeggiating the chords and trying them in different orders. Billy took a seat beside him and just sat there listening. Billy would often sit there in silence and listen to Frank play. Frank liked it. Some people felt like they needed to fill every breath of air with words. With Billy, Frank felt comfortable enough to be quiet too.
"Any word from Maria?" asked Billy.
"Yeah," smiled Frank quietly, "Yeah, actually. You're not going to believe it."
"Yeah?"
"She's pregnant, Billy. I'm going to be a father."
Billy stared in disbelief for a moment. Then he broke into a huge smile. Frank smiled back himself. Billy opened his arms as Frank moved his guitar out of his way and leaned into the hug
"Congrats, Frank," whispered Billy, "They're going to be one lucky kid."
"Thank, Billy."
"When're they due?"
"November," said Frank, "That's the other thing. I'm headed back soon, Billy. We're going to be married before the end of the summer."
"I'm sorry I'll miss it."
Frank frowned. Billy was right. Frank had permission to leave, but they wouldn't give Billy the same linency. Operation Cerberus couldn't afford to lose their two best operatives and there was no way Cerberus would be over by the end of the summer.
"We'll have you for dinner or something when you're back," said Frank, "You could finally meet Maria. Hell, probably the kid too. Christ…"
It was still surreal to talk about the future child out loud. It was still so hard to believe.
"Between you and me," added Frank quietly, "I'm happy to be getting out of here."
"You're kidding," scoffed Billy, "Frank you're the best at this! You're in your element here!"
"Your element, Billy," said Frank, "Not mine."
"What about the operation?" asked Billy, "You happy to be abandoning that, too?"
"Easy Billy," said Frank calmly, "I'm not abandoning anybody. First and foremost this is about Maria. And the kid, Christ…"
"Sorry," said Billy, embarrassed, "I didn't mean to- It's just you're such an important part of this team, Frank. Isn't there some part of you that's happy fighting the good fight?"
Frank looked around, triple checking that they were the only ones in the room.
"Billy," he said quietly, "I'm not so sure this fight is the good fight anymore."
"What do you mean?"
"Our last mission," said Frank, "None of the targets were armed."
"Of course not," said Billy, "They didn't know we were coming. But you remember all the weapons Schoonover found in there later."
"I don't remember seeing those during the raid."
"Frank," said Billy firmly, "Come on."
"It just rubs me wrong is all," said Frank, absentmindedly going back to his guitar, "I have to bring it to the CID*, just in case."
*United States Marine Corps Criminal Investigation Division
Frank returned to strumming as the two once again sat without words. Billy leaned forward and looked forward out into space, seeming contemplative. As he did his sleeve rode up and Frank could see the small, black jigsaw puzzle piece tattooed on the inside of Billy's wrist.
"You ever gonna tell me what that thing means?" asked Frank.
Frank had just realized that he had never asked.
"Oh," chuckled Billy, "Nothing. Just something I got when I was a teenager. Something about finding a larger puzzle to be a part of. You know, dumb kid sht."
"Yeah," chuckled Frank back, "dumb kid shit."
Several years later...
Frank paced nervously back and forth. He had to do this. He had no other choice. It was for the best. He took a deep breath and centered himself. He ran through the words over and over again in his head. He went through the door into the living room.
"Frank," smiled Micro from the couch, "You're just in time. I just started-"
"You have to leave, Spook."
"Why?" asked Micro, getting up, "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," said Frank, "I mean you have to leave this: this life."
"...Frank?"
"Billy's been watching us, Spook," said Frank, "It's only a matter of time before he gets to us."
"Frank…"
"He knows about this place," said Frank, "He has to. God knows why he hasn't come after us yet, but I'm not going to sit around and wait for it."
Frank had come to that conclusion days ago. He and Micro had begun to sleep in shifts. Their dog, Princess, had been moved to a friend of Karen's. Frank was sure the attack would come any day now.
"So you're kicking me out of my own home?" asked Micro, slowly realizing what this meant.
"This is no home, Spook," said Frank quietly, "A house with a yard, windows letting in the sun, floors made of something besides metal grating… That's a home. That's what's waiting for you out there. You're… You're better off that way."
"Frank," said Micro, getting angry now, "No, no you can't do this. You don't get to decide this!"
"Why do you want to stay?!" demanded Frank, "You can live a normal life! You could just walk away from here and be happy!"
"I don't want to walk away!"
"And why not?"
"Because-" began Micro, pausing and choosing his words carefully, "Because this is what I want to do with my life."
One of Micro's monitors began to beep. Both Frank and Micro looked over at it, then back at each other. They both walked over to the monitor. Whatever this was, it had to take priority. Both were also eager for an excuse to end the conversation.
"Someone tripped the perimeter," said Micro, "Could've just been a cat or something, Frank."
"Yeah," said Frank as he walked toward the armory, "Could've."
Within a few minutes Frank was suited up and armed. He put in his earpiece for Micro to talk through and slowly made his way through the bunker, up the stairs, and finally out of the hidden door of the boat house under which their bunker was hidden.
Frank quickly checked the four points of view from the boathouse: three different windows and the door. He didn't see anyone through his scope, but checked each one a second time to be sure.
"Anything?" asked Micro.
"Not yet," said Frank.
Then Frank heard something behind him. He spun around and pointed his rifle directly at a bucket that had fallen onto the floor.
Glass shattered as the butt of a rifle broke through the window and into the back of Frank's head, causing him to drop his rifle in the process. Frank drew a pistol from his side and immediately fired it in the direction from which he had been hit. A large man in special operations gear, complete with black face mask, collapsed dead in the window.
"We're under attack," grunted Frank, picking his rifle back up.
"Frank-!" called out Micro, but Frank couldn't make out the rest. The assailant had damaged the earpiece when he struck Frank.
Frank looked up just as a canister flew in from the door. Frank made a rush for the entrance to the bunker, hearing the hiss of the canister releasing a white fog. Frank didn't want to find out it was. He dove through the false locker that hid the entrance to the bunker. He continued into the staircase, spinning back around with his rifle as he did. He fired a shot at the first figure that came through, dressed in the same gear as the last one.
More attackers emerged from the fog, descending down the staircase after Frank. Frank fired carefully aimed shots at each of them one by one as they came down, reducing their numbers by an additional four in a matter of seconds. Frank had taken several shots in the process: a graze on his shoulder and several bullets embedded in his bulletproof vest.
Another canister flew out of the fog, tumbling down the stairs after Frank. Frank backed his way down the stairs quickly, keeping himself out of the fog as it engulfed more and more of the staircase.
Just as Frank reached the bottom, an assailant leapt out of the fog with a knife in his hand. He slammed into Frank and knocked him onto his back. The knife was almost in Frank's shoulder when he caught the attacker by the wrist, wrestled the knife out of it, and stabbed it into the man's neck.
