"Oh, this is just fucking great."

Now, when Mallory made that offer all those months ago, she hadn't actually thought he'd take her up on it, in fact, she thought he'd do that weird little huffing nod before going back to avoiding her like the plague after his act of vigilante justice that had ruined her poor carpet again. However, as it turned out, she had obviously been wrong. Because almost every night, looking like death fucked a war-torn Ares, he'd stumble in to her humble apartment drenched in red mortality so she could fix him up like she was his own personal fucking nurse...which yes, was technically her own fault, but still.

It was like the man didn't know the meaning of the word peace, of rest, simply letting her take his bloody anguish before he was back at it again like a butcher with a blade into the shadows of human monstrosity, always looking for another fight, always looking for another way to bleed for the reminder...or perhaps the punishment that he was alive when others were gone and dead, their fates to be nothing more than ghosts of hollow memories that haunted him in the darkness of the night.

She had tried not to look when her trembling fingers would brush against his battle worn flesh, she'd tried to swallow the mortifying desires to see as she took what was his and let it seep into hers. But no matter how hard she tried, she could still see the echoes of his ruin, she heard the gunshots, she felt the splatters of blood on their face, she heard the screams and she saw the war...but the worst of it all was when she felt the tender embrace of love when it would drift through their shared conscious on the more intimate of days, when he was flirting with death and she was bargaining with life to save him.

Most would assume that the echoes of love was bittersweet, were soft, were blissful, that they warmed you with their very touch and made you unful like a flower in bloom...but the truth was that love was fucking suffocating, it was a shrine and a scar and all it took was a simple flinch for the wound to reopen and pour from the seams of your grief. Love was cold and it was painful and the more you succumbed to it the more you suffered...and god, Frank had once loved so much that the indulgence of violence only seemed tame in comparison to the longing of his heart.

But of course, Mallory could never bring herself to say anything, to give her condolences to his mourning, to confess that she had seen far more than he was willing to give...which was probably why their rather strange friendship had lasted far longer than either had ever expected it too.

"Don't know why you don't just quit, your boss is a sleazy cunt and the pay is fuckin' gonna' kill you before your own food does." Frank grumbled, voice a mere rough bark upon her bleeding ears as he sat under the harsh light of the kitchen with the bruises of his face shining bright, leaning against her counter like he fucking owned it with his barell like arms and his dark eyes staring down upon the sizzling bacon that shimmied in the pan as it spat at her, trying desperately to burn through the thick hide of her gloves as she cursed and hissed like a feral cat. God, she didn't know why she put herself through this, she definitely should of just ordered them a takeaway or something equally as easy.

Well, actually, that was a lie, she did know why she was putting herself and by association, Frank, through of all of this cooking bullshit...and it was because that she'd made a promise to herself that she was going to start eating healthier after she passed out last week trying to fix his stupid broken nose which honestly, just looked the exact same even after she'd wasted her energy healing it.

Which, in Mallory's defence wasn't totally her fault considering she'd went years without even thinking of the vile mutation that festered inside of her like a deadly disease of rot, so of course, naturally, suddenly reaching back inside the ruin of her body to use them once more was obviously going to take their toll...she just wished it hadn't been something as embarrassing as fainting in that big bastards arms. "Yeah well, some of us don't make a living killing assholes-hey! I fucking saw that, keep your paws to yourself- and need to work the system a bit. Plus, it's not like I'm the waitress of the year either, it's just something to keep food on the table...which you keeping eating you dick."

It was honestly a miracle that Frank hadn't managed to burn himself when she caught him stealing some of the bacon from the pan and shoving it into his mouth like some kind of barbarian for the second time that afternoon...she'd only turned her back for a bloody minute to grab the butter from the fridge and he was at it like a slobbering dog because heaven forbid she make him wait a few minutes to make sure he's not at risk of food poisoning which she would have to deal with. "What can I say? It's a hungry business killin' assholes, Mal. And it ain't like it pays fair either."

"Is that why you're always coming around to eat me out of house and home? You're the size of a bear dickhead, we need to put you on a diet."

"You callin' me fat? This is all muscle, sweetheart."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say. Only reason I haven't stabbed you with a fork yet is because you bring the good shit." She muttered, before finally knocking the gas off with her hip and placing both of their plates upon her shitty kitchen counter, trying desperately to ignore the lack of space between them as she sat on one side while Frank leaned across the other, instantly tucking into his sandwich the moment it was in reach with amusement shining in his dark eyes of burning coal. Sometimes she really did miss the times they fucking avoided each other like the plague, her life had been so much simpler back then.

It had also been so much lonelier, something whispered quietly, hidden in the depths of a bone-deep ache that wallowed in some kind of violent abyss that wouldn't let her force such devastating thoughts back without a bloodied fight. Some part of her desperate to remind her of what this all meant, desperate to remind her of the longing of connection in the misery of her isolation that she had desired and condemned all in the same breath...trying to show her that Frank Castle could be her homely tragedy if she just let go.

