Survivor | Frank Castle

.9.

Mary freezes in the doorway, her heart pounding in her chest. Her  mind races, torn between conflicting emotions. Frank Castle, the man who  had become a symbol of violence and retribution, sits in her apartment  as if he belongs there.

He meets her gaze, his own eyes bloodshot  and weary. There's a hint of something unspoken in that look, a plea, a  vulnerability that's rarely seen in the Punisher.

"Mary," He rasps, his voice a low, gravelly murmur.

Her  anger simmers just beneath the surface as her eyes blink rapidly, as if not believing what is right in front of her.

"You know, I thought you'd be happy to see me," Frank says, his voice raspy and filled with pain.

Mary's  anger flares, a white-hot rage that bubbles up from deep within her.  She slams the door shut behind her, the sound echoing in the small  space.

"Happy? You broke out of prison. Do you have any idea what you've done?"

He winces as he shifts in his seat, clearly in agony, "Yeah, I know what I've done. But I had to."

Mary  clenches her fists at her sides, torn between the conflicting emotions  surging within her. On one hand, there's a part of her that can't help  but feel a glimmer of sympathy for the man before her, a man who's been  through unimaginable pain and loss. On the other hand, she's furious  that he's brought this chaos back into her life, that he's dragged her  back into a world she'd tried to escape.

"Frank, you're putting yourself at risk, and you're putting me at risk," She hisses, her voice low and harsh.

He laughs, a bitter, humorless sound that sends shivers down her spine.

"I've been at risk since the day my family was killed. Risk doesn't scare me."

Mary takes a step closer, her anger flaring.

"You think you're invincible, don't you? You think you can just waltz in here and expect me to clean up your mess?"

Frank  winces again, this time from the pain in his battered body, "I didn't  come here for you to clean up anything. I came here because I didn't  have anywhere else to go."

Her anger falters, replaced by a surge  of pity as she takes in the extent of his injuries. But she quickly  reminds herself of the danger he represents, the chaos that follows in  his wake. She can't afford to let her guard down, not now, not ever.

Mary  takes a step into the apartment, still wary of the man before her. She  can feel the tension in the room, a volatile mix of emotions and  unspoken words.

"Why are you here?" She demands, her voice tinged with frustration, "What do you want?"

He  doesn't answer immediately, his gaze dropping to the floor. It's as if  he's searching for the right words, the ones that will make her  understand.

"I don't know, Mary," He admits, his voice barely  above a whisper, "I don't know what I want anymore. But I couldn't go  back... not yet."

Mary's anger softens, replaced by a reluctant  empathy. She knows all too well the feeling of being trapped in a life  you never wanted, of being pulled back into a world of violence against  your will.

"You should have stayed in prison," She says, her voice weary, "You're only making things worse for yourself."

Frank lets out a bitter, humorless laugh, "Worse?"

Her gaze narrows as she studies him, "And what now? What's your plan?"

He hesitates, as if he's unsure himself, "I'm getting closer... but I'm not there yet. There's still more names to cross off."