Three more men dressed in the same gear were on top of Frank next. He managed to get several slices with his knife in before they completely pinned him to the ground. It took all three of them to hold Frank down, who was pushing against them with all his strength to break free.
"No!" roared Frank as more of the men passed him and went further into the bunker.
They're going to get David!
One of the attackers stepped out of the fog and slowly approached Frank, squatting next to him and looking at him closely. Frank didn't have to wait for the man to remove the mask to know who it was."
"Billy," whispered Frank with contempt.
"Frank," he said back with satisfaction.
Billy wound up and punched Frank in the head. Everything went dark.
Several years ago…
Frank lay motionless in the bed, staring at the wall. He had drifted in and out of consciousness countless times and every time it seemed a little less real. He looked around the pale room filled with medical machines and then down at his own body, which he could barely move from all the painkillers in his system.
Tears soaked his face. He had been sobbing. He would have been screaming if his face wasn't too numb to move. Every time we woke up for a moment, for a brief moment, he would forget they were gone. Then he would remember. Then he would cry. The cycle continued for so long that Frank had lost track of time. The nurses had been speaking to him, but he wasn't listening.
Then when he fell back asleep he would see her in his dreams. He'd see all of them. Sometimes they were even happy. It never lasted though. If Frank was lucky, he'd wake up to the horror of his reality. Other times, his dreams became nightmares recreating the whole thing over and over again.
The dreams weren't the same every time. They were altered and twisted versions of what had really happened. Frank would never forget. He wouldn't forget the sudden entrance of figures in black. He wouldn't forget the moment he saw the first weapon come out. He wouldn't forget the first bang he heard as he frantically looked around the church to see who had been hit. He wouldn't forget throwing himself in front of Maria, wanting to save her most of all. He wouldn't forget how weak his body was and how helpless he was there on the ground when he saw her gunned down in her wedding dress. Most of all, he wouldn't forget the last thing he saw before he blacked out. He could make out the wrists of one of the gunmen. They all had their faces covered, but that wrist was unmistakable. Frank would have recognized that jigsaw puzzle piece tattoo anywhere.
Frank couldn't keep his mind on any one thing. His thoughts would jump from the child he would never have to the in-laws who saw him fail to protect their daughter to the feeling of Maria's skin against his.
Then he would think about Billy. Billy had been there. Billy had been right there as it all happened, firing wildly into the crowd like the rest of them. The rest of them must have been the rest of his team, the ones from Operation Cerberus. They had the same training and equipment. Frank had become their target.
It didn't take much from there for Frank to deduce their motive. They wanted him gone because he was having reservations about Cerberus and especially because he had reported his suspicions up the chain. He never would have guessed they'd go this far, that they'd take this much from him. Frank wondered how many people he'd made feel this way when he was out there killing on behalf of the marines.
One of the nurses had mentioned that the attack was committed by a group of anti-war extremists. Frank could only assume that was part of a cover up. He chose to let them believe that he believed it, which was easy to do when he refused to talk to them.
The amount of painkillers in his body was staggering. Apparently when he came in, his body was in shambles. Over a dozen bullets were lodged in different parts of his body and more had grazed him as well. One bullet had even gone clear through his skull. The doctor said that one was less than a centimeter away from being fatal. He even had the gall to call Frank "lucky" for surviving.
Why me? Frank asked himself, Why did I have to be the one that lived?
That question persisted in his mind for what felt like weeks. Every night he woke up to the horrific realization that he was alone again. He desperately wished Maria had survived instead of him. He couldn't think of any reason his miserable life should be saved when everyone else's was lost. He was a murderer just as much as the rest of his team. Why did he of all people survive the slaughter?
Frank couldn't find an answer in himself. Then, one day he was looking at the X-ray for his head injury. The X-ray showed his skull with the single bullethole in it. The X-ray gave the skull an eerie look, almost ghostly. The more he looked at it, the more he saw the sinister image it represented: the dead man he wasn't allowed to be. If Frank was going to be forced to live, he would do something with that life.
That's when he realized why he had survived. It wasn't because he deserved to live. It was because Billy and the rest of them deserved to die. They didn't just deserve to die, they needed to die. They had killed innocent people and would continue to kill innocent people. They were slaughtering parents and spouses left and right. They weren't going to stop either. If they were willing to butcher Frank and his entire family to silence him, nothing short of a war on their crusade would stop them.
So Frank decided to wage that war. He would hunt down each and every one of them. He would look them in the eye. He would let them know what they had done to him. Then he would kill them, every last one of them.
Several years later…
Frank came to. He immediately felt the rope around him and tried to move. He was sitting on the ground with his back against some sort of post. His gear and shirt had been removed. The minor wounds he had sustained had even been treated. His wrists were tied tightly together behind the post. Frank's upper half was kept against the post with rope wrapped tightly around his shoulders. Both his knees and his ankles were bound out in front of him. He flexed every muscle he could and felt the rope begin to dig into his bare skin. It was no use.
That's when Frank realized where he was. The walls were a dark brick and the room was softly illuminated by lights hanging on the wall. Stained glass windows lined two sides of the room, shining colorful rays of light. The altar at the front of the room was stripped down, but it was unmistakable. This was the place. This was where Frank had his wedding.
"He lives!" cheered Billy.
Frank glared over at the slender man as he walked in. Billy was no longer wearing his special operations gear. He had changed into a slim grey suit with a black tie. His brown shoes shined whenever he stepped through the light. He was cleanly shaving, sporting only the slightest amount of five o'clock shadow.
Frank continued to glare as Billy drew nearer. That maniac had brought Frank all the way back to the place he'd killed his family the first time. This was insane.
Wait, realized Frank, Spook!
"You son of a bitch," hissed Frank, "Where is he!?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," said Billy, approaching Frank.
"David Lieberman, you shit!" shouted Frank, "Where is David Lieberman!?"
"You seem awfully concerned about your… What would you call him, a sidekick?"
"I'm warning you, Billy…"
"You're warning me of what?" scoffed Billy, "What could you possibly hope to do right now?"
"There are others," said Frank, "They'll come after us."
"I'm well aware," mused Billy, looking around the church, "That's what makes this place so convenient. Way upstate, only a few families living nearby to overhear us... Well, there were a few families."
"What the hell is wrong with you!?" demanded Frank.
"YOU, FRANK!" roared Billy, "YOU! YOU are what's wrong with me!"
The two just stared at each other for a moment. Then Billy broke eye contact and walked away.
"You sure were quick to replace us. Weren't you, Frank?" said Billy, turning back to Frank.
Frank said nothing.
