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He coughs the first petals up not long after it becomes obvious that Frank’s going to pull through, despite the blood poisoning. He’s leaning over Frank’s passed out body, checking that the IV line is laying right, fussing with the blanket he’s covered Frank in to help with the chill, and he feels the tickle, stands up and turns away, trying to keep quiet as he hacks and wheezes, until two soft, thin, curved petals fall wetly into the cup of his palm.Staggering to his rolling chair, he lets himself sit heavily, still holding the soggy petals, heart sunk deep into his guts.David can play dumb with the best of them, but take it down to brass tacks, he’s not stupid. Hanahaki is rare, almost unheard of in the US, but there’ve been enough hyped-up medical documentaries (not to mention all the docu-dramas… and straight up fictional dramas) about the condition for him to know. It takes him a minute to remember what it’s called, officially, because he speaks a few languages but none of them are Japanese.He’s not stupid. He knows.The thing is, there’s a time for emotional bullshit and there’s a time to bury your feelings and move on. It’s healthy to know the difference. Frank is the kind of man who spends all his time building walls and pushing people away. He does it with everything he has, he doesn’t want closeness or affection or ties with the living.David understands.He’s been coughing, an achy, heavy sort of cough, for a few days now. He understands that, too. Hanahaki is diagnosed by the coughing up of “petals”, but it starts, it always starts, with the coughing.And ends with the choking.There’s plenty of fictions surrounding the condition, much of which David takes in over the course of the ensuing weeks, reading as he tinkers with the drone or watches the house cameras. David’s good at research and better at cutting through bullshit to find the nuggets of truth. What he learns isn’t exactly encouraging, but that’s life, isn’t it? Sometimes it sucks.Yeah, sometimes it sucks.Like watching Sarah kiss Frank sucks. Seeing the way Frank, caught off guard, taken aback, still leans impulsively into it, like a flower chasing the sun. David can’t see Frank’s hands, not with the angle of the camera, but he can see, anyway, the way he struggles with the urge to bring his hands up to Sarah’s face, the way he masters that impulse.The ugly snarl of jealousy and self loathing that braids itself all around his heart, drawn like a noose to squeeze tighter and tighter as he stares at the frozen image is beyond wretched. Worse as he tries to pick that jealousy apart and realizes he can’t; he’s jealous of them both, and can’t really argue with the ugly voice in his head that assures him that Sarah and Frank deserve each other. They’re better off without him. Dying now would be better, that little voice tells him as he stares at the image of the two best people in his life frozen on his screen, caught in a kiss he wasn’t meant to even see, not meant to be part of in any way. They don’t need you. So go ahead and choke.It’s the kind of bitter, hissy, precise little voice that won’t shut up until he’s downed three shots of the whiskey he keeps hidden under the array. He keeps the bottle in his hand, the rocks glass nudged by the computer, unnecessary. The voice might have shut up after three pours, but what’s the fucking point in stopping there? When he coughs, it feels like his lungs are shredding, and exactly who the fuck cares?By the time Frank gets back, he’s drunk enough to make a fool of himself. He wakes up on his cot, blanket tossed over him, and coughs so hard he leaves flecks of blood on his pillow.He tells Frank it’s bronchitis when he expresses something dangerously close to concern over it. If it weren’t layered over with so much seemingly genuine irritation, there might have been something like hope in Frank being worried, but as it is, it’s just another lie to paper over their relationship. Frank grits his teeth and glowers at David like he’s trying to read the truth off him, but David is very good at lying. He stares back mildly and Frank finally looks away, grumbling about a supply run. He brings back honey and, surprisingly, a package of pineapple fruit cups, the kind with chunks of fruit swimming in juice. He places both of these pointedly in front of David after he squares away the rest of the food supplies.Frank stands over him and watches him eat a fruit cup. He says his mother had sworn by pineapple for a cough. David spends that night tossing and turning, uncertain if Frank went out of his way because he cared or just because the sound of David hacking his lungs apart was annoying him.Things start to spiral after that. Frank loses his temper about the woman David jokingly-not-so-jokingly refers to as his girlfriend. Storms out and disappears for three miserable days. The ugly voice is a constant companion to David during those days when he has nothing else to really distract him -- the booze is gone, Frank is gone, and all David has is the hope of clearing his name and doing right by his family with the time he has left. What does it matter the voice wonders late that second night alone, taunting. What does it matter, you’re just going to die anyway. No hope no cure no future so why don’t you just choke. When Frank trudges back in, he knows things are about ready to fall apart. He can tell by the way Frank doesn’t hardly want to look at him, the way he’s shaking apart in the bathroom as he rips shrapnel out of his own arms. Frank acts like a man who can barely contain his loathing for David, and the worst of it is that David doesn’t need the heavy pressure in his lungs to tell him his own feelings haven’t changed.Frank might hate him more than he hates most people, but David loves him. Loves his stubbornness, loves the unflinching, uncompromising nature of him. Loves the simmering violence layered over a poet’s soul. David loves him, loves him, loves him.The plan they work out when it all falls together is one David hates, but that’s really just par for the course. He doesn’t like lying to Madani, even by omission, and he doesn’t like letting Frank go this way, but he can’t bear to get between Frank and what realistically is his last chance at revenge.He tries. He takes two shots to the back and crumples to the ground exactly as they planned. He lays there and listens for the second time as his wife screams, watching him die. He loves her more than he can ever say, and he just keeps hurting her. Will she have it in her to cry a third time? Is there such a thing as grief fatigue? He wouldn’t blame her if she spit on his corpse after all this. Wouldn’t blame anybody but himself, because that’s really what he does.He fucks up. It’s his biggest goddamn talent. So choke. Sitting with his family, David tries not to think about what may or may not be being done to Frank. He deserves his chance, and David can’t take that from him. He won’t.
If he dies maybe you’ll survive after all.
There’s no known correlation between the death of the object of a Hanahaki patient’s unreturned affection and the patient’s health. David knows -- he’s read goddamn near every credible piece of literature on the subject since coughing up those first two damning petals. Sometimes the patient spontaneously returned to health. In one well documented case, the patient had expired almost immediately upon hearing that his beloved had died.More often, nothing changed. The sickness continued, leaving the patient to choose between surgery and suffocation. Just lay down and choke then. When he can’t take the guilt and worry anymore, David excuses himself and goes to confess the rest to Madani. They’re barely in time to save Frank, the closeness of that something that will haunt David for the rest of his life, he’s sure. How much suffering had Frank been through that could have been avoided if David had just fessed up sooner, betrayed him faster. Curtis was right -- he’d had no right to drag Frank into this at all. Frank would have been better off if David had left him alone, same as Sarah would be better off if David had died for real.He finds that he likes Hamid, Madani’s father. He’s calm and professional and more, he cares. David speaks to him briefly in private, Madani scowling but leaving the room when he asks to speak to Hamid alone. But this has to be done right.“It is a, ah… well, we call it a psychosomatic illness, you know. This does not mean it is only in your head, only that what happens, “ Hamid taps a nail to his temple, “in here causes many things in the body we cannot control. It cannot be communicated through blood, no. And it is incredibly rare besides.”The needle punches through his arm and his blood flows into Frank, linking them in a way that’s far beyond the physical. David trusts Hamid, believes him that he can’t make Frank sick, but he can’t help imagining those long, slender petals traveling, invisible but deadly, through the IV line. He sits beside the bed where Frank rests, a little plate with two cookies resting on his knee, and watches his blood flow into Frank, and he coughs and coughs.It terrifies him, how much he wants to keep Frank. He needs to go back to his family, he loves them just as much as he loves this impossible, brave man, but the idea of Frank exiting his life after this is so painful. He coughs hard enough to excuse the tears that spring to his eyes.There is no keeping Frank Castle. David does not doubt that Frank has in him a great capacity for love -- he’s seen it, hasn’t he, that love. The way he loved Karen. The way he loved Sarah. The way he loved, now and forever, his lost wife. But though Frank was capable of a great deal of love, he also desperately wanted to keep every other person in the world at arm’s length. David understood. He got it. The only way to keep the people he loved safe, Frank thought, was for him and all the dangers that surrounded him to be as far from them as possible.As soon as he could walk again, Frank would pull away. Frank had unfinished business, for one thing, and for another David had overplayed his hand trying to keep Frank from rushing off on this suicidal bullshit. Before Frank had noticed the signs of a struggle in David’s empty house, before they’d gone and gotten Leo and worked out this whole nightmare endgame, David’s sincere little speech had come too close to a confession. Frank wasn’t stupid, and if he thought someone else genuinely cared about him, then it was time to put distance between him and them.No one’s fault, just the way the man was wired.Was kindness or cowardice that encouraged David to just let him go?For a little while, back with his family, David honestly thinks maybe, somehow, he’s getting better. Hanahaki is a largely mysterious medical condition and not all researchers agree on the mechanisms of the disorder or how it starts or, in the rare cases where it does, how it resolves itself. It’s tied up with suppressed emotion and stress, which David could attest to. The urban legend of the disorder, the wives’ tale version, stated that it was caused by falling in love with someone who didn’t love you back, and if they confessed a return of your love, the disorder went away.In reality, there were recorded cases where people resolved their personal desires and still died. And there were cases where the growths just stopped happening after months of agony. There was a surgical procedure that could be done and by all accounts worked for the people who survived it, but the effects were beyond considering.It involved brain surgery, which was already a terrifying prospect, but the goal of the surgery was to essentially remove the part of the brain that formed attachments to others. It was dangerous, given that that same part of the brain controlled a person’s judgement and impulse control, but the theory was sound -- if a person was unable to care about or form relationships, they stopped stressing about one they couldn’t have, and whatever process got caught up in that stress went away, and the growths in the lungs stopped forming.David has already considered the procedure and almost immediately dismissed the idea. When he spoke to Sarah about it -- because he had to, didn’t he? -- she agreed: it was beyond thinking about.Even if the five-year projected survival rate of the surgery had magically leapt from a miserable 24.6% in men (and a whopping 28.24% for women) to a solid 100%, the cost was still far too great. He had a family, and he loved them. Living without being able to feel that was unimaginable. He’d rather die.
