on thin ice [karen/frank - marvel]

seven: torched

Frank awoke to the light sound of a TV. There was a cold compress on his forehead, covering one of his eyes so it was a task just to open them. He attempted to move in the bed he lay in, but everywhere hurt. He didn't know his body could ever ache that much but it did. Somehow, all the pain he had ever felt was built up and coinciding inside his torso, running around like a hurricane.

Eventually, he pushed himself up in the bed, rubbing his head and taking the cold compress off it. The pain made him woozy, the whirling darts throwing off his central balance as he sat up. He gripped the bedsides, steadying himself before he opened his eyes fully. He was so hot, his shirt sticking to his back he was that sweaty. The mirror in front of him showed just what damage was done.

He felt stitches in his stomach as he ran his hand under his shirt and bandages on other areas of his back. It hurt to stretch his arms to see his back so he just left it and tried to determine what was what by the spots of pain he could sense. He sighed loudly, standing from the bed and looking for the door. There were a glass and box of pills on the dresser by the door and he headed over quickly.

A note was left next to the pills that read "do not take again until morning". His body was craving the relief even though he'd probably taken pills only over an hour ago. His whole body clock was thrown off, not being able to tell when he last took pills. How he took pills. He was most likely knocked out. Frank then frowned, thinking his eyes were betraying him but the thick black marker seemed familiar.

He grabbed the door handle harder than intended, propping his weight onto it accidentally, and opened it. The TV got louder and he headed around the corner into the main area of the apartment. She stood at the kitchen sink, washing something - Frank couldn't tell what it was. He could tell she was angry, is all. Angry at what? At Frank? His head was a mess.

"It's you" He croaked, causing her to turn sharply. He suddenly fell dizzy once again and grabbed onto the door frame to steady himself.

"What are you doing up?" She snapped, dropping the gloves onto the countertop before wiping her hands and heading over. Her hands were soft despite washing up water being known for wrinkling fingertips and she took a hold of his arm and led him to the beige couch. "You're not strong enough"

He sat on the couch, leaning back and relaxing a little as the pain simmered slightly. She sat on the small table in front of him, moving glasses and books out the way to make room. She placed the back of her hand on his forehead, and he watched her as she frowned before she took her hand away.

"Your fever is going down a little, which is good," She said quietly, avoiding his eyes.

"How long have I been here?" Frank asked, his voice weaker than he imagined it to be in his head. He probably sounded like a total moron and he had probably fucked up any chance of getting her to go out on a date with him when she had seen him like that. He concluded that he would be single for the rest of his life. She headed back to the kitchen, putting the gloves back on and resuming with the washing up.

"I found you around 10:30 when I got home," she answered, not bothering to turn back toward him. "Who knows how long you'd been lying there. It's almost midnight, I was just about to go to sleep"

His eyes widened quickly, attempting to sit up and battle against the pain clouds attacking his joints. "Shit, I have to get up for work in like 7 hours I need to sleep"

She turned back toward him, a solid frown on her face as she stared at him. "You're not going to work, are you crazy? You can barely move on your own"

He shook his head, standing from the couch and looking around for his jacket. "I'm fine, trust me. I've dealt with much worse stuff and I'm completely fine handling work on my own. Thanks for the bandages and you know, saving my internal organs and everything else but I'll leave and we never have to talk again"