"Your little hacker assistant," continued Billy, "that bleeding heart reporter, and Jessica Jones of all people."
He doesn't know about Peter, realized Frank, Thank God for that at least. Maybe the kid had the right idea by having a secret identity.
"Tell me," said Billy, "How do they compare to me, Tommy, Roger, and the rest!?"
"You killed my FAMILY, Billy!" roared Frank back, "All of you did!"
"We were your family!" shouted Billy, "And you turned on us first!"
"We were hurting people Billy!" spat Frank, "Innocent people! We slaughtered them!"
"Innocent?" scoffed Billy, turning away again, "They represented a threat to our country. We were protecting key U.S. operations. The higher ups would never have understood that. But you were supposed to."
Frank clenched his teeth in frustration. He didn't know why he bothered. Something was wrong with Billy. He would never understand why what they did was wrong. It wasn't worth trying to convince him.
"You know you're not the only one who found replacements," added Billy quietly.
"Anvil."
"Correct," said Billy, examining the cuff of his shirt, "Your reporter friend told you that, I imagine. I suppose I'll have to kill her next."
"That's where your mercenaries came from," growled Frank, containing his rage.
"A crude way of describing it, but yes," confirmed Billy, "I prefer to think of them as a strike team. They captured you, after all."
"Not all of them," said Frank, almost proud.
"Oh," said Billy, turning around and looking at Frank with contempt, "I know. I haven't forgotten that you killed them as well. Most of them survived though. In fact they're keeping this place safe for us. They'll make sure we're not interrupted."
There was a moment of silence as the two men stared at each other once again, both remembering the relationship they used to have.
"You enjoyed it, didn't you?" asked Billy, "Murdering everyone in our unit?"
"No," said Frank, "I did it because it had to be done. I'm not you."
"Wrong!" shouted Billy, pulling a gun out of a holster under his jacket and pointing it at Frank, "You are me, Frank. Just with slightly different looking victims."
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't I?" demanded Billy, walking closer, "You've killed more people in the name of your little crusade than we ever did abroad."
"Guilty people," said Frank, "people like you."
"By your judgment."
Frank looked away.
"Admit it!" shouted Billy, "We're the same, Frank!"
"No," said Frank firmly, not looking back, "I'm not going to entertain this."
Frank knew that once Billy got Frank to say what he wanted, he'd kill him. Frank's best bet was to draw this out as long as possible for the time being. He needed to know more.
"...very well," said Billy, turning for the door near the altar, "I have other methods of persuasion."
"What are you doing!?" demanded Frank, fearing the worst.
"They ever put you in solitary confinement while you were in prison, Frank?" called back Billy.
Frank didn't answer. He just stared wide-eyed at the door near the altar, waiting for Billy to emerge. When he finally did, Frank wished to God he could unsee what he saw next.
Billy still had his gun in one of his hands. He was using his other hand to drag a chair in behind him. At first Frank couldn't see who it was tied to the chair, but it soon became clear. Frank recognized him. He prayed that he was wrong. The man in the chair was naked, blindfolded and had some sort of industrial grade earmuffs on. Frank was dreading the moment Billy turned the chair around more and more. Finally, Billy stopped in front of Frank and turned Micro to face him.
"SPOOK!" cried out Frank.
Micro frantically turned his head about as Frank could see a hint of his body trembling. The black and yellow earmuffs clamped down tightly on his head. A white strip of cloth covered his eyes completely. A red cloth had been shoved into his mouth and tied in with rope around Micro's head. His wrists had been tied tightly in front of him, while his upper arms and shoulders were held against the back of the chair with more tightly knotted rope. The chair had arms on it, to which each of Micro's knees were tied, forcing him to keep his legs spread. His ankles were tied to the legs as well.
"SPOOK!" roared Frank again.
"You didn't answer my question," said Billy calmly.
"You've absolutely lost every shred of morality you had, haven't you!?" spat Frank, "There isn't an ounce of human being left in you, is there!?"
Billy maintained eye contact with Frank as he slowly lifted the pistol and aimed it at Micro's head. Frank went cold and silent. Billy chuckled.
"That's what I thought," said Billy, "Now answer me: did they ever put you in solitary confinement?"
Frank looked at Billy and then back at Micro. This was a trick. Frank knew that. Billy was bluffing to force Frank's compliance. If he killed Micro, he'd lose leverage. But Billy was unpredictable. If there was even the slightest chance Billy would hurt him…
Billy pulled back the safety.
"No," said Frank abruptly, "No, they never put me in solitary confinement, okay?"
"Good boy," smiled Blly, holstering the gun, "Well let me tell you something about the hole from firsthand experience."
Frank took a moment to consider that.
"You didn't know I was ever in prison, did you?" chuckled Billy, "I guess it's just another thing we have in common."
Frank glared with unflinching fury.
"They kept me in there for 23 hours a day for three days," explained Billy, "They gave me an hour and a half by myself in a concrete box to exercise, ran water every day or so for me to shower, and gave me food through a metal slot. And to think, all I did was start one little prison riot."
Frank continued to glare. He didn't know what to say. Billy held the power here. Frank had to listen to him.
"The hole drives you mad," continued Billy, "No social contact or autonomy at all. Now consider adding to that loss of sight and loss of hearing. They say you start to hear things, see things if you're kept that way long enough. David here has been in this unfortunate position for six hours. I wonder how much longer before he-"
"Let him go!" roared Frank, no longer able to contain his rage.
Billy drew his gun and pointed it at Micro's head. Frank bit his lip and turned away in shame. He couldn't stand to see Micro like this. He wanted him to get out and find a different life. Now, because of Frank, Micro could die like this.
"I'll give you two some alone time," chuckled Billy, holstering his pistol and walking away.
"Spook…" said Frank quietly, unsure if Micro even knew he was there.
Several years ago…
Frank stared forward. His wrists were pinned over his head by manacles on the wall. His sides still stung from the burns he had sustained. He had been captured. He had been restrained. He wouldn't be stopped.
In the past several months Frank had personally tracked down members of his old unit. True to his word, he had looked every one of them in the eye and told them what had happened to him until they confessed. Then he had executed each of them.
He had successfully tracked down almost all of them. His murders had made headlines of course. Though he had yet to be identified by name, his reputation as a soldier killer was quickly spreading. Entire units had been dispatched to find him specifically. Even other vigilantes like Daredevil had crossed his path. None of them had been able to stop him and neither would this.
"Frank," said an all-too familiar voice, "I hope you're proud of yourself."
Frank remained silent and expressionless as Colonel Ray Schoonover, Frank's old commanding officer from Operation Cerberus, stepped into the light. He was a hardened man who Frank had never seen laugh or smile. Frank hadn't thought much about it back during his service, but now he knew what Schoonover had been doing. He had been knowingly sending the troop to kill innocent people. Frank was certain he had given the order to kill his family too.
