Survivor | Frank Castle

.17.

The dimly lit ballet studio in Hell's Kitchen is a haven of solitude  for Mary, a sanctuary where the echoes of her past and the  weight of her secrets are momentarily suspended. The soft glow of  overhead lights casts a warm ambiance, illuminating the polished wooden  floor beneath her feet.

Dressed in a simple leotard, Mary moves  with an ethereal grace, each movement a testament to years of discipline  and training. The echoes of Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake resonate in the  empty studio, a melody that transcends the confines of time and place.

Frank stands in the shadows, an uninvited spectator to the dance of  shadows unfolding before him. The grace with which Mary moves seems to  defy the scars of their shared history, a reminder of the dichotomy  within her – the ballerina and the assassin.

Mary's body becomes a  vessel for expression, a conduit for emotions she keeps hidden beneath  the surface. Her pirouettes are a delicate dance with the ghosts of her  past, the arabesques a silent negotiation with the shadows that have  clung to her since the days of the Red Room.

Frank watches, his  gaze unwavering, as Mary's movements become a tapestry of contradictions  – vulnerability and strength, elegance and lethal precision. The ballet  studio, bathed in the soft glow of the overhead lights, transforms into  a stage where Mary's internal struggles are laid bare.

The music  swells, a crescendo that mirrors the rising tension within the room.  Mary's eyes, fixated on an unseen point, convey a mixture of longing and  resignation. The dance becomes a solitary communion with her own  demons, an intimate dialogue that Frank, despite the distance, can sense  on a visceral level.

The final notes of the music  linger in the air as Mary's movements gradually come to a graceful halt.  She stands in the center of the studio, chest rising and falling with  the rhythm of her breath. A sense of catharsis hangs in the air, the  dance having allowed her a temporary escape from the complexities of her  reality.

Frank steps out from the shadows, his presence a  disruption to the cocoon of solitude that enveloped Mary. She turns, the  lines of tension in her features softening as she locks eyes with him.

"You're a hell of a dancer," Frank remarks, a gruff acknowledgment of the beauty he just witnessed.

Mary's  gaze holds a mixture of surprise and guarded curiosity. The ballet  studio, once a haven of privacy, has become an unexpected stage for a  reunion neither of them anticipated.

"What are you doing here?" Mary inquires, her voice a cautious melody.

Frank shrugs, the weight of unspoken words lingering in the air, "Saw the lights on. Figured I'd check it out."

Silence  settles between them, the afterglow of the dance lingering like a  delicate echo. Mary, dressed in the simplicity of a ballerina, and  Frank, a stoic figure from her tumultuous past, stand at the crossroads  of uncertainty.

Part of her is happy to see him and wants to greet  him with a smile. Part of her is still angry and hurt and wants to  greet him with a punch to the face.

" Show's over," She utters.

Frank  remains undeterred, his gaze steady as he takes a step closer to Mary.  The air crackles with the tension of unspoken words and unresolved  emotions.

"I've been looking for you," Frank admits, his voice a low rumble that cuts through the silence.

Mary scoffs, a bitter edge to her laughter, "Six months too late, Castle."

Frank's  jaw tightens at the mention of time lost. He knows he can't erase the  past, but the urgency of the present demands a reckoning with the  shadows that have kept them apart.