"You mean the bacon? Thought you were going to try and go vegetarian a couple weeks back. What happened to that shit?" He asked with a furrow to his brows as he finally tore his attention away from his dinner to look up at her, wiping away some of the butter that had melted upon his lip with his thumb before licking it off with an appreciate groan as she rolled her eyes with a grunt, ignoring, not for the first time, that strange swell of heat that bubbled in her gut like boiling lava at that simple gesture that had been so weirdly attractive that it was honestly criminal and just fucking rude because he'd done in right in front of her sandwich and now it just felt dirty.

"Well, as it turns out, I'm weak for meat- and please, feel free to make a joke because I've just realised exactly what that sounded like." Mallory sighed, grateful the the turn in conversation that distracted her from her delirious pining for something that had never been meant for her divinity stained fingers as she went to pick up a piece of toast only to grumble as the grease soaked through the tip of her gloves grotesquely. God, sometimes, all the time really, she just wished she could be fucking normal instead of rot made human, wished she wasn't so absolutely terrified of death that she didn't dare risk the exposure of her touch to even eat her own fucking lunch.

But Frank only snorted as he clapped his hands together over his empty plate in an attempt to scrub the crumbs from clinging to his palms, rough voice curling around her ears as he picked then picked it up and slipped it in the sink beside them with a small smirk twisting at his stupidly handsome mouth because of course everything he did was stupidly attractive...fuck she really needed to get laid, or just a really good vibrator. "Nah, ain't my type of jokes considering I ain't twelve anymore unfortunately. And that's exactly why I brought that shit in the first place, you haven't got the best track record when it comes to stickin' to crap, no offence."

"Yes, I'm aware I'm indecisive, thank you for the reminder, asshole. Seriously, I save you hundreds of dollars for first aid kit bullshit and this is how you repay me? Bullying me in my own apartment? How is- stop stealing my fucking bacon or I swear to god I'll shove my plate up your ass, Punisher or not!"

And then there was a sudden pounding upon the thin wall separating her from her other neighbour, so loud and aggressive that for a moment she almost stopped dropped and rolled because she thought they were being fucking shot at or something. But no, instead it was that old man screaming at her to shut the fuck up because he couldn't hear his fucking television, which she felt was really rude considering she'd let him off with those full volume, poorly scripted, old ass porno movies that made her feel sick to her stomach...and so with that in mind she shot a glare to Frank, pretending she couldn't see him staring at the wall with something dangerous flickering in that dark gaze as he scowled.

"This is all your fault you know? I had a good thing going here with the neighbours, none of them fucking knew me or talked to me or even knew I even lived here because I was just a fly on the wall and now I'm one of those annoying assholes that everyone hates thanks to you." She grumbled, pointingly slapping the last piece of bacon into her mouth while maintaining eye contact all the while in a strange show of dominance, before she stood and walked around him with her plate held in a trembling hand where she shoved it into her sink beside his own, avoiding looking back over to him as he huffed quietly, the sound somehow suffocating and freeing all at once.

"Mm, that right? Well in that case, I'll get outta' your hair, huh?"

"Oh, don't get all pouty you asshole, you were leaving anyway and you know it. It's getting dark...and in other words, that means it's time for the big bad Punisher to start hunting." Mallory grinned, all teeth and bite and chaos without even looking over her shoulder as she slipped her satin gloves off to put the rubber ones on that were hung over the rack above her head, pretending she couldn't feel the way his eyes had lingered upon the bare skin of her disastrous flesh for half a second before they'd drifted back to her face as he let out a breath of air through his nose that was thick with amusement as he finally straightened up from where he'd been leaning even still against the counter.

It had taken her a while to actually click on to who he was, to connect the dots, an embarrassing amount of time really because apparently she was extremely behind when it came to the heroes and villains and everything in betweens of New York to the point she hadn't even clicked on that her neighbour who was absolutely stacked and terrifying and built like a god made of war was the fucking Punisher. She'd only realized after she'd helped him stop a mugging in process when they'd been out shopping for groceries (which had been really weird and domestic) and the mugger had practically pissed his pants at the sight of the big guy, sprouting off stuff about how he was supposed to be dead and shit.

And then, of course, realisation swallowed her down an abyss when Frank had smiled, all deadly and dangerous and intimate in a way that violence could hope to be, and said that he was going to make the little bastard wish he was before Mallory had ushered the young girl out of the alleyway where the sounds of broken bones and gurgled screams had made a symphony of some really metal music.