"You've killed two dozen of America's finest soldiers," said Schoonover angrily, "Men who fought by your side and for your country."
"Until they butchered my family," said Frank quietly, "Was that your order, sir?"
"Since you're going to die here," mused Schoonover, readying a pistol, "I have to ask: how did you find out?"
"That would be my fault," said yet another familiar voice.
That's when Billy Russo walked into view. Frank tensed his arms at the very sight of him. He wanted to grab Billy and throttle him. He wanted to demand why he gave Frank and his family over to be killed. He wanted to choke the life out of him.
"You saw this," said Billy, pointing to the tattoo on his wrist, "didn't you?"
"You're getting careless, Billy," said Schoonover, "We should have that tattoo removed."
"Doesn't matter," said Billy, looking grimly at Frank, "Everyone who knows I have it is dead now."
Frank didn't respond. He had no intention of participating in this conversation. He wouldn't give them what they wanted. He certainly wouldn't die here. His war wasn't over. He was sure of it.
"Sir," said Billy, "I would like to do the honors."
"Be my guest," said Schoonover, handing Billy the gun.
Billy approached Frank. He slowly lifted the gun and pointed it at Frank's head. Frank didn't react. He didn't even blink. Billy's face hardened as she shoved the barrel of the gun into Frank's temple. He stared Frank in the eye as his finger rested on the trigger. Frank stared back. He saw the hesitation in Billy's eyes.
"Get on with it!" shouted Schoonover.
Billy turned back to look at Schoonover. In that moment of distraction, a billy club flew out of the dark and struck Billy in the wrist. He cried out as the gun flew aside. Schoonover turned to wear the club had come from. A crimson-clad figure leapt at Schoonover and delivered a kick right to his head, knocking him out cold.
I'll be damned, thought Frank, It's the Altar Boy.
Billy dove for the ground and grabbed the gun. He turned to point it and Frank and fired. Daredevil kicked Billy's wrist as he did, redirecting the shot upward and missing Frank while piercing the chains holding his arms up. The gun was kicked away in the process. Billy immediately got to his feet to run. Frank, now free, ran after him. Daredevil cut him off with a sidekick to his chest, knocking Frank onto his back.
"What the hell are you doing!?" demanded Frank, "Billy's getting away!"
"Who are these people?" demanded Daredevil back, "Who are they to you?"
"I swear to God, Altar Boy," growled Frank.
"I won't let him get away," assured Daredevil, turning and running in the direction Billy had run.
Frank couldn't let this happen. Even if Daredevil did catch Billy, he'd never do what had to be done. Hell, he might even believe Billy's side and turn on Frank. Frank had to do something about it.
Frank looked down at Schoonover, who was just beginning to get to his knees. Frank looked at the pistl Daredevil had kicked away. Frank walked over, picked it up, checked that it had a full clip, readied it, and approached Schoonover.
"Frank," whispered Schoonover weakly, "Don't do it… Killing me won't bring back your family…"
"You're right," said Frank.
He shot Schoonover in the head.
"But neither will keeping you alive."
Frank sprinted in the direction Daredevil and Billy had run. Soon he had made his way out of the warehouse and onto the docks. It was late at night with very little lighting, but Frank could make out the silhouettes of two figures fighting.
Frank winced and clutched his side. Schoonover and Billy had caught him by planting a small explosive in his apartment. Frank was still feeling the effects, unsure how much longer he'd last. He still had to take down Billy.
Frank walked along the docks, keeping his eye on the fight. One of the figures, presumably Billy, had drawn a knife and was slicing at the other. Daredevil was a better fighter than Billy, but in combat Billy turned into an animal. His savage attacks and bloodlust was enough to keep him at least on Daredevil's level.
Frank carefully aimed his pistol at the fight. Daredevil stood up straight and looked over at Frank. He must have heard him. The moment of distraction was Billy's opening though and he plunged the large knife into Daredevil's shoulder. Daredevil cried out in pain and stumbled backward. Billy pulled out another knife and prepared to finish the job. Frank fired.
The bullet hit Billy square in the chest, knocking him back off the dock and into the water. Daredevil pulled the knife out of him and clutched his still bleeding shoulder. Frank went to leave, but only made it a few steps before he fell to his hands and knees.
He had done it. He had killed every last one of them. He was done. It was over.
Frank's body had taken a beating. He couldn't carry on any further. The relief of having taken down all of them combined with his exhaustion proved too much. He completely collapsed to the ground and began to slip out of consciousness.
"Frank!" he heard Daredevil say, "Frank!"
Several years later…
"I'm so sorry, Spook," said Frank.
Micro didn't react. He just stayed where he was: naked, bound, and trembling. The earmuffs and blindfold still hid the world from him. Frank didn't think Micro could hear a word he was saying. He wanted to comfort Micro and tell him it would be alright, or at least let him know that he was there for him. Billy had left them for several minutes. Frank had no idea when he'd be back.
"You probably can't hear me," continued Frank, "but I'm… This is all my fault, Spook. All of it. Billy wouldn't have laid a hand on you if it weren't for me. Jesus, none of this would have happened to you if it weren't for me. Every bad thing that's happened to you for the past few years has been all my fault."
Frank looked closely at the scared man before him. Micro had no idea what was going on. He had no idea Frank was even in the room. If Billy were to be believed, he might even be hallucinating by now. Frank prayed that no matter what happened to him, that Micro would somehow be okay.
"I told you to leave!" shouted Frank, suddenly angry, "I tried to get you to walk away from this and find another life! You could have left… You could have…"
Frank felt tears welling up but fought back to hold them in. He couldn't afford to look weak when Billy came back. Then he looked back at Micro. He was still just as lost and scared as he was before.
"Who am I kidding?" he said solemnly, "I knew this was going to happen from the start. I'm a soldier. A killer. People who are close to me get killed. Maria, my family… I knew this was going to happen and I let you do it anyway. I let you stick around because I'm selfish and I wanted..."
Frank paused. He thought about his words for a moment. He knew Micro couldn't hear him, but something about saying these words out loud felt significant. He wanted to get them right.
"I let you stick around because part of me wanted…" he continued, "I don't know. Who am I kidding? After Maria, no one could… Spook… I never told you this, but... I… I…"
"How are you two doing?" asked Billy cheerily as he strolled in, "You're not having fun without me, are you?"
Frank cursed his cowardice. Even when Micro couldn't see or hear him he couldn't bring himself to say the truth out loud. Now he and Micro might both die before he could.
"Just let him go, Billy," said Frank, tired, "He didn't have anything to do with this. I'm the one who did this to you, not him."