Choke.
Hanukkah comes and goes. Christmas. New Years.David coughs and coughs. His throat is always sore, it seems, and his chest aches. His mouth tastes like blood no matter how often he brushes his teeth, but he never coughs more than a handful of petals on any given day. A month crawls by, then two, and there’s never any sign of Frank. David stirs honey in his tea and eats little cups of pineapple each day and refuses to think about it.It’s the ass-end of February when Sarah finds David passed out on the bathroom floor. There’s blood in the sink, along with a wet, fleshy mass that, if one were generous and of a morbidly romantic bend, one might say looks like a flower blossom.He wakes up in a hospital bed. He feels dry and tired and he knows exactly where he is even without opening his eyes. He’s been in enough hospital rooms; he knows the smell, the sounds. Sarah is holding his hand, her long, fine fingers curled through his.They keep him for observation, moving him four hours after he wakes from the ER to an actual room. He’s scheduled for a series of x-rays the following day, but it’s late and the nurse tells him the doctor handling his intake said rest was the most important thing just now.Sarah has to leave, promising to come as soon as she can tomorrow. It won’t be until after noon, he knows, unless she calls off work, which he tells her not to do. But then again, he’d told her not to take him to the hospital, and here he was.It seems like, by that point, he’s coughing more or less nonstop. Every few minutes, like the cough that had become just background noise for the last few months was now dead set on being the only thing on his mind. The nurse gives him a weird, kidney-shaped plastic bowl to spit anything he coughs up into, telling him to call her if something does come up because they’re want to look at it. Every time he calls her to take the latest bloody mess away, she hands him a fresh container.He coughs himself to sleep and wonders how many more days of this he’s expected to drag himself through.Sarah is waiting in his room when he returns from his x-rays the next day, just after noon. She either left work early or didn’t go in at all, and he loves her so, so much more than he can say. It makes him hate himself all the more for doing this to here.They take in the news of the Hanahaki’s progression together, listening as the doctor warns him to try coughing carefully, because at this point there’s a very real chance of his coughing so hard that he cracks a rib. David is thinking how ridiculous it is that the human body should be capable of coughing so hard it causes serious injury, while Sarah asks about treatment options and pain management.Because he doesn’t want Sarah to know he’s given up, and because he knows she wants him to, he agrees to stay for another night for a stress test and some more detailed imaging.He wakes up on that third day with Frank sitting in the chair beside the bed, staring into a dog eared paperback. Seeing him now, after all this time and in this context, is like slamming face first into a wall of undefinable emotion, so all David can do is sit up against the pillows and stare at Frank, halfway certain that he’s not there at all.“The hardest part about calling you a dumbass,” Frank says dryly, not bothering to look up as he turns the page in his book, “is that I know you’re not.”David doesn’t know what to say, and even if he had a clue, he wouldn’t be able to trust himself to speak without crying. His eyes already sting. Frank leaves him ample time to answer, but when it’s obvious he’s not going to say anything, continues.“When I was a kid, my Ma had a real close friend. So close, I called her Auntie, and it wasn’t until I was ten or so that I figured out we weren’t blood related. By then, Ma’s friend was dead. I remember the way she coughed, all through that last year. Ma tried to get her to talk to the guy she was caught up on, but she wouldn’t. Or couldn’t.”At last the book is closed, and Frank’s eyes lock with his own. There’s a certain way Frank has of staring David down where it feels like he’s physically pinning him down, like David couldn’t move out of that stare if he wanted to. “Ma made her tea with honey and got her to eat pineapple. Swore by the pineapple. Really, I think she just wanted to keep her comfortable. Remind her that she was loved by someone.”For a moment they just sit in silence, staring at each other. Frank’s hands are tight on the book in his lap. He stands after a long series of seconds, and moves to sit gently on the edge of David’s bed. It barely dips under his weight, because he mostly keeps his balance on his feet. He sits like he might have to run at any moment, and yet his fingers, when he brushes the tears from David’s cheeks, are gentle.“Is there something you wanna tell me, David?”David exhales, and it’s shaky, that breath, rough. His throat hurts and his eyes sting, but he finds himself smiling, however tremulously. “Hi, Frank, ‘s been a while,” he says, and then laughs when Frank shakes his head, trying not to smile himself. When Frank starts to slide his hand away, David raises his own hand, impulsive and quick, and holds it there, resting against his cheek. He’s dead anyway, so why not treat himself?Why the hell not.Curling his fingers against David’s face, Frank tilts his head to one side just slightly, letting his weight settle more firmly on the mattress. The hospital bed creaks a little and Frank’s hand is warm. “So this is how you decided you wanna go out, huh?” Frank asks, brows drawn up, mouth tucked into a faint frown again. “After all that bullshit, the bullets, the car chases, dragging my ass out of the Kentucky backwoods, you’re gonna die here, choking on your own lungs.”All David can manage is a soft hum, the barest rise and fall of his shoulders in a shrug, because when he tries to open his mouth his breath catches, his throat tightens, and he knows exactly what kind of chance he’s being given, just as surely as he knows that anything he says will become a sob.There’s a moment of hesitation, stillness in which Frank studies his face, looking for god-knows-what before he leans in and brushes his lips to David’s in a kiss so light and quick it barely qualifies. “I think that’s a real waste, Lieberman,” he says as he withdraws. “And I know you’re a better man than that.”Between the two of them, there has been a tendency to speak without saying much. Talk a lot, fill the silence with noise, each making sure the other knew they were still there, because they’d both been alone for so long. Because there’s comfort in having someone react to your existence. Because whether they came together wanting it or not, they both desperately needed a friend, and they worked so well together when they actually tried, but it wasn’t in either of their natures to really open up anymore.It was easier to make noise and sound off against each other than allow any real vulnerability. And what softness was introduced into their relationship was always invited in by David. David always had to say something first, be the first to act, make the effort.He knows what he needs to say. He knows what he’s supposed to say.It feels irrationally unfair that he has to. That everything he’s done and said prior isn’t enough to have driven the point home, that Frank isn’t going to be the one, for once, to open the door, to extend the hand. Maybe Frank can’t anymore, David thinks, because the alternative is that he won’t, and if that’s true then maybe this really is one sided.Frank’s pats David’s cheek gently, the gesture almost dismissive as he sits back upright and then stands, putting distance between them again. He looks flighty in that way he has of looking when he’s drawn too close to expressing something that’s not rage. Tenderness is hard for Frank, David understands. Frank doesn’t want people close to him, because they’re the ones who get hurt worst.“I’m gonna say something stupid,” David says quietly, and feels a smile twitch across his lips when Frank snorts, staring out the window as he stands between the bed and the chair.“What else is new?”“You’re an asshole, and I’m afraid of what you’ll say back,” David says, and he can see in the way Frank frowns and narrows his eyes that the fear isn’t unfair and that Frank isn’t judging him for feeling it. Might be judging himself, for having given David reason to feel it.“You haven’t coughed once since you woke up,” Frank says finally, turning back towards him. “So I think, however much you wanna overthink this, some part a you has a pretty good idea. So look me in the eye and say it.”David meets Frank’s gaze and feels, for a horrible moment, like he’s going to choke anyway, not on petals grown from the flesh of his lungs but on the words he’s been biting back for months and months now. He’s dizzy with them, now, his heart rate picking up as he tries to force them out. He’ll say it and Frank will laugh. He’ll say it and Frank will leave.He’ll say it and Frank, good and genuine and after all of this, still the best friend he’s ever had, will lie to try and make him better again. So stay quiet, let him leave again, and don’t forget to choke. Frank sighs softly and steps closer to the bed. The hand that’s not still clutching his book comes to rest gently against David’s neck, right at the crook of the shoulder. The beep of the machine monitoring his vitals steadies again, slows, like Frank’s calm can be passed through touch.“You only ever shut up when I want you to talk,” Frank says. “Do you do this shit with Sarah?”“Sarah probably won’t punch me to death if I say something she doesn’t like.”Frank laughs like the sound has been shocked out of him, like he’s as surprised by the reaction as David. When he laughs like that, he looks softer, more open, and somehow that makes it feel all the more honest when he says with something almost like disbelief, “I fucking love you.”David’s grin feels so wide it might split his face. Something eases in his chest, something sharp and painful pulls free from his heart. Because Frank means it, means it enough to say it first after all.“I love you too,” he says, because it’s impossible to say anything else.“Then get better. Get out of here.”Frank steps away again, grabbing his jacket off the back of the visitor’s chair. David chews his lip for a moment, and then asks, “Will you be there, when I get out?”One of the things David loves about Frank is that he isn’t much for lying. He has enough respect for David to take the question without acting like there isn’t a good damn reason for David asking it. He doesn’t get mad, he doesn’t get upset, he just gives it a little thought and then nods. “Yeah. I’ll be around. And we can go from there.”David doesn’t start coughing again until Frank’s gone, and even when the painful hacking starts up again, it’s different. It feels productive instead of just oppressive.It feels, for the first time in months, like it might get better. Like there’s a point in hope.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

