He was spiraling, not out of control. Frank Castle doesn't allow himself to not be in control, but he was most certainly spiraling in and out of frenzy as he took down one cartel member after another. He felt as if he was being compacted and torn to shreds at the same time. What someone might imagine being tossed into a black hole feels like. Shouting at the top of his lungs as he drudged through the bodies. It made sense, it was the only thing in this shithole that did. It gave him purpose, something every living creature instinctually craves, but no matter how much he did, who he made pay, the void remained. The black hole festering inside of him grew larger by the minute, he wouldn't be able to fight it forever, it would surely consume him.

It wasn't the biting cold of the meat locker that brought him back to reality as he leaned the base of his skull against the blood slick wall. He could see his breath steaming from his lungs as he let out aggravated pants and grunts. It wasn't the death rattle of the few men holding onto their last moments of living. It didn't bring Frank satisfaction, but it did make him feel content, delayed the expanding void for a millisecond. This aspect of his mission was a success, they were down for the count. It was a simple plastic cup half filled with flat cola that sent him plummeting from his sniper's post of controlled chaos. "For fuck's sake." He kicked over the table with a heavy boot, causing the offending cup to roll across the floor somewhere. He began to make his exit, he didn't have time to have a temper tantrum like the one he had in the pawn shop.

As he took long strides to leave a hand clenched at his ankle. Eyes looked up at him for mercy, a foaming mouth gurgle out some nonsense, the words got stuck in the red jelly like coagulation but the pleading tone was clear as crystal. "Yeah. Yeah. Just shut it." Frank's voice was gravely from underuse followed by abrupt shouting. Lifting his gun from his side the barrel connected with the dying man's forehead. Click. Bang. Just like that the room was still again, sans Frank's hagered breathing. 'Waste of a bullet for one god damn second of peace and quiet.' To say Frank was in a foul mood would be the understatement to end all understatements.

She scrolled through her phone, replying to texts, looking at pictures, googling whatever passing thought came to mind, killing time. She was waiting for the next construction worker to come in for a pack of reds, or the next drunk to stumble and crash into her chip isle. At three in the morning the ever tired Cordelia flew on auto pilot. It took all the energy she could muster to look up from her screen when the chime alerting her that someone had entered went off. When her weighted gaze did eventually lift, she was jolted into a state of awakeness she had not felt in years.

"It ain't enough to work in the shit part of town, you gotta work overnight by yourself?" Frank Castle was no longer her prickly neighbor, now he was a patron at her corner store. Cordelia's eyes couldn't have strained any wider as she took in the majestic and haunting sight of Frank in the wild. He hadn't wanted to make this detour, he was a busy man he had places to be people to kill, but it was bugging him. A distracted mind leads to mistakes, and he wasn't a marine that made mistakes. The same logo from the cup in the meat packing Cartel strong hold was plastered on every wall of the establishment. He had to see, he had to bother himself to see if she really did work in the eye of the storm, if she was in putting herself in danger. 'Why?' He couldn't answer himself, couldn't rationalize the compulsion, his foul mood deepened.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" Her phone clacked against the counter, echoing in the stillness of the night.
"Was told I was missing out." He help up a thermos as he walked closer. "The kid home alone?" His mind shot to the little pj clad dog lover. He didn't want to have to check out another location, but as he waited for her answer he calculated the quickest route from the store to the apartment to the hospital, he was always planning, mentally pacing.
"What is . . . Shit I'm not . . . No. She isn't." Cordelia could barely make out words as her brain struggled to compute, simply could not believe her eyes.

'Is this how she talks to all her customers?' He could see concern bleeding out of her pores. He wondered if this was how she spent every night, dangling on razor's edge. 'Ain't helpin she's dog tired. When's this lady sleep?' He didn't take time to dwell on the hypocrisy of that accusation. He was pushing his own body to it's limits, past them at necessary points but he was used to that ache. It was a part of him, he wouldn't know what to do without it, wouldn't feel he was trying his hardest to right the big wrongs. "You walk here?" He hadn't noticed any cars in the lot, he wondered if she was that careless to walk the city alone at night. 'She have a death wish?'

"That's none of your business." Cordelia was beginning to have wonders of her own. 'Does he not notice? He can't not know.'
"When your right, you're right." He put his arms up in surrender, one hand still clutching his thermos. 'Atta girl.' It wasn't military grade training but being street smart and tight lipped might be enough to allow Cordelia to make it through Hell.

"Listen is this some kind of fucked up test? To see if we're cut from the same cloth? If so I fail alright? This isn't some shit I want a part of." Cordelia couldn't continue to look the other way. 'This is just getting ridiculous.' She stood her ground, her knuckles were white hands clenched in fists on the counter. 'The fuck am I doing?' Was she going toe to toe with Frank Castle? He must have been right, she must have a death wish.
"The Hell you going on about?" He cocked his head to the side, blinking stupefied as he tried to figure out what he missed. Had somewhere in their limited interaction he enlisted her to his plight?
'He's got no god damn clue.' That made it indefinitely worse, not better.