"Agreed," said Billy, walking over to Micro, "He's only here because of you. That must feel awful. If it weren't for you, he might be living a happy life by now."
"This is between you and me!"
"This was never just about you and me!" yelled Billy, "This was about our unit, the family we had together and how you turned on them!"
"Billy-!"
"I kill your family, you kill mine," mused Billy, pulling out a knife, "You kill my family, I kill yours. This is our fate now, Frank."
"Billy, don't-"
"What?" asked Billy, "Oh, you're right. He should be a little more lucid for this. One second."
Billy carefully and slowly removed the earmuffs. The moment his hands touched them Micro let out a moan of fear and tensed up. As the earmuffs slowly came off, his breathing accelerated and he began to turn his head about frantically.
"Spook!" called out Frank, "Spook, it's me, Frank! I'm here for you, you understand? I'm here and I'm not going anywhere!"
"Mrrhph?" uttered Micro through the gag, "Mrrph! Mrrph!"
"Shut up," dismissed Billy, striking Micro in the back of the head. Micro tensed up and let out a grunt of pain.
"HEY!" barked Frank.
"What?" smiled Billy, "Does this bother you?"
He smacked Micro again.
"STOP IT!" ordered Frank.
"Did I ever tell you about my signature?"
Frank gritted his teeth as veins began to bulge on his temples.
"Of course not," said Billy, "by the time you joined Operations Cerberus I had already stopped. I had this signature, you see, this little ritual I did for every kill. I'd take my combat knife, kneel next to the kill, and slowly carve up the body's face. That way I'd leave my mark: a message for the other anti-American scumbags out there. Schoonover didn't care for it. He said it reflected poorly on the uniform. I respected him, so I stopped."
Billy pulled out the knife and laid the cold flat of it against Micro's cheek. Micro tensed up and tried to pull his head away, but Billy used his free hand to hold it in place. Frank's whole body tensed as he tried to lurch forward.
"But Schoonover isn't around anymore, is he?" smiled Billy.
"Don't you dare," whispered Frank, "Don't you fucking-"
"RRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHH!"
"BILLY!"
Billy had pressed the tip of the knife into Micro's cheek until it began to leak blood. Then he began slowly running the knife down the side of his face, lengthening the wound all the way down to Micro's chin as he screamed out in pain through the gag.
Frank was letting out a primal scream of rage. He couldn't even form words. He could only bellow animalistic noises as he put every ounce of his strength into breaking free of the ropes. He pushed more and more as the rope rubbed his skin raw.
Finally, Billy stopped. He pulled the knife away, examined it, and then wiped the blood off onto Micro's shoulder. Micro, fearing further mutilation, let out a muffled cry as the flat of the blade touched his skin again.
"Spook," gasped Frank, frantic as he panted for air, "Spook, no… I'm… Oh God…"
"I think that's enough for now," mused Billy, untying the rope around Micro's mouth.
Billy took the rope and began to approach Frank. Micro spat out the red cloth from his mouth.
"Frank!" he shouted, "Oh God, Frank..."
Micro's words dissolved into a quiet whimper.
"Spook!" yelled Frank back as Billy drew nearer, "I'm sorry! Spook, I- I- RRNPH!"
Billy had walked behind the post Frank was tied to, brought rope around the front of the pole, and then jerked it back into Frank's mouth. Frank let out grunts of pain and frustration as Billy tied the rope to the post, holding Frank against it by the tight rope in his mouth cutting deeper and deeper into his lips.
"Frank!?" called out Micro, "FRANK!"
"I'll be right back," said Billy, "I need to get a few things. Feel free to catch up while I'm out."
Billy adjusted his tie and began to walk out of the room. Frank, able to verbalize but not annunciate, looked over at Micro. His cheek was positively covered in blood from the wound. He seemed to be hyperventilating. There was nothing Frank could do to help him. There was nothing Frank could do to comfort him. All he could do is watch Micro in his utter fear and agony.
Several years ago…
Frank lay in bed, listening to the steady pulse of his heart rate monitor next to him. Cuts on his face had been stitched up, his wounds all cleaned and treated, but now he was trapped here.
After Frank succumbed to his wounds from fighting Schoonover and Billy, Daredevil had found him and brought him to the authorities for treatment and arrest. He had been moved to a jail medical center under heavy guard. His wounds were treated, but now Frank was awaiting trial.
The law firm known as Nelson & Murdock had offered to represent him, an offer Frank accepted out of reluctance to decline. He had no illusions as to what would happen next. He was guilty. That much was obvious. They'd send him to prison where he'd spend the rest of his life. He had no regrets.
Frank had briefly met his lawyers from the firm: Matt Murdock and Franklin "Foggy" Nelson. Frank didn't care for either of them. Matt seemed aloof and Foggy seemed convinced that Frank was an unstable maniac ready to go wild at any moment. Frank had also met the firm's in-house investigator, Karen Page.
Frank hadn't spoken much to any of them. He didn't really have anything to say. This trial was just a formality. Soon he'd be behind bars and would have to adjust to spending the rest of his life in prison. Frank had already made peace with that.
"...Mr. Castle?"
Frank looked up to see that Karen had just entered the room. Frank was the only patient in there at the time and none of the doctors or nurses were around. It was just the two of them. Given his reputation, Frank was surprised this woman was comfortable being alone in a room with him.
"I, um…" began Karen slowly, "...found something you might be interested in."
Frank looked over at Karen. He didn't say a word, but now she knew he was listening.
"We were looking into… your past," said Karen, choosing her words carefully, "...specifically the day you sustained the shot to your…"
Karen began to absentmindedly gesture at her head.
"The day I lost my wife and family," noted Frank gruffly.
"...yes," said Karen quietly, "...your wife had a last will and testament. Did you know that?"
Frank stared at Karen in disbelief. He didn't. After his recovery at the hospital following the shooting, he had gone right into his crusade against his unit. He hadn't bothered with any legal formalities and never thought he would.
"It came with a letter," said Karen, pulling an envelope out of her bag, "Here."
Karen walked up to the bed and held the envelope out in front of her for Frank.
"...it's sealed," realized Frank.
"Yes," said Karen, "I haven't looked at it. You can decide what you want to do with it."
"...thank you, ma'am," said Frank after a moment, taking the envelope.
Frank held it in his hands for a moment. The last words from his wife. The last remnants of that life he never got to live. How was he supposed to read this now? Maybe one day, but not today. Frank wasn't ready. He placed the envelope on the bedside table and looked back at Karen.
"Mr. Castle," said Karen, "I know it's hard to believe, but Nelson & Murdock wants what's best for you. We want to fight on your behalf, but we can only do it if you work with us."
"You can bring them in," said Frank quietly.
"I'm sorry?"