It’s all much more complicated than David expected, which really just about follows the pattern of the last few years.There's a few more days of lying in a hospital room, of his throat so raw and sore from constant coughing he thinks he'd feel better if he'd scrubbed it with sandpaper. His ribs ache, the back of his neck up to the base of his skull is tense and tender. The images start showing progress though, when he goes for x-rays. Breathing gets easier. He coughs less each day, spitting up the bloody tatters of hanahaki petals happily because he's getting better.He's very lucky, he knows. Sarah sits with him and smiles, holding his hand, happy. She doesn't say if she called Frank and David doesn't ask. He suspects -- how else would Frank have found out he was in the hospital, known what room, gotten permission to enter while David was asleep. Sarah is brilliant and better to him than he deserves, and if she's not going to rub his face in how easily this mess could have been solved if he'd been smart enough to talk earlier, he's not going to flay himself over it. Almost a full week after Frank's visit, David goes a full twenty-four hours without his cough producing more than blood-flecked phlegm, and his x-rays show no additional growths in his lungs, just the standard tissue. There's likely to be scarring, and he aches like hell and is told to expect that to continue for some time while his body heals, but he's really, truly on the mend. Frank texts twice. Once from the burner phone David had given him when this all started, telling David he'd be waiting for him to call when he was healthy again. However long it takes, the text says, and so David focuses on his breathing exercises and keeping to the schedule of nebulizer treatments, makes sure he has an inhaler for his newly acquired asthma with him wherever he goes. He gets better, trying not to think too hard about what came after that. What he wanted, what he should allow himself to expect.The second text comes a few days before David decides he's ready to call, from a new number. A new phone, something more permanent, as Frank's message says. The text is brief, as is expected for it coming from Frank, but it makes David's chest ache in a new way, the sign off being 'call me when you're ready'. It's a gorgeous day right at the opening of May, sun shining bright and the world coming back to full, brilliant life as spring gets ready to trade out for summer, when David finally calls the new number. His doctor has changed his nebulizer schedule from a twice daily to as needed over the course of those weeks, and he still carries the inhaler in case of emergency. He still comes up short of breath sometimes, wheezes if he takes the stairs too fast or runs too long a distance.These are fair exchanges, he thinks, for being alive. For being loved.Frank gives David an address, says it’s twenty minutes away, and laughs when David asks if he's serious. "I'll see you there, Lieberman," Frank says, and breaks the connection. The dramatics feel oddly special, more like a game than something to be worried over, when David runs the address through Google Maps and comes up with a re-purposed block of warehouse apartments. Not a hotel or some place Frank was likely to burn after letting David in once, but a real, permanent address. David reaches the apartment in twenty seven minutes, because Frank hadn't factored local traffic into his estimate. He takes the elevator for Frank's floor, walks when he wants to run to the appropriate door, and knocks gently. It feels like he’s got an electric current running through him, something jittery and eager, not butterflies but small birds in his chest, fluttering and knocking against his ribs. Waiting in the hall feels eternal, listening to the tumble and click of the locks being undone; there sounded to be at least three, so he definitely had the right door. There's a mixture of desire and nervous fear building into an awful, jittery anxiety, the kind that makes him want to bolt or throw himself through the door the second it opens.Instead, he just stands there, staring at Frank on the other side of the door, frozen. Maybe Frank feels it too, that kind of uncertain tension, the sense that moving too fast or even slightly wrong would break some unseen thread and unravel the whole thing. They stare at each other, David in the hall and Frank in his own dim entryway, and neither of them says a damn thing, goggling at each other as they are. It can't be too long of a moment, but it feels unnaturally dilated, sparse seconds drawn into their own small infinity. In that moment David can see all of Frank, how he's clearly cleaned himself up but done nothing to hide the scrape over one brow or the olive-green bruise darkening his cheekbone. He imagines Frank can see him the same way. Frank looks good, but David's not sure the same can be said about him. He'd lost weight during the later stages of his struggle with hanahaki, but he'd put more than enough back on since. His hair is still long, wild despite his best efforts -- he'd thought it looked unruly earlier, but maybe in a charming way. Now he thinks he should have cut it, should have at least tried to keep it out of his face, he's --Frank huffs this noise, a laugh, and reaches across the threshold to take David by the hand and pull him in, and it's like a spark lighting up through him. The warm, dry brush of Frank's skin on his feels electric, impossibly focused, and David pushes without thinking, shoving Frank back into his apartment. It doesn't matter in the slightest that Frank only moves because Frank wants to move; what matters is getting through the door, Frank pushed up against the wall as they both swipe at the door to get it closed.It's a clumsy attempt at kissing to start. Frank's still trying to make sure the door gets shut so his neighbours don't get an eyeful and David's come in at the wrong angle, not used to Frank's height yet. Still, it's a damn good kiss. The hand Frank's not trying to shove the door shut with is immediately in David's hair, and he makes this sound, soft and hungry, when David tilts his head and tries again, adjusting, finding the right way to push against Frank, the angle, where to put his hands. The door clicks into place and Frank sighs against David's lips and then his tongue is in David's mouth and it's just about the best thing David's felt since the last time they kissed.It's not like kissing Sarah, not remotely. Sarah likes control, likes to put David where she wants him make sure he stays there. She kisses him like she's had a plan worked out for years and is intent on carrying that plan out to the letter; thorough and knowing and intent.For all Frank's passion and intensity, he's following David more than leading, letting David set a pace and matching it eagerly. He's hungry for it, David can read that well enough -- he's lived with Frank, had more opportunity to watch him, learn all the tells, and this is new but he knows what Frank looks like when he wants more of something. He's also caught off guard, David thinks, thrown just enough off balance to leave the reins in David's hands.Somehow that's an incredibly arousing concept, being able to catch Frank Castle off guard. Impulsively, David breaks the kiss and leans back, jerking his head up in a sort of wordless beckon. He's not entirely sure what Frank will do, if he'll even catch the meaning; his eyes are wide and dark, pupils blown wide, but David's barely got time to worry about being misinterpreted before Frank lurches forward and wedges them in against the door. All the tentativeness of the initial kissing burns up at that, Frank shoving David against the solid hardness of the door, pinning him as he shoves his face against the joint of David’s neck and shoulder, biting right above the collar of David's shirt. David thinks, absurdly, helplessly, that his beard is going to mark up Frank's face, and then Frank's licking at the bite mark and all David can do is groan."Had a whole plan worked out," Frank mutters, lips soft as he noses his way up the slender column of David's neck, finding a new place to press his teeth in, slow and inexorable as David's fingers curl against the firm muscle of his back. There's a weird balance here of gentle and savage, Frank's teeth on the tender flesh of his throat digging in until David has no choice left but to cry out, the back of his head hitting the door as he bares his throat to those teeth. "Wanted to do this right, have a little class. Christ knows you deserve it, deserve better, but fuck if you don't always find a way to ruin my plans."David can't help laughing at that, a thin, breathless noise, thinking of all the times, all the ways he's ruined plans with Frank. "Pretty sure that's a feature, not a bug," he says, panting as Frank leans against him. Close like this, David can feel every tense line in Frank's body,the heat baking off him; David can smell the soap he showers with and under that his sweat. Familiar smells, homey smells, but in a context he'd never have thought he'd get, and he's keenly aware of Frank's erection, pressed hard to his thigh, and if he can feel Frank there's no way Frank can't feel him, just as hard.Frank mutters a curse, but it's fond and desperate, like David's so fucking stupid he can't help laughing at him, even when he's got more serious matters to deal with. Then he's kissing along the edge of David's beard, uncaring of the short, bristly hair as he bites again. There's going to be bruises, and David can't find it in himself to give a shit."Got no idea how long I wanted t' do this," Frank growls, and David wants to laugh, because otherwise he might have to scream. Frank's not really given away much; Frank has a habit of playing his cards so close to his chest, David's not sure he even realizes he's doing it. Yeah, that's pretty true, maybe part of the whole issue between them; David has no way of knowing how long this might have been a mutual thing, or how much ugliness could have been avoided -- if the hanahaki itself could have been avoided -- if they'd just talked. Maybe it makes him a coward, how easily he latches on to the idea that it's easier to just say this is the world they've got and there's no point to speculating the could-haves. David's not sure his bravery, or lack thereof, matters in this, because cowardly or now, it's true; there's no changing it. And things could be much, much worse.If this has been mutual for even half as long as David's harbored his pining, angsting crush, then Frank's been sitting on his own want for months, the better part of a year, maybe. Restraining himself, holding back when they were in each other's space with no choice but to touch, doing his level best not to attract attention to his feelings. It couldn't have been difficult to pull one over on David back then; David was too busy being certain that he was dying. If this has been mutual for any length of time at all, and David imagines it must have been, Frank's been holding himself still, and he's not a man given over much to stillness. Honestly, David doesn't want to think about it very much. It's a special kind of cruel, to think about how long this might have been mutual, how much easier both their lives might have been if David had just said something. The suffering that could have been avoided if they would have sat down and talked about these things that, looking back, had clearly been stressing them both. There's no point in worrying that thought; they can't change any of it no matter what either of them might regret. His mind keeps trying to go back to it, like a tongue seeking the gap where a tooth had been, but he's had considerable practice in forcing himself back to mindfulness. This moment, all the moments they can find together in the future; that's what he wants to think about. And he's missed Frank, too."It's fine, fine, I uh," David says, voice thin as he tries to play it cool, keep himself sounding a shade calmer than he really feels. Not that it really matters, given that Frank's started mouthing over his throat, teeth scraping over his pulse point, and there's no way David can hide how hard his heart's beating. "Didn't really know what to expect, but this is fine. No complaints."Frank's chuckle always feels like a hard won reward, and David never knows exactly what will earn it. He's not exactly a laugh-a-minute kind of guy, Frank, so when