"Wash your fucking hands Frank." Cordelia let out an exhausted sigh. Only then did it make sense, giving himself a once over he really looked at his hands. His knuckles were busted, patches of tan skin were stained crimson. Placing his thermos on the counter he upturned his palms, more blood, caked into their creases and folds.
"Hnn" Was his only grunted acknowledgment. He was repulsed, not that he had killed, gotten his hands dirty, someone had to do it. That the filth was sticking to him, he was cleaning up the city but it was clinging to him, smothering him, choking out what little good he had left in him and he was too far gone to even notice. He slowly lumbered over to a sink off in the corner.

"Your neck too, there's a little . . . " She scanned him over, it was pointless, it was everywhere. 'So much blood.' She'd never seen a sight quite like this. His skin, his clothes, his boots, his face, all splattered in one spot or another with blood. "Are you hurt?" The silence was getting to her, causing her even greater unease than the blood itself. "Frank?" He was too busy cleaning the Cartel off him, from under his finger nails. "Frank?!" She was louder this time, trying to regain his attention.
"Ain't my blood." He shook his hands dry as he he made the matter of fact statement. That shouldn't have made her feel better but it did, it allowed her to let out the breath she didn't know she was holding.

"You're a scary man you know that?" She didn't know what else to say, there was no right thing to say in a moment like this. She took his thermos and started filling it with coffee.
"Any scarier than the Cartel?" This is what he came for he convinced himself, Intel.
"Cartel?"
"They shop here."
"They need blunts and condoms like everyone else." Cordelia shrugged, it was a fact of life.
"And the other gangs?" Frank fished further, assessing the threat.
"Other gangs?" She paused for a second, she didn't really view people by their alliances so much as what brand of cigarette they bought. "Some Yakuza used to come here, haven't seen em in a while. We get all kinds." Again she shrugged this topic did not play to her strengths.

"What time is your shift over?" He could see she was tired, she was trying to hide she was scared, but more than anything she was just so tired.
"What's it to you?" With force she screwed on the top to the thermos, handing it back to him.
"I ain't gonna hurt you. If I was I'd lay you out now, not after you finish your eight hours." He pointed out she was worrying about irrelevant details.
"I feel like you meant for that to sound . . . nicer than it did."
"No." He grabbed his thermos from the counter, threw a few bills at the register. "I'll be done by then." Clipping Grote wouldn't take long. " I'll give you a ride home." He was done here, the ball was in her court, he wouldn't beg, he didn't need anything from her.
"Six." Cordelia relented, agreed, he wouldn't hurt her. She had no idea though, when accepting Frank's offer how further into the pits his mood could go. She'd find out at six.

She clocked out, took off her issued cap and walked out into the cresting sunlight. She had expected Frank to be late, but he was out there, waiting for her. She hesitated for a second, this was a dangerous man, a man that mere hours ago came to her dripping with blood, what lapse in judgement was telling her it was remotely alright to get in his vehicle? 'Of course it is. What else would it be?' She smacked a palm to her forehead, her wordless response to the sight before her. Only two kinds of people owned this type of sleazy seventies style van, those that gave free candy to children before burying their bodies in the woods, and people like Frank Castle. Cordelia let out a yelp of surprise as she was brought out of her inner dialogue by the sound of the van's horn.

"You gettin in or what? I ain't a god damn taxi I'm not going to wait here all day"
"You can't offer someone a ride then be a dick about giving them a ride." The door's aged hinges squeaked as Cordelia swung it open and slammed it shut behind her.
"Yeah? Says who?" Frank put the car into drive and pulled out of the lot.
"What crawled up your snatch and died? Listen Frank I don't need-" She stopped, dead in her tracks. As her eyes connected with Frank's face she saw something that scared her more than the image of him smeared with blood. "You're hurt." His lip was busted, above his eye was swelling, his cheek had already begun to bruise. 'Who squares off, with him? Whose badder than Frank?'
"It ain't . . .look. . . " He wanted her to stop staring at him, wanted her to lose that look of pity. "It ain't nothin." His face scrunched, pulling at tender muscles. He nearly jumped out of his skin at what happened next.

Her hand, her soft little fingers were on his stony face, dusting over his injuries, reminiscent of the careful petting Dahlia had given his dog, Cordelia too steered clear of the jaw of an animal. For a second, less than that, less then half Frank closed his eyes and allowed himself to feel some measure of tenderness. She was just running her fingers over his face but he could feel her everywhere, trying to take the pain away. But that pain belonged to Frank and he would not so easily part with it. "Hey!" He grabbed her wrist in a swift and clenching fist. "Knock it off." He pulled her away from him throwing her hand at her lap as if her skin burned him. And it did burn, it burned better than Frank wanted to acknowledge.