"The lawyers," said Frank, "You want me to talk? I'll talk."
"Alright," said Karen with almost a smile, "I'll tell them."
"And ma'am," said Frank just before Karen left, getting her attention, "Thank you again."
"Of course," said Karen, nodding and leaving.
When Matt and Foggy came in, Frank told his whole story. He talked about his service, how his unit was involved in dubious activities, how he recognized the tattoo of his marine buddy during the attack on his family, and how he killed each and every one of them. They seemed to believe him, although Foggy still seemed terrified.
During the trial Nelson & Murdock found evidence of the conspiracy, publicly exposing Operation Cerberus and reframing Frank as a vigilante rather than the marine-hating serial killer he had been made out to be. Frank was still found guilty and given a life sentence, but the circumstances of his situation allowed for Nelson & Murdock to successfully get Frank committed to a minimum security prison with regular counseling and therapy sessions.
During the trial Frank managed to deduce Matt's identity as Daredevil. He had heard both of them speak and once both of them had preached to him about hope and justice, the similarities were too obvious to ignore. The two routinely butted heads on their approaches to justice during the trial, but Matt never stopped passionately fighting on Frank's behalf.
After being committed, the only member of Nelson & Murdock Frank had contact with was Karen. She visited him in prison, checking up on how he was holding up. She would tell him about her life and how she was doing. It wasn't long before the two were on a first name basis. Frank was impressed by Karen's resoluteness and charmed by her gentle kindness. Karen in turn respected Frank's strength and compassion in spite of his dark history. Their talks came to be one of the things Frank looked forward to most in his new life.
Several years later…
"Frank…?" said Micro weakly.
His head hung to the side, too weak to stay up straight. Though the gag and earmuffs had been removed, the blindfold still obscured Micro's vision. He couldn't see Frank, but he could speak to him and hear him. Frank, on the other hand, was unable to annunciate anything with the rope in his mouth.
Frank uttered a small grunt in response. He couldn't bring himself to fight through and scream through the gag anymore. His throat was dry, his eyes were bloodshot and watery, his body and lips were beginning to feel raw from the ropes.
"I guess you can't talk…" whispered Micro, "...that's okay."
Frank looked sadly up at Micro.
"We're going to die here," said Micro, "Aren't we?"
"Nnph!" cried out Frank, unable to accept that.
"It's okay," assured Micro, "We knew this day was coming, you know?"
Frank looked sadly at the floor. That's what Frank had wanted Micro to leave so badly. They both knew that a day like this would come. Frank had no other choice. This was his life now, his purpose. Micro could have left though. Now he was going to die and it was going to be all of Frank's fault.
"I don't regret it," said Micro firmly, "I don't regret it one bit."
Frank looked at Micro in disbelief. How could that possibly be true? How could he, after being tortured for working with Frank, not regret it? How could Micro's time with Frank have been anything but a mistake?
"It's almost funny," mused Micro, "I never thought this is what my life would be. I was sure I'd end up in a cubicle somewhere coding someone's homepage. Instead, I wound up hiding out in a bunker with the Punisher. I was even helping the Punisher, helping him kill people."
Frank looked away sadly. Hearing it described that way made Frank feel so ashamed for dragging Micro into this.
"You want to know the weird part?" continued Micro, "The craziest part of it all, Frank? When I'm with you, I feel like I'm where I'm supposed to be. I like it. This really was the life I wanted to live. I've always liked it, Frank. I've always liked you."
Frank tensed his arms against the ropes as he lurched toward Micro. He needed to tell him. The dull burning of the last few years was now a hot coal in his chest for every single second he couldn't tell David how loved he was, how much he wanted him.
"And, uh…" chuckled Micro nervously, wincing as he did, "Since we're going to die here anyway… Hell, I don't even know if you can hear me right now… I'm not mad that it's led to this. I just... I can't believe I don't get to look at you. I can't… I hate not being able to see you."
Frank stared back at Micro in longing pain. What was he saying? What did he mean?
"You talked about how I could have a house with windows, real floors, a yard…" continued Micro, "The truth is, I only want those things if I can share them with you."
Spook...?
"Christ, it sounds so stupid saying it out loud," sighed Micro, "I guess I was afraid I'd scare you away, you know? I figured better to have a life where... well where you still wanted to be around me at all, I guess. Our story was never the kind that would have a happy ending. The truth is, Frank… If you didn't want to, I would never be mad at you for it... but all I want right now is for you to kiss me."
Micro looked away, red with shame the moment the words came out of his mouth. Frank was in shock. He could see tears forming and trickling out of the blindfold.
"I'm sorry," said Micro, halfway between a scoff and a sob, "I'm sorry to do this to you. The last thing you want to hear when you're about to die is that your sidekick has been pining after you all this time. I just… I couldn't die without saying it…"
"Sthhk!" cried Frank through the gag, "STHHK!"
"Frank…" whispered Micro, hearing the desperation in Frank's voice but unable to believe it.
The both tensed up as the door opened and Billy walked in again.
"So," he smirked, "You two getting cozy?"
Frank glared over at Billy, unsure of what to prepare himself for. Was Micro right? Were they really both going to die here? Would Frank ever be able to tell Micro how happy it made him to hear those things? Would Micro ever know how Frank felt about him in return?
"I don't know about you," continued Billy, drawing a gun from under his jacket, "but I'm getting impatient."
Frank let out a cry of distress as Billy pointed the gun square at Micro's chest. He pulled back the safety and got ready to fire. He strafed over to Frank and squatted beside him, gun still pointed straight at Micro. Billy used one hand to pull a switchblade out of his pocket, using it to cut the rope out of Frank's mouth.
"You sick son of a bitch!" growled Frank, "I'll tear you apart for this!"
"I'd say it's nothing personal, Frank," said Billy, focusing his aim at Micro, "but this is very, very personal."
"No, wait-" pleaded Frank.
"Frank?" uttered Micro.
"Spook, I-"
BANG!
"NO!" screamed Frank, ears still ringing from the shot.
Frank clenched his eyes shut and turned away, unable to bring himself to look at Micro's corpse.
"...I feel the same way about you, Spook…" he whispered, tears rolling down his face, "I… I love you…"
Frank's heart sank with a deadly weight. He hated himself at that moment. He couldn't believe he had been so stupid as not to say that until it was too late. He should have told Micro that from the beginning. He should have made the most out of every moment they had spent together. He had no idea Micro felt the same way. He had no idea that someone could love him the way Maria did again. Now it was too late. Now Micro would never know and Frank would die with that shame in his heart.
"...Frank?" asked Micro weakly.
"Well, well, well!" hissed Billy, "What do you know?"