David can coax it out of him that clearly, it always sends a jolt of pride through him. It never occurred to him before, how intimate it could be, knowing someone so stoic, knowing he usually didn't allow himself to show anything but anger, and being able to bring out an honest display of positive emotion."Figured you'd be a talker," Frank says, nosing along under David's beard to the other side of his neck. It's clear he's intent on leaving another set of marks on this side, the way his teeth immediately graze over the soft flesh. "Never could get you to shut up."The noise David makes starts out as a laugh, but it warps pretty quickly into something else, a whiny sort of moan as Frank starts working his hand up under David's shirt. He tugs it up out of the way so he can get his palm, hot and rough, on David's skin. He presses along David's side, curving his fingers into his skin in a light grip and then relaxing, sliding it down and back. When he nudges, David hitches willingly away from the wall so Frank can slide his fingers under the waistband of his jeans, just over the curve of his ass.It all feels exceedingly one-sided, like David's not reciprocating enough; he leans heavily into Frank and allows himself to be manhandled, brain happily shut off for the moment. His hands hand curled into the back of Frank's shirt, gripping the fabric, useless. If he's not careful, if he doesn't get a second to breathe, he thinks he might embarrass himself before Frank even gets his fly down. He's barely inside the apartment and he's suddenly worried about cumming in his unopened jeans.David's been hard-up before, he's been desperate, but this feels absurd. A whole different caliber than he's ever known. Different even than seeing Sarah after a year and change, getting fifteen minutes of time alone with her in a hotel bathroom and being unable to keep their hands off each other. He'd been quick then, too, but that felt different, that had been -- they were married. Neither of them had had anyone for over a year, despite their both loving sex. Mutual pent up frustration and the relief of being together again.He's never had more physicality with Frank than a couple almost chaste kisses in his hospital room. Everything else had involved violence, Frank injured or Frank injuring him. This excitement between them, shivering like something electric, is something new, and it seems fitting that with Frank it's all so much more intense that David was expecting.When Frank's teeth start really working into his neck again, mouth sealed to the space between the edge of David's beard and the collar of his shirt, David moans earnestly, tightening the clutch of his fingers in Frank's shirt. It takes all his will to steel himself and tug at that shirt, try and pull Frank back."If you don't stop," David says, voice faint and wrecked to his own ears, "I'm gonna cum in my pants and you're gonna laugh at me."Frank makes a low noise at that, like the thought appeals to him, and that sends a fresh bolt of arousal lancing up David's spine. He tugs again at Frank's shirt, harder, and with one last gentle kiss to his throat, Frank finally backs off. He puts just enough space between them for David to see the way he's looking at him, like he's something Frank's been after for a long time.When Frank lets up on him, he takes exactly half a step back, hands left on the wall to either side of David. It's hardly a relief; David struggles to remember why he'd thought it was a good idea to make him move away. He's never been the recipient of a look like this from a guy like Frank, hot and restrained and wanting. The last time he'd had Frank's full, undivided attention, he'd been naked and zip-tied to a chair. Every other piercing look he'd ever gotten from Frank, heated by rage or annoyance or bland, calculating interest, had been fleeting and some measure of distracted.Now he's standing, just far enough back that the only point of contact between them is David's hands still on Frank's shoulders, and those eyes are dark and hungry in the sulky light of the apartment. David had never before really believed in the concept of mixing fear and arousal; 'scared' and 'horny' were mutually exclusive states of being. But there's no escaping the memory of Frank stalking in quick and close to knock him out with a single hit, no way of forgetting that this man killed without breaking a sweat and had once wanted him dead too. There's no escaping that, anymore than he can escape the fact that he's hard as a rock and wants nothing more than for Frank to shove him back into the wall and touch him until he gets some kind of relief. And then Frank smiles, this thin little curve of an expression, ducking his head like he's got something to be shy about, and David can't keep himself from laughing. It just about tracks with them, doesn't it, to go from zero to a hundred so dizzyingly fast, just to pull back at the last moment. They have a habit, it seems, of moving too fast and then hitting the brakes; it's just never been anything outside the realms of violence Frank seemed most comfortable in. It's new, but not so new, and David figures he should have expected it, and maybe he did -- or maybe he hoped for something like it -- but that doesn't make it less funny now that it's happening.Frank's hand grazes over David's hair, brushing thick curls as he steps away, giving them both space and letting David's hands drop to his sides. He doesn't say anything to beckon David to follow him as he turns and heads into the apartment proper, but then, he really doesn't need to. David's not about to leave now.Looking around, trying not to be obvious about it, David expects to find the single couch to be hard, lumpy, otherwise uncomfortable. Frank had never seemed like a guy who cared too much about comfort -- maybe in the past, maybe before his world crashed and burned, but certainly not after. David hadn't really been joking on that long drive down to Kentucky when he'd said he thought Frank liked those god awful MREs he stocked up on. Frank seemed to value function, simple utility, over comfort. So sinking down into something that's clearly new, soft but still firm enough to be supportive and really almost indulgent, is a surprise. Certainly not an unwelcome one, but enough of one that David has to stop himself from commenting on it.Frank rummages around in the kitchen, making coffee, and when they'd been living together, that had always been a thing he wanted to do in silence. Something about the sight of him now -- the shape of the apartment throws the kitchen into shadow, but Frank doesn't bother turning on a light; he seems to know where everything is by rote, much the same as it had been in that basement -- throws David back into an old habit of silencing himself. It's clear that Frank has established himself nicely in this space. He's made it considerably more comfortable than David would have expected, given that his decorating sensibilities in their shared space had been a wall filled with guns and occasionally kicking David's things around when he got in a mood. The only sign of anything like that here was a single handgun, disassembled on the coffee table beside a copy of Men's Fitness.The apartment is small, David thinks it would be gracious to allow four-hundred-fifty square feet to the space, including the kitchenette and attached bathroom. It's economically set up, furniture designating assigned functions to the space -- the couch and coffee table, a small table with two chairs, the bed and a tall dresser in the back corner. Living room, dining room, bedroom. David can't help looking at the bed, wondering -- there's a shockingly homey-looking quilt spread over it, neatly made. Was that mattress as unexpectedly comfortable as this couch? He hoped it was, and not just because he wanted to try it out some time. Frank deserved some comfort in his life, after all the shit he'd been through.When Frank returns from the kitchen, he hands David a steaming mug as he sits beside him, and David realizes immediately that it's tea -- chamomile tea, prepared exactly the way David had always made it in the power station. There's a bizarre thrill at that, the arousal still coursing through him from being pinned to the wall minutes ago reawakened by the warmth and fragrance of tea. Something about the consideration, about Frank having tea on hand that David knows he hates, knowing how to make it and how David always prepares it. Teaspoon of honey and just enough milk to cloud it. Not the kind of thing that would usually get David's blood thumping, but when has anything with Frank worked with David's usual sensibilities? He finds himself curling his fingers against the ceramic of the mug, taking a sip just to ground himself. The idiotic urge to launch himself across the couch in spite of them both having steaming hot beverages in hand wanes, but not as much as David would have liked. For several long minutes, it's a lot like being back in that basement, if a little warmer, a little less damp and better lit. They sit close but not close enough to touch accidentally, and they neither look at one another nor speak. Months together in the power station had given then a habit, and silence was part of that. Silence had done them no favours, companionable though it now felt, and there's an odd flutter of anxiety, of doubt in David's chest, tickling his throat like the beginning of a cough at the idea that Frank was going along to get along now just as he had back then. He'd made concessions back then, too, staying with David; he'd been willing to alter his plans or listen to advice and direction if it benefited one or both of them somehow. He'd even agreed, before things went to hell, to go to Madani if she proved not to be another corrupt dead end. Taking another sip of tea, he quashes the urge to cough. It's something he's gotten quite good at, even if his breath hitches in his chest a few times before he can make himself silently exhale. Not as good as the cough not trying to happen at all, but an improvement. "So," he says after a second, lowering his mug to his lap, cupped in both hands as he glances at Frank. He's surprised to see Frank watching him closely, eyes still dark, heat backing the directness of his gaze. "Uh. What was -- you mentioned having a plan? Was it...?" he lifts his cup a little and then settles his hands back in his lap, mug nestled between them, and tries not to let the glide of Frank's tongue over his lips distract him. It's doomed to fail, trying not to be fixedly aroused by the other man's proximity when his throat still ached from bitemarks left by those teeth. "Was gonna get you dinner first," Frank finally says. David remembers, keenly, being strapped to a chair and listening to Frank outline the truth of torture. He sounds much the same now, same kind of flat, inexorable delivery. A cause and an effect. Do this to get to that. "Wanted you to suggest ordering in, but we could go out somewhere, whatever you want. Then come back here, watch a movie maybe."Probably says something telling about David as a person, how that gets his blood going, fingers tightening on the curve of his mug. He knows his cheeks are bound to be heated above his beard, thanks god his grip on the mug hides his lap from Frank's angle. Frank probably wants this response, is almost certainly enjoying himself very much -- he'd seemed to enjoy making David uncomfortable before -- but it also seems risky still, to act on it. After all, Frank had shown readily enough on multiple occasions, his willingness to violently correct David's behaviour if he didn't like what David was doing. If David tried to move wrong, would he lash out? If Frank wasn't actually into