indomitus | f. castle

XII.

"The dead cannot cry out for justice. It is a duty of the living to do so for them."
-Lois McMaster

XII.

When I woke up I realized how early it was. My body can't ever let me sleep in on my days off. As I started to get out of bed I remembered Frank had slept on the couch again. Images of him from last night cross my mind and I know for a fact he's going to be in pain when he wakes up. Part of me knows he's probably use to it but I know it doesn't mean it hurts any less.

I go to the bathroom and brush my teeth before I step out into the living room. Frank is still passed out on the couch shirtless. He looks so peaceful and young, if only he didn't have the scars scattered along his face. I go to the kitchen and grab some pills and water for him again and place them on the table. I decide to make breakfast so he can wake up on his own time.

As I finish making French toast Frank walks into the kitchen.

"Sleep well?" I ask him as I plate the French toast along with the eggs and bacon. I try to ignore his sculpted chest.

"As well as I could have." He states as he grabs a plate from me and we head to the kitchen table to sit down.

"How's your arm? You feel better?" I ask as I start to eat.

He smiles as he looks up from his food at me.
"What?" I ask smiling back.

"Trying to take care of me, Andrews?"

"Someone has to, you certainly don't." I smirk and he shakes his head.

"Does the big bad Punisher not want to admit he needs to be cared for?" I smirk this time.

"I don't." I can see him trying to fight a smile. It makes me laugh.

"It's okay, Frank. You don't have to say it."

"Wasn't going to." I roll my eyes and continue to eat. My mind throws me back to last nights conversation. He said he would give me answers and I'm itching for them.

"So, grotto, you killed him because of what he did?" I don't know how else to ease into the conversation about his late night antics but I knew I had to.

He laughs, "you're somethin' else."

I shrug. He sighs.

"Yes, he helped the scumbags in the Irish Mob. He went to do a job for them, old lady saw his face and he put her down for it." He explains as he eats.

"And the Irish mob? What did they do? Unless you did it for the obvious fact that they are a mob?"

"Nah, that's just a bonus when I put them down." I try not to think about that comment too much.  Does he find pleasure in killing people? Fun even? As if he can read my mind he speaks up.

"Killing isn't some sorta game to me. I don't think it's fun. I think it's justice."

"Justice for what exactly?" I ask as I drink my coffee.

"For the things they have done, for the things they will do." He looks lost, like he's not here. Like he's thinking of something else. Something tells me this goes deeper than just wanting bad guys off the streets. Off the earth. My brain reminds me.

"Is this personal? Did these people do something to you, Frank?" He comes back down from his thoughts and looks at me. They did. They did do something to him. Is he going to tell me?