Frank turned and looked back at Micro. He was alive. He seemed completely unharmed by the shot. He was looking about frantically, still unable to see as he grasped with what he had just heard Frank say.
"It was a blank," explained Billy, gesturing with the gun, "I wondered how you'd react to that. I'm glad I did it. Now I get to see you lose him twice."
"Billy, no-"
"You abandoned your own unit," said Billy angrily, approaching Micro and pulling out his switchblade, "You tried to turn on us! We were family, Frank! You were supposed to be a part of it! We fit in there together! Instead, you waste your emotions pining after this NOBODY!"
Billy punctuated his sentence by plunging the switchblade into Micro's thigh. Micro screamed out in pain as Frank roared with rage and anguish. Blood was seeping out of the wound as the blade stayed there, stuck upright in the flesh. Billy chuckled to himself.
"That's what this is all about, isn't it!?" demanded Frank, "This isn't about me or what I did, it's about what you couldn't do!"
"Watch it, Frank."
"You think we fit in?" goaded Frank, "You think we were family? That place was no family, Billy! Schoonover used you just like he used me!"
"Shut up!" yelled Billy, turning away from Micro and approaching Frank.
"They didn't love you," continued Frank, "You were just another weapon to them."
Billy didn't say anything this time. He pulled out his gun and began to load the clip into it. Frank didn't let up. For the first time, he had some degree of control over the situation. This might be their only chance of escape.
"You think I killed your family!?" yelled Frank, "You think I took away the place where you belonged!? You never had any family! You're a power-hungry sadist who's lost his mind. You don't belong anywhere"
"You're wrong," said Billy, his hands trembling with rage as he loaded the gun.
"Then why do you look so scared?"
"End of the line, Frank," spat Billy, placing the barrel of the gun against Frank's head, "Too bad no one's going to miss a psychopath like you-"
Thuck!
Frank watched in awe as Billy's expression went blank and his eyes became lifeless. Billy's entire body collapsed forward, a switchblade plunged into the base of his neck. Frank looked up and saw Micro, leg soaked in blood with a blindfold clutched in his fist. Behind him, the ropes that had tied him to the chair had all been severed.
"Watch your mouth..." whispered Micro weakly, "...you little shit."
Now it was Micro's turn to collapse. He fell to his knees and clenched his teeth as pain seared through his wounded leg. Bloody and naked, he crawled over to Billy's body and pulled the knife out. Then he crawled over to Frank and forced himself to saw through the rope with the blade, freeing Frank just as he ran out of strength. Frank cradled Micro with his newly freed arms as Micro fell into his lap.
"You…" whispered Micro, "You really meant it, huh?"
"Yeah…" coughed Frank, "I really did."
"How?" wondered Micro, "A guy like me..."
"Shh," assured Frank, laying a hand on Micro's head, "I meant it, Spook."
"...so we are still going to die here, right?" said Micro, "Billy must have his mercenaries around here somewhere."
"Yeah…" acknowledged Frank, "Billy said they were all standing guard to keep us from escaping. I'm sorry, Spook. If I had the strength to fight…"
"It's okay," said Micro, "I'm just glad I got to tell you before it was all over."
"Me too, Spook," said Frank, "Me too."
Frank pulled Micro up closer to him and kissed him with all of the passion he had been holding in all these years. Micro kissed back in kind. This could be their last and only kiss, so they wanted to make it count.
They heard gunfire outside, followed by some crashing and shouting. For a moment Frank thought he recognized the voices, but that couldn't be right. Then the main doors to the church burst open. Frank and Micro turned to see Luke Cage barreling his way in, flanked by Danny Rand and Colleen Wing on either side. Daredevil and Spider-Man both swung in from above as Jessica Jones and Mockingbird rushed in behind Luke. They all stopped and stared at Frank and Micro, who had only just pulled away from their kiss and were still nose to nose with each other.
"Frank!" called out Karen, pushing her way to the front of the superheroes, "Micro! Are you-? Oh."
Frank and Micro looked back at each other. Then they looked back at Karen and her small army of superheroes. Then they looked back at each other. They both chuckled. Then they kissed again. The onlooking superheroes took a moment to take in the scene, complete with Billy's dead body, before bursting out into cheers for Frank and Micro.
"And to think," smiled Micro as they finished the kiss, "All it took was certain death."
Several years ago…
"Delivery, Frank."
"What?" asked Frank.
"Delivery."
That didn't sound right. Frank got up from his bed and walked over to his cell door. Though Frank's lawyers had kept him out of general population and made sure he got proper therapeutic trauma treatment, he was still in prison.
"I don't get deliveries," said Frank.
"Today you do," said the guard, "It's been waiting for you for about a week. The guys in the mailroom wanted me to tell you so you'd finally clear it out. Pick up is in an hour. Be sure to be there."
Frank waited patiently and when the buzzer went off he joined the other minimum security prisoners in being led through the halls to the communal yard area. Next door to that was the mailroom, where Frank made a point to stop by.
Frank had been in prison for a little over a year now. He had done everything he wanted. Everyone responsible for killing his family was dead. They couldn't hurt anyone else anymore. He had no regrets. As far as he was concerned, life in prison was worth every second if it meant putting those scumbags in the ground.
Frank looked in confusion at the small square package he received. Was it from Karen maybe? Frank waited until he had returned to his cell, where he slowly unwrapped the package.
Frank gasped and dropped the package when he peeled away the front of the wrapping. It was a framed photo of him and Maria. Who would do this? Was it some sort of joke? Or a threat?
The frame hit the ground and snapped open. Apparently glass frames wouldn't have been allowed, because this one was plastic. The frame now lay in two cleanly separated pieces and with the printed photo lying on the ground. That's when Frank noticed something strange. Some sort of microchip was taped to the back of the photo.
Frank looked closely at the chip. He had to find out what this was. Someone was trying to tell him something and he needed to know what. Frank kept the chip with him until the next day, where instead of the yard he went to the prison's modest library. He found a computer with a matching slot for the chip and slipped it in. Frank glanced around to make sure no one was watching, just in case.
Frank opened the chip on the computer, which caused the entire screen to turn black for a second. Then green writing began to appear on the screen.
Frank. This is Micro. I have information pertaining to the murder of your family. If you want to know what it is, you'll follow my instructions exactly.
Micro? thought Frank, What the hell kind of name is that? A pseudonym?
The writing disappeared off the screen and was replaced with more.
The prison launders the prison security guard uniforms at the same time every week: 3:00 on Sunday. Sometimes when the prisoners are kept in the yard too long and the two events overlap. That is your opportunity to take a prison uniform. Once you do, log into one of the prison's business computers with the following information:
Frank committed the information to memory. He didn't know who this was, but playing along was the only way to find out for sure. He winced as he heard a loud pop! from the computer followed by the smell of burnt synthetics. Frank ejected the chip and saw that it was fried. It must have been programmed to self-destruct.