this and David touched him out of turn, would he knock him out again?There's no way in hell he can smother the cough this time, but it's brief, quiet. Frank's whole demeanor changes in an instant, both relaxing and readying himself, the fire behind his eyes becoming that fiercely protective brand of concern that David had seen last when Frank had realized something was wrong with what the array was showing in the Lieberman house. He looks ready to leap into action, assessing for a threat, trying to plan for an attack he clearly doesn't know how to make.Something about that is so reassuring, something about the way Frank looks at him that says better than words could that Frank was not acting on anything other than instinct so basic he couldn't be cunning with it. It superseded his ability to act -- that hot-blooded stare and seductive lip-licking was the act, not the caring, not the love. This wasn't some kind of pity thing, it couldn't be.David leans forward sharply and sets his mug, mostly empty now, on the coffee table, trying to gather himself. Coughing fits, even short ones like that, still made his breastbone ache, and he needs a second to calm his expression against the tight, deep thrum of that pain. When he looks at Frank, he plans on saying something measured, something that cuts past the inclination to bring up any complicated emotional matters. This was the first time they'd spent real time together where there was no existent threat limiting what they could go out and do, no hidden feelings limiting what they could say. David hadn't exactly been banking on Frank wanting to sleep with him, but he was a tactile guy by nature and Frank shoving him into a wall and marking up his neck had done plenty to get him fired up. He's honestly not certain if he wants to sleep with Frank or just sit with him like this, as long as he's allowed. "How long did you --" David's throat seizes on the words, that damnable tightness in his chest making him pause, lowering his head so he can clear his throat. It's stupid to ask this; it's stupid, too, to leave it unasked. "You knew, uh, when you got to the hospital, you said your mom's friend... How long did you know?"The silence he gets is expected, heavy as Frank considers. David knew he wouldn't have a response on hand, but he wasn't sure why it mattered so much, either, and that silence goes on long enough for him to start regret asking. He's trying to think of the best way to retract the question, or at least sound less childishly accusatory about it. After all, he'd made the same decision, not to tell Frank what was happening or why, so he certainly didn't mean it to sound like he felt anything should have been handled differently."I was healin' up from Kentucky," Frank says finally, softer. When David looks at him, his eyes are trained on their mugs, mismatched, sitting on the coffee table next to a disassembled handgun and a dog-eared magazine. "You were watching your family, and you coughed something bloody into a napkin, tossed it. Got worried then. Kept happening, longer things went on. I thought it -- I figured it was. Sarah. Never occurred -- I woulda said somethin'. I woulda, anything I coulda done, David, but I fuckin'... It had t' be Sarah, I figured."There's always been something about Frank's eyes. They're cold, is the thing; David had always thought brown eyes were uniquely soulful, dark and magnetic, but Frank's were flinty. Even when he was angry, maybe especially then, there was this distance to  the way he looked at people, a personal separation of himself from the rest of the world. His gaze got to be difficult to meet, started to feel like a challenge that could quickly turn violent, like the steely gaze of a dog raised to fight.Now though, the look he's giving David is soft, the line of his brow a different pain than he's ever let David see. David wonders, suddenly, if Frank's been beating himself up over this, that Catholic upbringing twisting back to the forefront, making this his fault. They'd both made a choice, they'd both known the priority, and they'd been right, David thinks. He has to think, because considering otherwise is too cruel to either of them. There had been no room for romance or tenderness or acknowledging their falling into something like love while they were still figuring out how to find and kill Rawlins and restore David's name."I shoulda done better by you, David," Frank says, and David bites back an unfortunately timed urge to laugh. Hysterics seems an almost fair response, all things taken into consideration. It feels like a cliff they’re walking along the edge of, and it’s necessary to have this discussion, but talking about the time they’d spent together, the emotional turmoil, the things unsaid -- it feels a lot like stepping off that cliff and dragging Frank with him.Sometimes, though, there’s no real choice but to take that dive and hope for a soft landing. It doesn’t seem like too much to hope, just now, that Frank might do what he can to allow that softness. David leans over and slips his hand under Frank's, lacing their fingers together. The physical contact helps, life some of Frank’s unshakable solidity transfers through contact. "You had no reason to think you weren't doing the best thing possible."He can't help thinking about Frank putting honey and fruit cups on the desk in front of him, standing over him to make sure he finished that first serving of pineapple. Thinks about all the times he caught Frank watching him and pretended not to, chalking it up as part of Frank's unending need to assess threat. All the little excuses his mind had eagerly come up with and reinforced to prove keeping his mouth shut was the best option.This is long overdue, he thinks. He needs to says these things, and he’s pretty sure Frank needs to hear them. He just has to hope the ugly little voice in his head telling him he’s a fool, telling him Frank will run if he starts talking -- telling him anyone would run, and they’d be right to. That’s the same hissing, cruel voice that had told him to give in and choke when the hanahaki was at its worst, and it’s no more honest now than it was then.“I’ve got some stuff I need to say, if uh, if you’re okay with listening,” David says, and revels in the easy tightening of Frank’s fingers against his own as he nods.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

There’s a moment of easy quiet, sitting together with their hands loosely entangled. It feels good, encouraging, and David basks in it. It’s easy to be still when moving might make Frank pull away.Then, Frank's fingers curl against his, and David sighs, uncertain all over again. He's developed, in the last few years, a terrible habit of getting too deep in his own head, overthinking everything. He looks too hard at far-flung hypotheticals and creates catastrophes to work through mentally so he won't be caught off guard trying to figure them out on the fly. There's a part of him now that sees threats everywhere, in every shadow, in the tones of everyone else's voice, in the subtle ways casual conversation can be misconstrued and misinterpreted. It was easy, he'd learned, to make decisions behind a screen, responding to a threat well after the fact, figuring out how to fix what was already broken or clean the mess left behind without ever being directly at risk himself.Somehow, after hiding out alone for a year and then working almost that long with Frank Castle as his only real companion, David has become obsessed with the idea of preventing those messes before they can be made at all. Knowing that such a mission is completely impossible does nothing to stop him.“I mean, for what it’s worth, I’ve been trying to pretend I wasn’t, uh, into you for pretty much ever,” he says, feeling his face heat up and watching, helpless to look away, as Frank sits up a little straighter, eyes narrowing as his lips press together. He always looks suspicious when he’s confused, and it’s way more endearing than it should be. “I went into this knowing I had a type.”The scoff that gets is familiar, as is the jerk of Frank’s head, nose wrinkled and eyes rolling as he looks away. Frank, saying David’s talking shit without actually bothering to say a single word. After a few seconds of staring at the far wall, he looks back to David and says in tones of disbelieving condescension, “I knocked you out and tied you to a fuckin’ chair when we met. How’s that your type?” A fair question. In truth, that whole scene had been helpful, at first, in keeping David from thinking of Frank as a guy he could realistically develop feelings for. Being attracted to him, that was fine; emotional attachment would be nothing but trouble. For those first few hours, tied to that chair, Frank hadn’t been a man at all, just a threat.But, afterwards, especially after the shitshow trying to get Frank’s weapons, it was too easy to build on the foundation of what he’d seen in Frank before they’d met. Frank wanted everyone to see him as something to be scared of, unapproachable and full of rage. "I think I sorta fell in love with... a part of you before we ever met in person," he confesses quietly. It feels important, now, sort of like leveling the playing field, to make sure Frank understands how deep this goes, how far back it had all started. "I never really thought you'd, ah. I never thought it could come to anything. But I like tenacity, you know? Conviction. Love seeing proactive problem solving. I watched... god, I watched just about everything I could about you, the trial, classified surveillance footage; I read all the briefs and reports and every single file I could get a hold of once I got the idea of reaching out to you in my head."He smiles ruefully, and it's difficult, keeping himself from looking away. He feels a little like a stalker, saying it flat like that, how he'd sat down one lonely morning, back in the early days, cold and alone and talking to himself because there was no one else, pouring over every scrap of information he could get a hold of about the now infamous Punisher. Putting all the dots together, figuring out who Frank was... there had been something, even then. A spark, a fixation, this sense of approval deep in his gut when he understood what Frank had been doing and why. Doesn't help that Frank's looking at him the way he is. David would expect irritation, maybe even outright anger, but Frank's eyes are warm and sincere, vulnerable in a way he's never allowed himself to be with David before. He looks confused by David's words, but not skeptical, like he doesn't exactly understand but it willing to accept whatever David says on faith. Humbling doesn't even begin to cover it there.So David pushes on. "I knew I was going to be really fucked when I watched you with Sarah, that first time. When she -- when you got her to -- uh," David makes a useless gesture with his free hand, still holding Frank's with his other, trying to imitate a crash. "The thing with the car, when you first met her. You coulda been a real bastard to her, you were just there to get intel, but you were decent."He makes a face, feeling like he's tangling this up wrong, botching it. "Okay, staging an accident was kind of shitty, but you -- it could have done so much worse. And Sarah liked you, could see that a mile away, so I loved you for putting that look back on her face."That was true, pure and plain. Watching Frank with Sarah that first time had been so harrowing, so unexpected and therefore horrific, that David had rushed immediately out, ready to give the whole game away if he had to, if it meant protecting his family. He hadn't had to, he should have known that from everything he'd known about Frank, and when he'd scrubbed through