Frank Woods x Reader

Thirty-Three

"How's your hand?", you asked and settled across from Woods on a chair.

Curling his nose, he pulled the hand into his lap so you couldn't see.

"I'll kill him once you're off my ass.", he growled.

Chuckling, you nodded and slid closer with your chair. You grabbed his hand.

He didn't refuse to show you. But he did hold back.

"Frank.", you said and looked at him with a soft expression.

"Don't call me that."

"I'll call you that as long as you don't show me your hand."

"It's fine."

"Let me see it."

"Oh yeah? Let me see your shoulder."

"Deal.", you turned so that he could see the bandage that Mason had wrapped after landing. "Now be a good dog and give me your hand."

Grimly, he let out a low huff and rolled his eyes before lifting his hand.

The top of his knuckles was bloody, but it was hard to tell if it was his or Hudson's blood. A bit of skin was torn off. Otherwise he was fine.

"This will hurt.", you said and gently patted some sterilised cotton onto the wounds.

He pulled a face and let out a hissing sound.

You smiled.

"You're such a brave boy.", you teased him.

But as he didn't respond, you looked up. With a questioning gaze, you tilted your head.

"You only ever called me by my name when we...", Woods shook his head. "Forget it."

A soft sigh escaped you.

"I only ever called you Frank when we had sex.", you hummed. "I know."

Again, he shook his head.

"No. Only when we made love."

You huffed.

"What's the difference?"

He shrugged gently.

"Hm. We did fuck a lot because I'm a handsome beast.", he gifted you a dirty grin.

Chuckling, you pushed his face away.

"Get out of here! I'm not bad either."

Now he chuckled as well. It was strange to see him like this again, so close, yet so far.

"No, you're not at all... But... we had moments, I don't know how to describe it."

Letting go of his hand, you leaned back in your seat and eyed him for a moment.

His blue gaze locked with yours.

All of a sudden, a warm shiver made you tremble.

"Sometimes... when we had good days and didn't fight...", you mumbled with a nostalgic smile. "You would take me into your arms and tell me that I should go find someone else."

Agreeing, he hummed. A soft smile made his lips curl.

"Because you're too good for me."

You wondered if he would still taste the same as he used to do.

"And then I would tell you, even if I could have the perfect man in the world, I'd still chose you."

"And then we had this... this thing...", he shook his head as if he still couldn't believe it. "I've never felt something like this... And I never did again. After you."

"I'll take that as a compliment.", you smirked.

But he didn't jump onto the opportunity to drag this moment through the mud.

"You should. It was special, really. You were...", for a moment, he squeezed his eyes shut and sighed. "You were special to me."

Swallowing hard, you fought back the tears that started to gather in the corners of your eyes.

"You were special to me too... The only one, to be exact. I've never told you... but I would've never left you for someone else. You were my perfect match."

"Ha! See how that turned out.", he grinned, probably joking around.

But it was easy to tell from his eyes how hurt he was.

A soft sigh escaped your lips.

"I didn't regret my decision.", you said, all of a sudden so sad, you felt like crying. "I still don't."

With a shake of his head, he turned away and let a finger run over the cleaned knuckles. He wanted to feel the burning sensation. Otherwise, he might would have done a mistake.

"You should.", he hummed. "I would have been a terrible husband."

"You've changed."

"I didn't."

"The fact that you admit you are terrible is a change. A good one."

He huffed, so bitter and mocking.

You didn't know exactly if he was mocking you, himself or both. But it hurt to see him like this again, doubting himself. It had been the hardest part of your relationship.

"Frank...", you said his name so soft, so sweet, as if it would break and vanish into nothing if you said it out loud.

A shivering breath escaped him.

"Don't.", he swallowed hard. "Don't call me that. Call me... old man or Woods. Fucker. Idiot. Anything. But don't call me by my name. Please..."

In that moment he looked fragile, weak even. The years of war and fighting were showing on his face.

He was old, older than back then. His hair was starting to get grey at the sides. Even the tip of his beard was fully silver now.

As you looked closely, you spotted a few liver spots on his face.

And all of a sudden, it struck you.

The man that you were so deeply in love with was running out of time.

Not today.

Not tomorrow.

But he was slowly running out of time. One day, you'd wake up and he wouldn't.

Now, you had about twenty, maybe thirty years left with him. If he was lucky, maybe more.

But you had wasted more than a decade of your time being mad at him for something that was also partly your fault. A decade that you could have spent with him if only you would have made better decisions.

"I'm so sorry...", you gasped with a trembling voice. "I'm so incredibly sorry."

Irritated, he turned to you. The blue of his eyes was trembling.

"Don't.", he tried to smile but it looked so tired, it was heartbreaking. "Don't push us back. We're not made for each other. I get it."

But you shook your head.

"I fear the opposite. You're the only one for me."

"I hurt you."

"And I hurt you. But we've learned, didn't we?", you looked at him, so desperate for his approval. "Please, Frank. Tell me that you've changed and I'll give you that chance."

But he just weakly shook his head.

"I'm sorry...", he whispered and turned away. "I've fucked up too much. I won't do it again. Promise."