So Frank waited for the next Sunday at 3:00. He successfully managed to sneak away from the group in the yard and made his way to the laundry room. Sure enough, a small laundry basket of prison security guard uniforms sat next to the running washing machine, which contained dozens more uniforms inside.
Frank quickly changed into one of the uniforms and managed to make his way back into the hall. Avoiding contact with the other guards, he managed to make his way into one of the offices and accessed the computer with the information Micro provided. To his surprise, this immediately turned the computer screen dark as more green writing came up.
Excellent. Next you need to get out on the next transport out of there before they realize you're gone. I've dropped off a fake I.D. to help you get past the security checkpoint. Find it in the wall behind the ugly painting of the beach. Once you're free, meet me at the following drop point.
Frank acted quickly. Whoever this was, they knew what they were doing. The plan seemed sound, but Frank would have to be extremely careful in his execution. He made his way to the hallway with the painting Micro had mentioned. Sure enough, the wall behind it was hollowed out. Frank reached in and pulled out a fake I.D. of himself. Putting it on, he made his way right to the checkpoint. He needed to be out of here before they realized he was gone.
The escape was a success. Frank's fake I.D. worked and he was able to catch a ride on an empty prison transport to one of the city jails in New York. There he snuck away and made his way for the drop point he had been told about.
This is the place, thought Frank to himself as he walked into the alleyway, Whoever this is better have a damn good reason for it.
"Welcome back, Frank."
Frank spun around and grabbed the figure behind him by the collar, slamming the man into one of the alley walls.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," coughed the man, "It's me, Micro."
"What's your game?" demanded Frank, "Why am I here?"
"You're here," struggled Micro, "because your job isn't done."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"...could you let go of me first?"
Frank paused for a moment. Then he let up and stepped back. Micro got his bearings back.
"Who are you?" demanded Frank, "And don't give me any of that 'Micro' crap. I want to know for real."
"My name is David Lieberman," said the man, "I used to work for the CIA."
"You're some kind of spook?" asked Frank, "Is that how you were able to get to me in prison?"
"Not anymore," said Micro, "I'm just that good."
"What the hell did you mean my job isn't done?"
"You wanted to kill the people who killed your family, right?" said Micro.
Frank shoved Micro into the wall, pinning him there as he glared into his eyes.
"Don't talk about my family," he growled.
"Project Cerberus," said Micro loudly and impatiently, "Did you really think that conspiracy stopped at Schoonover?"
"What?"
"As a CIA agent one of my duties was scrubbing evidence of Project Cerberus," explained Micro, "Make it sound like they're saving Americans rather than killing witnesses."
Frank scowled. He was disgusted that this man had done this, but Frank had no place to be mad. He had done just as much and worse for Project Cerberus. It was one of the reasons he had resigned himself to a life in prison.
"I have a list," explained Micro, "a list of names of CIA operatives and military officials who ran Project Cerberus and are still funding similar projects."
"You want me to kill them?"
"Don't you?"
Frank paused for a moment. Micro was right. If there were more people behind Operation Cerberus, they needed to die too. Frank was more than willing to do the job himself, but it seemed like he would need Micro's help tracking them down. Frank was beginning to trust Micro. If not personally, at least professionally. He knew the depth of what he was doing and was willing to do it anyway. If nothing else, Frank respected him for that.
"Alright, Spook," said Frank, "Who's first on the list?"
"How are they doing?" asked Karen.
"Amazing," said Malcolm, in slight disbelief himself, "all things considered."
Malcolm Ducassse was the inhouse therapist for Heroes for Hire, specializing in the trauma experienced by most heroes. Karen had brought him in to help Frank and Micro. They both had a great deal to process, even before the incident with Billy.
"Amazing?" said Karen, "That seems like a strong word."
"I said 'all things considered,'" shrugged Malcolm, "I was never going to solve it in one sit down with them. They both just experienced a great deal of intense trauma and emotional turmoil in a very short period of time. They're handling it very well though. Frank already seems familiar with the treatments and was very clear and forward about his symptoms."
"Yeah," sighed Karen, "He's had a lot of practice."
"I also have to say, I had a hard time believing those two only just got together," continued Malcolm, "They communicate better than most couples I've seen and they seem to know each other inside and out. They also seem… happy together."
Karen smiled.
"Alright," bid Malcolm, waving, "See you around."
Malcolm made his way to the exit of the bunker. Karen walked into the living area Malcolm had just come from. Frank and Micro were still sitting side by side on the couch, Micro's hand on Frank's knee.
"How was it?" asked Karen.
"It was therapy," said Micro, tired.
"I'd ask if you want to talk about it," said Karen, "but I guess you both just spent a long time doing that."
Frank nodded.
"I'm… going to head out," said Karen after a moment, feeling like she was intruding, "Claire said she'd be by tomorrow to start Micro's PT. Sound good?"
"Thanks Karen," smiled Micro weakly.
Karen smiled, nodded, and headed out. Frank and Micro continued to sit in silence together for another few minutes before Micro looked over at Frank, smiling. Frank chuckled, almost uncomfortable.
"What?" he asked.
"Nothing," said Micro happily, "I'm just glad I can look at you a lot more now. I don't have to worry about getting caught."
Frank smiled back. He leaned in and the two kissed. Micro's hand ran up from Frank's knee to his torso, where he gently squeezed at Frank's firm muscles. Frank in turn caressed his hand through Micro's hair. They both kissed harder.
"I wanted to show you something," said Frank suddenly, pulling out of the kiss.
"Better be good," smirked Micro, "After all I did just have to stop kissing this really hot guy."
Frank playfully pushed at Micro's head as he got up and walked around to the desk, where he grabbed a laptop and brought it back to the couch with him. He sat next to Micro and opened the computer, quickly working his way to the saved page.
"What is it?" asked Micro.
"This," said Frank quietly, turning the screen to Micro.
The page was for a small cabin that was on the market. It was located in Norvin Green State Forest, not far from New York. It was small, secluded, and unfurnished. Now Micro understood why Frank was showing it to him.
"I like it," said Micro, "Were you thinking of making it a safe house? Maybe some offsite storage for-"
"I was thinking of making it a home."
"...Frank?"
"I told you," said Frank, "You deserve a yard, windows that let in sunlight, and real floors."
"Frank…" said Micro.
"I know you said our story wouldn't have a happy ending," said Frank, "but I'm determined to prove you wrong."
"But Frank," said Micro, "All of this, being the Punisher-"
"I think we deserve a break," said Frank, "Don't you, Spook?"
"...yeah," said Micro, holding back a sob, "Yeah, I think so."