"That supposed to hurt?" Cordelia's voice wasn't pointed and angry like before, this was a legitimate question.
"W . . . what?" Frank gave her a double take, he didn't understand. Was she mocking him? Was she expecting him to hurt her? Had he? He looked over at her wrist, to see if he hadn't known his own strength, if he had left a mark, if he really was becoming just as bad as those shit bags he was laying out. Not yet he hadn't, she was unharmed.
"Nevermind." Cordelia wouldn't look at him staring at her feet as the drive grew long with silence.

"Hey Cord, can I ask you somethin?" Frank's finger was twitching again, this day was growing heavy with unanswered questions.
"Sure." She looked up from her shoes, but not at Frank, out the window. She didn't want him to see her smile. 'Good going Cordelia. Now we're tight like that.' Frank was no longer a neighbor or a customer, only friends and enemies give nicknames, she and Frank were now floating somewhere in between.
"What is it . . . with women you know . . . givin a shit about dirt bags?" Frank's mind traveled to the wispy blonde dragging Grotto out of his cross hairs.
"You calling yourself a dirt bag Frank? You having lady troubles? Maybe it's the shaggin wagon." She turned, she would allow him to see this smile, so he didn't miss her sarcastic tone. He smiled back, chuckling before biting at his swollen lip.
"Lady problems, yeah OK." He nodded slightly as he spoke. "I ain't the shit stickin to the bottom of the barrel, but I ain't next in line to become pope neither right?" He smirked as their building came into view. "So what is it huh? Some motherly instinct shit?"
"Shit this, shit that, you'll never be anointed with a mouth like that." She quipped back as she did her best to muster up a real answer to this surprisingly deep question. "Maybe for some people . . . maybe for your lady friend." Cordelia nodded, she couldn't speak for anyone but herself, and her reasonings and priorities were not of the majority.

"Not you though huh? What makes you tell a man . . . tell a man to wash his hands, stead of callin the cops, fill his mug up stead of runnin away huh?"
"Not me." Cordelia shook her head before locking eyes long and hard with Frank, he was listening, waiting, he wanted an answer he needed to know why she cared about a dirtbag like him.
"Women . . . aren't allowed to be dirtbags. Society's double standard you know? Even if it's just that simple, just black and white, they look for the saint in every sinner. It's gotta be in there right?" Her voice was wavering slightly as memories she had long since buried clawed their way to the surface.

She remembered all those years ago sitting in the interrogation room, her second home, looking up at the man she viewed as a second father. He was the only man who looked at her that way, like she mattered. "It's not your fault Cordelia. You're not a bad person it's-"
"I do bad things." She had cut him off, he was trying to save her and she was fighting it. "I'm at a police station . . . where bad people go, for doing bad things."
"My job Cordelia is to protect the good people . . . from the bad ones. My job is to protect people like you. I'm going to keep you safe alright?" And he had protected her, with every ounce of everything he had, that man had done his best to protect her.

"Hey? Cord? You in there?" Frank was waving a hand in front of her face. This was another look he knew all too well, the haunted look someone gets when they're hashing it out with their demons.
"Yeah." She swallowed hard before resuming. "So maybe it's like I see someone . . . a dirtbag like you." She did her best to lighten the mood. "And feel like I deserve some of that . . . Whatever karmatic things happen to you, I deserve that too."
"You a sinner Cord?" Frank was trying to stare into her soul, trying to find whatever it was she was so dutifully hiding.
"Ain't gonna be pope." She shrugged, she was done talking in circles, she just wanted to go home.

The conversation ended there, they both seemed content with that fact. The silence that followed them from the van to the complex's door didn't seem nearly as stifling and awkward as the many before, it didn't last though. "You're gonna want to walk behind me couple steps alright?" Cordelia warned as she opened the door for them. Frank waited for her to go through first, a puzzled look on his face.
"What you don't want your boyfriend to see us together?" He cracked, but still he headed her words. He waited till she was halfway down the hall to follow after her. He was scanning the space wondering what she was getting at? Again an anxious finger twitched. As Cordelia passed an open door that finger found it's home on the trigger.

"It hasn't grown since yesterday Rocky, pull your pants up and close the door. You're welcome." First she addressed the man that greeted her every morning when she got home from work, offering her a look at the goods, then at Frank to explain her warning.
"Why you always gotta be like that princess?" Rocky, pants still at his ankles continued his daily ritual of hassling Cordelia.
"Don't call me princess." Cordelia rolled her eyes. "It's been a long day ok? I'm tired, just close the door and finish your one man show."
"We both know, there was a time you would beg the dogs to throw you a bone."
"Dogs?" Frank snapped out his surprised stupor and quickly closed the gap between him and Rocky's apartment, gun drawn.