RUSTY | frank castle

TWO

Rusty attached the two leads to Fender and Lexi's collars, holding the ends loosely in her palm, for she knew that they wouldn't attack unless the order was given. The poor creatures were still stuck to the strict military training they endured in Afghanistan. Subconsciously, Rusty was too.

The tall woman had unzipped her coat as the sun had come up fully and started warming the streets of New York.

Walking past the tall, modern buildings, Rusty thought about the countryside. She didn't particularly like New York. It was busy, loud, polluted; too populated for her liking. She was only really here because her last good memory took place here. Her time with the only person that really made her feel good. The only person that helped her understand and helped her live a life that was so much better than she deserved. He saved her from misery.

It was Frank who saved her.

•••

Frank forcefully shut his laptop, the content gone out of his sight immediately. His heart rate was uneven, his bare chest heaving. Rubbing his beard, Frank lay back on his bed. He threw the small, chunky laptop to the side.

If he wouldn't have kept them occupied, his hands would have been shaking dangerously.

The memories all came back within seconds of the frames playing on the small screen. He was tumultuous. He thought it was far enough in his mind that it would stay locked away. He was fucking wrong.

Just because of a man who was messing with him, he could affect Frank's whole being. The man that called himself Micro was good. He was getting what he wanted.

Frank needed to find him; he needed information. Dangerous information.

•••

Dying flowers, corroded stones with engraved names so they wouldn't be forgotten by the ones who apparently loved them. Alleys of ground and grass led through all the names, the people. Weeds guarded tombstones and crosses, never to betray them but maybe to overgrow sometime in the future.

Rusty's fists were shoved in her pockets, the coat unzipped but her hood was up over her short, curly rust-coloured hair. Her two working dogs were in front of her, side by side like two children on a walk. Their heads were low, enjoying the slight breeze that flew through the slim paths, made out of trampled grass and dry earth. No living soul was visible except the three.

Rusty kept on walking, until she got nearer the end of the graveyard. Her walk slowed and her body turned to the two stones that sat side by side. Lexi stood by Rusty's legs, while Fender sniffed around where they stood. Rusty sighed lightly.

"Morning, Frank." She whispered. Rusty's accent always stuck out in America. It was a mixture of London talk and New York monologue, the 'a's were more British, though her accent wasn't posh but more street-like.

Her peculiar colour of eyes softened at the sight of the engraved name. This was all she had left, apart from her beloved dogs. She visited Frank's grave as often as she could: a few times a week, that is.

Next to Frank's grave was her own simple, grey one. It was slightly smaller than Frank's, which was ironic as in real life Rusty was only half a head shorter than him. She remembered the hugs he used to give her, the warmth his chest gave him and the security his muscled arms held.

The thing is, you don't really know how much you can care for someone until they're gone. Rusty never felt romantic attraction to Frank (well, she hadn't felt anything like that to anyone), but she cared for him more than she cared for her own parents. He was her only real human family, and Maria with their lovely kids. Now, it was Rusty, Lexi and Fender.

Rusty stepped closer to Frank's grave, taking out her hand from her pocket and brushing off some dirt from the stone. She smiled slightly, a warm smirk that only really appeared at one corner of her lips. "We've missed you." She said to the stone, although it seemed to refuse to listen. The breeze caused her hair to fly to the side, and her eyes to water slightly - though it was a mixture of sad tears, too. "You're not really here, but we've missed you."

She stayed there, looking at Frank's grey remains in some hope of bringing him back. She knew it wasn't possible, though she longed to remember the good times with him. They were so close, now they are so far. His death was a jump at Rusty. First his family, then him.

Her lips moved an inch into a smirk at the idea of the situation. He was dead for real, but Rusty wasn't. She was supposed to be dead for a while, though. She was supposed to die on her last day at work, a little after Frank's family. See, she stayed at war while Frank went home. He tried to persuade her to come with him, but she had nothing to live for except the war. The day she heard about the picnic in the park, they were after her too; she knew too much. So, while Frank got away, she faked her death and hid it from the world. Rusty was there when she watched Frank become the Punisher, and she was there when he died. She just wished she hadn't.

With the afternoon slowly creeping up on them, Rusty, Fender and Lexi bid Frank's grave a last goodbye, and left the graveyard at the edge of town. They walked back into town, stopped at a small street corner shop where Rusty bought some food, and went back to their rumple apartment.