the footage later, alone, he'd watched Sarah's face, seen that cautious hope as she talked to Frank. Hope that people were still worth the effort, that the whole world wasn't spoiling to be her enemy.What he'd felt in that moment hadn't been love in the way he loved Frank now. Alone, well on his way to drunk in a dark, cold, damp basement he was slowly turning into a habitable space with trash-picked furniture and camping equipment, what he'd felt for Frank was gratitude so profound it had been dizzying.How could he not love a man who had the decency to at least be kind when dealing with a woman who believed she was a widow? Frank had nothing to gain, really, being gentle with Sarah, treating her with casual kindness, like a potential friend, but he had. He'd been good to her, for no reason other than the fact that, in spite of what Frank wanted people to think, Frank Castle was a good man.And it's weird, in a nice sort of way, to see the way that hits Frank, sinking in slow but taking deep root, David thinks. Disbelief and something hopeful under it, like Frank's not sure he can allow himself to think that David had really believed in him from the start. David recognizes that look, having spent enough time with Frank to know how complicated the man's relationship with his own morality was."You were always good to her," David finds himself explaining, because it's true and because he doesn't think Frank gets that. He can see in the way Frank's head is tilting to the side again, confusion and suspicion in the lines of his face. "Her and the kids, And to me. You coulda killed me, back at the beginning. Coulda have decided I was too big a risk and killed me instead of tying me up. Coulda killed me any time after that, 'n I know I pushed your buttons a lot."Frank makes a noise, uncomfortable or uncertain, and David shakes his head, looking down at his cup. When Frank doesn't say anything beyond that little noise, he lets himself continue, because silence was never comfortable for him and because he's suffered in silence long enough."You stuck by me, though. You decided to help me and you never quit. I got sick and I know you didn't appreciate a lot of me trying to help you out, but even when we got into it, you kept... takin' care of me." He doesn't explain that it was a new thing, being the one taken care of. He doesn't explain that it's always been an even exchange, his anxiety and Sarah's steady planning working together to cover each other's blind spots. He doesn't explain that no one has ever risked themselves for him the way Frank was ready to from the start, with or without selfish motives in the mix. Those are things he doesn't know how to say. They're also things he doesn't know he could tolerate listening to Frank refute or explain away."I thought you were being a prick, you know, telling me to wait by the van? At that place down in Kentucky, the cabin?"Glancing at Frank again shows Frank nodding, like he'd known. Probably he'd wanted David to think that he was being an ass; David's learned well enough that Frank doesn't necessarily want people to know he's taking care of them. Frank seems dead set on making most people think he's more weapon than human, and knowing that helps keep David from wallowing in the memory of how that had felt, how it had stung. He'd felt dismissed and unwanted, and it had hurt, the way it always hurt to realize how much more you like someone than they liked you.David would never explain that out loud. It feels too childish even now, and certainly had seemed infantile then, given all the incredibly serious shit they were dealing with. Frank's much too good at the Catholic art of turning other people's emotional pain into proof of his own shortcomings, so David will keep it to himself, illuminating though it feels to process that old pain through in his head."Then I went up after you. I saw what it was like. Watched a lot of it happen with the drone, but it was..." He swallows, shakes his head. He keeps thinking about what Frank had looked like when he'd finally caught up to him and Gunner, the pain that seemed to have more to do with Gunner than his own injuries. "Seeing it, seeing what those traps did, what you'd had to do. You left me with the van to keep me safe, and I was so fucking glad then, that I'd made you take me, that I was there to leave that safety and get you back to the van, but I was also just... glad you'd made me stay behind."His face is burning, and he can quite make himself check Frank's expression again. He's talked about stuff like this before, vulnerable emotional revelations, but rarely with the person they made him vulnerable to and never with someone as stoic and emotionally walled off as Frank. He keeps expecting him to laugh or tell him to shut up.It doesn't help, knowing that Frank won't. It just makes him feel more foolish, makes his own emotional unrest feel strange, more like a weakness. His chest feels tight again, just for a moment, and he forces out a deep breath to attempt centering himself."That was when it got bad. I think I could have dealt with the crush, but there was this moment, seeing you hurt, because you went in and kept me safe by telling me to hang back -- fuck, I don't know if it makes sense. I couldn't... it wasn't a crush anymore, it was something twisted up, something... I started coughing on the drive back, and by the time I went to get Curtis, I was choking every couple minutes. And I knew, I knew there was no way what I felt was mutual, so it was better --"The words break off abruptly in a fresh bout of coughing, David turning his head sharply to direct the dry, wheezing cough into the crook of his elbow. It still hurts, coughing that way, and it embarrasses him. They'd told him, when he was being released from the hospital, to expect this. It was a psychosomatic stress response, something to monitor but that would most likely be meaningless, as relapse was almost entirely unheard of.Maybe that was calming to hear for other patients, but David couldn't help thinking that he'd already beat the odds by contracting and living through hanahaki, so what was a little more bad luck in that arena?It was encouraged to talk about the feelings he'd had, the circumstances he'd been in, his emotional state then and now. Therapy, or something like it, and exactly who David was supposed to sit down and talk about spending a year living and falling in love with The Punisher, he couldn't imagine. Were there therapists who dealt with friends of criminal vigilantes? Even if there were, it was too dangerous to tell anyone he had any history with Frank.That meant talking to Sarah or talking to Frank. Sarah was willing to listen, but he felt like he was feeding her anxieties with his own bullshit. They'd talked a little about what it had been like, and she'd cried and called him a jackass and grit her teeth in that way that meant she was fighting the urge to call him worse, and that had barely glossed over any detail, just bullet points. Frank doesn't talk much, and maybe that should make this all feel that much more awkward, dredging up old shit and saying things he should have said at the time or not at all, but really, it doesn't. Put it plain, Frank had never talked much, and if he started now, that would make it weird. Frank always either listened with a sort of rapt, eerie attention, picking up every detail like he'd been filing every nuance of information away, or he completely fucking ignored David and let him talk to fill the silence.In a way, Frank maintaining that typical silent attention makes this all easier. There might be sunlight streaming through the blinds and the furniture they're sitting on is maybe a hell of a lot more comfortable that anything they'd dragged back to that basement, but otherwise, this feels familiar and comfortable. Private, the two of them alone in the world, dealing with their shit. It's always been like this between them, or it could have been, if they'd admitted to wanting this closeness, this openness.David hasn't actually been this comfortable, physically, since he left Frank at the power station to go rescue Leo. The only time he'd been back there since had been to scrape what was left of Frank off the floor, and that hadn't exactly been a soothing experience. He's missed this, missed Frank and the feeling of the whole world being far away and less than important compared to the human connection of Frank sitting nearby.The coughing hurts and he's burning up with embarrassment at having a coughing fit like that in front of Frank, but it's not all bad. It can't be all bad, not if Frank's going to keep touching him, easy and casual and undeniably fond, little gestures that make it impossible to latch onto the ever-present suspicion that Frank was just humoring him to keep him from throwing in the towel and letting a disease be the thing that kills him so early.Like the big, warm press of Frank's hand on his back now; that helps a lot, more than David could ever begin to explain. David doesn't imagine Frank's too terribly familiar with taking care of sick people -- his knowledge of healthcare seemed to extend just far enough to manage the very basics of emergency first aid -- but he didn't panic or get frustrated by David's persistent coughing, he didn't try to thump him on the back, and he didn't scramble to put distance between them under the guise of getting David water. He just presses his hand in the space between David's shoulder blades and rubs in slow circles, constant, quiet contact until the coughing tapers off.He doesn't say anything, not in response to David and not in an attempt to change the subject. He doesn't ask if David needs to stop or wants to leave. He just touches him, grounding and comforting, until the coughing eases.Then his hand slides up and around, over David's shoulder and into his beard, fingers pressing against his jaw to gently coax David into meeting his eyes again. Such expressive eyes, probably way more expressive than Frank likes. Definitely more expressive than David had expected before they'd met in person. They're kind, now, creased at the edges as Frank squints at him, trying to suss out some truth from the look of him, more concern than confusion now. It's a soft look, soft like they were when he showed up in David's hospital room to ask if this was how he wanted to die."I'm sorry I hurt you," Frank says after a moment, quiet but incredibly sincere in a way that makes David's chest feel tight and hot in a wholly different way than the coughing does. Frank doesn't apologize for much; Frank doesn't generally allow himself to do things he'd ever warrant an apology for, and even if that means being an asshole, he expects people to accept it. When he hurts people, he means to do it, and he's not sorry for it."You kept me safe," David says, emphatic, shifting one leg up on the couch so he's twisted inward, facing Frank. "You weren't the one hurting me, Frank. You weren't."Maybe that's true, maybe it's not. David's been trying to pick that particular knot of intention and emotion apart for a while now, and it's pretty impenetrable. It's a convoluted sort of tangle, because the truth of the matter is that Frank did  say and do some pretty shitty things with the express intent of hurting David, and there's no way around that. The problem there is, David went into their working relationship already aware of Frank being the sort of man who did things trying to keep everyone distant. Frank made himself as harsh and cruel as he could intentionally trying to make himself unapproachable and unlikable, because he thought that was the best way to keep people safe from himself. The more he thought he might be able to have a positive relationship with someone, the more he fought it, trying to keep outsiders from getting swept up in his unending shitshow of a life. Casual cruelty and hurtful jibes were all part of the Frank Castle Total Package, and David had known it. He'd noted it, intended to keep himself focused on getting through their time together as a mission, and then he'd gone ahead and fallen in love anyway.So yes, Frank had hurt him, and he'd meant to do it, but David had expected and accepted those hurts. Suffering the slights and injuries that came from Frank was the price David willingly, happily paid for the privilege of being allowed to share space with Frank, his partner and his confidant.The intentionally hurtful things weren't what ultimately fucked David up, and that's where the knot gets really unmanageable. David expected Frank to try pushing him away, to wall himself off and make living together uncomfortable and unpleasant. Frank wasn't going to just suddenly become un-traumatized and perfectly functional just because someone refused to be shoved away.It wasn't going to be any kind of fun, and David never meant it to be; Frank was a means to an end. Sounded cold to say flat that way, but David knew he was hardly a magic cure to make someone as damaged as Frank feel like making friends or being social. Knowing that hurt a little, but it was a relief too, because at the very least David could have his little crush safely in private, no worrying that Frank would ever know or care. Certainly nothing would ever come of it.Which made every little slip in Frank's icy mask, every moment where Frank forgot to put his walls up, when they laughed together over some stupid joke or cooked for each other or Frank came to stand over David to make sure he was okay when he woke up hungover or the coughing had gotten particularly bad... every break in the facade of Frank not giving a shit, that hurt. David had no defense for it, for the tiny, unkillable hope that Frank might secretly -- secret as David's own hidden feelings, maybe -- actually give a damn about him.Frank being kind, Frank smiling or joking or fixing up breakfast when David was too goddamn tired or hungover made Frank human. He wasn't a weapon or a monster or the killing machine stalking the streets, he was just a damaged human being who needed a friend. It slipped under David's own armor, made him fall in love over and over, until it reached the point where everything was either a high or a low. There was the rush of Frank's approval, Frank smiling, Frank pleased with him. And then there was the crushing agony of Frank pissed off because David fucked up, said the wrong thing. Frank laughing made David feel on top of the world, then two hours later Frank kicked a chair across the room or storming out entirely. Eventually it got to the point where this little voice started up in David's head, cruel and insidious. A little voice that said maybe it would be better to just give up, choke, just lay down and die rather than keep doing this -- and David started to believe it.Maybe he should try explaining that. God knows he's already said enough stupid emotional shit today, when this had started out so pleasant and easy a visit. Maybe he should, but he doesn't really know how. Before he'd been allowed to leave the hospital, he'd been required to speak to a counselor. It had been a meeting he'd not looked forward to, one he figured would involve a lot of unwanted prying or him having to lie about too many personal things to avoid talking about Frank or anything real. Ultimately, it had been a good experience, refreshing. It's okay not to be able to say everything, the counselor had told him, her voice gentle without sounding patronizing. The important thing is to say what you can, as much as you can. It's like muscle training, Mr. Lieberman; you have to find your limits and then, little by little, you can start to push them.His limits feel sufficiently pushed, anxiety wired through him and every inhale accompanied by that all too familiar tickle of a cough waiting to happen. Part of him is relieved by how calmly Frank's sat back and listened to all this, part of him wishes it had warranted some kind of reaction, even if that reaction was anger. Most of him is just kind of scared that he's already pushing Frank away with his bullshit, that the calm Frank presents is Frank's way of withdrawing himself to plan an exit strategy.It's disingenuous of him, he knows, and that's part of the whole fucked up emotive cycle that's accompanied the last few months of steadily improving health. When he is open about how he feels, he immediately expects the worst reaction, and when he doesn't get that reaction, his mind runs wild trying to figure out why, how this is going to go worse than he'd expected in the long run. He supposes his life has been shit for so long, his brain has just reset the baseline accordingly.One of the other things the counselor has told him before he'd left the hospital was that it was important to reward himself for making the effort to talk about his emotions, especially where the hanahaki was concerned. She'd said that positive reinforcement of emotional vulnerability was important to recovery with disorders like hanahaki, and David figures that makes a good deal of sense.At this point, he figures he's earned some positive reinforcement."So, you were gonna buy me dinner, huh," he asks, clearing his throat to push past the imminent cough. "Little old school, don't you think?"It's charming, honestly -- it always was, but somehow more now that he can allow himself to enjoy it -- watching Frank's brain switch tracks. There's always a moment, however brief, where he looks briefly lost, and then he cottons on to the change in subject or tone, adjusts accordingly. This time, David can see the faintest trace of colour blooming on Frank's face, a brightness in his dark eyes. The way Frank licks his lips is very clearly not meant to be sensual, but it comes across that way regardless, and David doesn't bother pretending not to stare."Suppose I could take you to a bar, but I've seen you wasted enough times already," Frank says, something prim in the growl of his voice, like he's too proper to want to get someone drunk on the first date. Maybe any date. It makes David grin. "B'sides, I don't want you drunk."That's really almost too easy, low hanging fruit, but David can't help leaning in a little and asking, "So how do you want me?"He's not disappointed by Frank's reaction; the colour in his face darkens, red all the way to the tips of his ridiculous ears. There's a moment of stillness, and David has enough time to wonder if Frank wasn't the sort of guy who just shuts down when he really gets embarrassed, before one big hand grabs him by the front of his shirt and hauls him across the couch. “Don’t see how it matters. Always fuckin’ ruin my plans anyway," Frank growls, pulling David half into his lap and kissing him again, and god, yeah, that's the kind of positive reinforcement he was hoping for. Frank's hand is warm against the back of his neck, fingers tangled in the curls of David's hair, and his mouth his shockingly gentle for how hungry his kissing is. David's pulse goes up again, not because he's scared or anxious now, and it's nice. Nice, the way Frank lets him pull himself the rest of the way into his lap, the way they're cockeyed on the couch now with David curled over Frank, the way he's encouraged to take some measure of control with every agreeable sigh and hum from Frank. It feels good, being held and kissed, pinning Frank rather than being pinned. David's surprised by how easy Frank seems to be with the loss of control, how quickly he yields when David deepens the kiss and settles on his thighs. Frank takes it like it's what he wants, what he'd been hoping for, David in control, David setting the pace. Really, David supposes that tracks too. He'd never really thought of Frank as the kind of person who'd want touch, but he clearly is -- he shivers when David brushes his thumb along the edge of his jaw, chases David's kisses with opened mouth intensity. He's starved for it in a way David couldn't have anticipated, and it makes something bitter and sore clench and then relax in David, wasted time, missed opportunity, a past they can never fix or make up to each other, faded to nothing much in the wake of Frank's eager reception of David's affection in the present.And starved for it though Frank may be, David’s had more opportunity than most to see the tight leash Frank keeps himself on. He never asks for things he doesn’t think are strict needs, and certainly not for affection, a gentle touch. David might have imagined Frank being a confidant, take-charge man in the bedroom, and maybe he was, once. It’s not exactly disappointing to realize Frank wants David to call the shots here. There's things David wants that they're going to have to figure out later. Sex is a good promise, and he's eager to bask in that now, eager to try to comfort of Frank's bed, eager to share that intimate space with him, but David's going to want assurance that Frank's not going to disappear again, he's going to want to talk about what Frank expects from this, how to keep this fair for Sarah too. It's good, though, god, it's distractingly good, Frank holding on and rocking up against him like he can't help himself. He's getting hard, and David's in the perfect position to feel it, his own blood heating at the realization that Frank hasn't exaggerated anything. He wants David. They both want this. It's real, and it's his, if he takes it."Tell me, Frank," David breathes, fascinated by how Frank's eyes squeeze tighter shut, the embarrassment clear and growing on his face. "Hey, c'mon. Tell me how you want me."Frank makes this noise, then, soft and thin, the kind of noise David would never believe came from a guy like Frank if he hadn't just heard it. Frank's gone so tense and so still under David that he's trembling, ever so slightly, and for a moment David's worried he's pushed too fast or too far. Frank might want someone else in charge, but that means it's David's job to watch out for his limits, because god knows Frank's not going to watch out for himself. But when David tries to sit back a little, give Frank some space, the hand curled against the back of his neck tightens, holding him, and Frank shakes his head minutely. David goes obediently still, watching Frank work through whatever has him frozen."Gimme a minute," Frank says, words dragged out rough through gritted teeth. He's breathing in tight controlled breaths; in through the nose, held for a few seconds, the out through his mouth. It's not exactly comforting -- it looks like Frank's having a very quiet, locked-down panic attack, with his eyes closed tight and and his breathing so artificially regulated. David supposes he shouldn't read into it too far; as much as he appreciated Frank giving him a moment when the coughing got bad, Frank seems to relax a little when David doesn't continue to pull away. The stroke of David's thumb, gentle pressure in a sweeping, steady arch, over the jut of Frank's collarbone seems to help too. Bit by bit, Frank relaxes, tension easing on his face.Moments pass. David can still feel definite interest from Frank, practically baking off him when David slowly slips his hand up so he's cradling the back of Frank's head, easing him into turning his face up toward David's. After a few minutes, Frank opens his eyes and exhales a steadied, slow breath. His eyes are focused, sharp again, intense enough that David feels colour creeping into his own cheeks as Frank stares him down."Before, I wanted to get on my knees and..." Frank starts, then closes his mouth, frowning. His voice is stilted, however much calmer he looks, but he pushes through. "When you started kissing me, back by the door, I wanted -- I knew better, but I wanted to, right there. I wanna do that, now."Stilted, barely expressing what Frank's after, and yet somehow the words make David hot, blood rushing straight to his dick. It more than does the trick; it actually takes just about every scrap of self control David's got to keep himself right where he is, rather than jumping up and getting his pants open. His fingers tighten where they rest on Frank, and he leans in for another kiss, keeping it slow and hungry.It'd be fun, David thinks, to try making Frank say what he wants. Really say it, in explicit detail, so David could watch him get redder and more fidgety as he struggles with the words. Maybe David would go down on him while he was talking, do whatever it was Frank managed to make himself say; maybe he'd just feel him up. Maybe nothing at all, make him get it all the way out of his mouth before rewarding the effort at all.There's a lot of fun they could have, between Frank's eagerness to follow David's orders and his obvious embarrassment over being made to verbally confess what he has in mind. David's starting to get the idea that Frank might let him do a good deal of teasing, but as much as he likes that idea, he's been waiting to be in this position -- or one similar -- for over a year. Most of that time might have been spent in a good deal of spiritual, emotional, and physical agony, and until very recently actually being here had been a pipe dream at best, but it's real now, and everything feels fine. The offer is there between them, openly and willingly made, and David's sure as hell not going to risk it slipping through his fingers because he got greedy.He kisses Frank with all the careful thoroughness he can muster, enjoying the way Frank's hands move on him, one in the mess of his hair and the other possessively gripping the curve of his ass. When David pulls back from the kiss, Frank's lips stay parted, eyes hazy as he leans up after David, chasing it. This is theirs now. They're allowed to to have this, a moment of purely pleasant, enjoyable physicality. No more pining, no more wishing for a better opportunity; they've made it through all the bullshit and David's not going to let this go. "Where d'you want me," he asks, smiling even as he bites back yet another impulsive laugh that threatens when Frank furrows his brow. The man is too easy to tease. "Your house your rodeo. Whatever you want, Frank."Frank grunts, tongue darting over his lips as he looks up at David and jerks his head to the side, toward the back of the couch and the bed beyond. "I get you on that bed, this's gonna go a lot further 'n me suckin' you off," he says, like that's not massively appealing. It's a lot more concrete, too, the direct promise of Frank's mouth on him making David squirm. "Sit on th' couch, lemme make room."David nods, willing, not trusting himself to talk. Not when there's good things he might accidentally distract from with his everlasting mouth.Getting back on his feet, he barely manages to keep from tripping as he backs away a step and drops onto the middle seat of the couch, hands already working his belt. Frank is more graceful, standing as David's plopping down so he shove the coffee table out of the way before getting on the floor between David's knees.Looking down at him, feeling the weight and warmth of his hands on David's thighs, the moment feels surreal. Frank is always gorgeous, even when he's scary -- sometimes especially when he's scary -- but like this there's a rare sort of vulnerability to him. The little frown and the crease between his brows isn't annoyance or confusion but a considerate hesitation; his thumbs press into the denim of David's jeans like he's looking for an anchor. There's a tenderness here in this moment that makes David want to cup Frank's cheek and draw him back up, let him pin David to the couch so they can kiss until neither of them can breathe. Bask in the softness, the rare moment of quiet, let it draw out that way.Part of David really wants that, the romance of it. Most of him still just wants a blowjob.He’s pretty sure Frank wants it too. Frank doesn't rush him, but his eyes are bright when he meets David's gaze, and there's a familiar fire in them, that eagerness and willing that would light him up when they were planning an attack back in that basement. Frank, eager for action, but not violence this time.David doesn't waste anymore time, hands quick on the buckle of his belt, nudging it out of the way before popping the fly and yanking down the zipper. Frank's hands shift, then, rubbing along his inseam before drifting upward, fingers and thumbs for a moment framing David's bulge, and then he's gripping the waistband of David's jeans, yanking them down. Complaint, eager, David arches up to his trousers can be dragged out of the way, limiting how far he can spread his legs, freeing his cock. There's a breathless moment where Frank hovers close but doesn't touch, and then he takes the base in one hand and closes the distance, licking hot and wet at the tip. He closes his mouth around the very top of David's cock, sucking gently, and David thinks he's going to go completely insane. It's a tease, which David's probably earned but which he doesn't expect, and when he tries to buck his hips, Frank leans in further using his free arm to brace against David's stomach, pinning him. All Frank's focus, all that lethal potential, is zeroed in on David, on the messy, wet kisses he’s lavishing along the length of David’s cock as he works his way to the base. He noses at the crease of David's thigh, making David really wish he could spread his legs further. Frank's breathing against the skin like he wants to imprint David's smell in his nose before leaning back and finally taking David into his mouth properly. "Oh fuck," David says, breath catching, one hand clutched beside him, knuckles digging into the fabric of the couch while his other hand pets over the fine hairs at the back of Frank's neck. It's good, so much better than his imagination and left hand. Frank holds him against the couch, bobbing his head noisily; no more teasing, just glorious, in-it-to-win-it suction, wet and hot and perfect. David's completely lost. He's aware he's still talking, but he's not really in control of that, he rarely is when he’s getting it good. Sarah had always appreciated the feedback, until they'd had kids, after which she bought a gag. Here, there's no one to catch them and no one but neighbours to complain, and Frank does nothing to discourage him. After a few moments, Frank removes the hand on David's stomach, angling his eyes to meet David’s stunned gaze before pushing himself down, taking as much of David’s dick into his mouth as he can, tongue working against the underside in a way that’s too good to keep still through. David’s fingers curl against the back of Frank’s neck and his hips twitch up, not quite a thrust but close enough David starts to form an apology, cut off by Frank groaning encouragingly.There’s a very base, reactive pleasure to that; the fact that Frank can’t get all of David’s dick into his mouth easily, the fact that he clearly likes David’s lack of control or courtesy now that he’s hit his rhythm. Frank’s hands are clenched tight against David’s knees, bracing there as he works, and when David’s fingers slide up along the back of his head, nudging him further on each downstroke so he can feel the flutter of Frank’s throat around the head of his cock, Frank moans again. It’s good. It’s a hell of a lot better than David would have anticipated. He figured Frank would want to move slower, if they got to something like this and David wasn’t the one on his knees, Frank’s effort would be sloppy, first-time-hesitance and red-faced reluctance. This is definitely not Frank’s first time, and there’s no trace of reluctance; David has no idea who Frank’s been practicing on, and all things considered, he probably doesn’t want to ask. Leaning back against the couch, David keeps his hold on the back of Frank’s head, rocking up into his mouth, following Frank’s rhythm as best as he can. In the normal course of things for him, he’s finally beyond words, just panting at the ceiling as he squeezes his eyes shut and chases it. He can’t get a grip on Frank’s hair, so he tugs at his ear, choking out some choppy warning as orgasm comes barreling over him. He doesn’t know what he expects. Frank’s not the sort to do anything but see a job all the way through, comfort be damned. Somehow the feeling of Frank continuing to suck at David’s cock, slower but no less tight and focused, still manages to blindside him. A few years ago, the sensation of Frank swallowing his cum and seemingly trying for more would have David hard again in minutes, but as it is he finds himself oversensitive, Frank’s slow withdrawal almost painful.Frank rests his temple against David’s thigh, panting as he gets into his own jeans, and David wishes he could see him better, watch the way he works his own cock. He can hear the wet sound of Frank jacking himself, but can only watch the colour deepen on Frank’s face, tension drawing tighter around his eyes as he gasps through his own orgasm. That’s weirdly flattering too, Frank getting off so quick after sucking David off, like he’s too turned on to last. They stay like that for a long while, getting their breath back. David’s pants are still open and halfway down his thighs, Frank stays resting on his knees between David’s legs, leaning against him. David’s fingers pet idly over the back of Frank’s head, and he’s surprised at how comfortable he feels, how comfortable they both seem. He would have expected Frank to be the sort to recover too quick and find some way of walling himself back up, rather than leaning into David’s touch and soak up the easy, quiet affection. “God, I wanted that for a while,” Frank says, soft and pleased. His voice is a little worn, rasping at the edges in a way that fans David’s ego. David thinks about teasing a little more. Asking how long, why he never made a move. He’s too lazy, too post-orgasm relaxed, to try figuring out how to say that without worrying about Frank thinking he’s genuinely being accusatory, and he knows from experience how bad Frank takes a perceived attack. He drags his nails against the grain of Frank’s close-cropped hair instead, humming an agreeable noise before tugging on the collar of Frank’s shirt, encouraging him to come sit on the couch again. “You know, any time -- and I mean any time -- you wanna do that again, I’m for it.”It’s good to hear Frank laugh, shaking his head as he gets his feet under him before collapsing on the couch beside David. Somehow it’s just natural, after they’d both fixed their pants and situated their clothing, to end up sprawled together on the couch, cuddling as comfortably as they can manage. This doesn’t undo anything they’ve suffered for their lack of communication. It doesn’t make up for lost time; there is no making up for lost time, no exchange of pain for better days ahead. As far as David’s been able to discern, there’s no way to balance the scales on anything, because the scales are not real.But, they have it now. They can hold on to it, to each other, and allow themselves this happiness. The air between them now feels lighter now, so much of David’s feelings for the last year and change now open between them. Frank listened, Frank understood and accepted what David’s held in and choked on for so long. He’s not pushing him away now, looking for an easy exit; he’s holding him close, warm and willing, and David’s finally able to breathe easy.