However, before the mutant could be pulled into that particular memory which she thought about far more often than she was ever willing to admit, she was distracted by the grunt Frank gave as he slipped his gun from where it had rested on the edge of the table into the hollow of his jeans, which really, she just felt like was definitely fucking tempting fate to blow his own dick off or something, before he looked over to her with something grim twisting his handsome features. "I'll be back at some point tonight, don't answer the door unless it's me, alright? Weird shit and weirder assholes are causin' some fucked up shit around here and the last thing I needs you gettin' into some kind of trouble."

"You're literally the only person I talk too, of course I'm not opening that door for anyone." Seriously, did he think she just talked to any Tom, Dick or Harry that came knocking? Did he not remember that it literally took him bleeding out in her apartment for her to even say more than a few words to him? That it took him saving her life for her to even accept the tentative hand of friendship that neither of them were willing to give? Don't answer the door unless it's me, what a fucking joke.

"Atta'girl. Keep that shit locked and don't go out unless you need to, yeah?"

Atta'girl, atta'girl, atta'girl, the words circled around her short-circuiting mind as she stared wide-eyed and breathless at the soapy ruin of her gloves, simply focusing on the way the sudds popped and bubbled upon the surface, desperate for something that tore the attention from that uncomfortable heat that burned at her cheeks that she didn't dare try and put a name to in the horror of her longing. "Yeah well, pleade try and not to get too fucked up when you're out, because if you get any more of your blood on my fucking carpet I'm just going to end up dying the whole thing red and then my apartment is going to look like a fucking whore house or something and I don't think I'm all that good with that."

"Not with that bed it's not. Don't even think the most desperate of cunts would touch that." Frank grinned, tongue curling around the edge of his lips where a full blown laugh soon took over as she flung a bread knife from over her shoulder at his stupid head which he caught with a terrifying ease, still chuckling even as she cursed and swore before he was gone, disappearing off out of her window because obviously he couldn't just leave out of her door like a normal person. And yet the moment he'd left, there was a smile on Mallory's face, something that she didn't have to hide as she snorted and filled away the last of the cutlery with a fond shake of her head.

But of course, she didn't stay there standing for long, no, not when she had work to do, and so with a sigh, she slipped the rubber gloves off to put her satin ones back over the rot of her flesh, baring her teeth at the sensitivity of her skin against the cold breeze of the air, before making her way towards the bathroom where she kept the spare towels so she could lay them down on her living room floor...because he was definitely going to fuck up her carpet again, she just knew it.
_________________________________________________

It was quiet when darkness finally filled the sky with shadow and brought forth night, and usually that would bring Mallory some kind of twisted comfort, letting her pretend that she was alone in the world, where there wasn't anything left to hurt her, where there wasn't anyone left for her to hurt with her vile touch that burned and ached with it's awful power that always took. However, there was a certain ominous energy in the air, thick and choking like smoke and it clawed her throat with unease...because all she could hear echoing in the ruin of her mind was Frank's warning about trouble brewing in the chaos, getting closer and closer to where they had both made their temporary home.

Eventually she'd just slapped on her shitty tv in the hope's of drowning it all out, to slip in some kind of absent state of mind where the only thing that bothered her was the occasional burst of static through the speakers that made something in her brain feel frazzled and twitchy. And it worked, for a few hours at least, watching the crappy romantic drama play on the screen where most of the problems could of been solved with even the most smallest hint of communication in a matter of five fucking minutes instead of like, a whole movie...god, every day she was sounding more and more like her condemning mother and that was a bigger nightmare than she'd ever be able to confess.

However, it was when Mallory was beginning to fall asleep upon the bloodied ruin of what was once her clean couch, head bobbing down until her chin touched her chest with her weary eyes heavy and exhausted...that she heard a sudden noise, a familar crash of glass breaking that had fear seizing her heart in an iron bar grip as she swallowed down a frightened gasp. What the fuck? She was pretty sure Frank was over the days where he had to headbutt her window open...unless he was far too hurt to awkwardly grab at the lock he'd bought her last week and In some bloodied desperation, had no choice but to break it down. Or, more worridly...perhaps it wasn't even Frank at all.

So with that horrifying thought in mind she stood up on unsteady legs, trembling from limb to limb as she slowly began to make her way through the darkness, feeling the awful ache of pain as it blistered it's way through her barely breathing corpse, everything rushing towards her at once with different scenarios of death and rage and wounded screams, forcing her fear to increase tenfold as she let out a whimpered curse barely heard over the bonding of her chest, moving towards the window gathered near the back of her room where she could see the lumpy shadows of something hovering there...not even flicking when her fingers found the light switch and flooded her apartment in light.

And much to her relief, it actually was Frank, bruised and bloody and vicious with his teeth bared and hair soaked through with sweat...but he wasn't alone. Because in his arms, limp and clinging to the burden of his large shoulders, dripping crimson sin on her living room floor was something red and horned...he'd carried the fucking Devil of Hell's kitchen into her apartment, and she couldn't help but feel that in doing so, he'd opened up the gates of hell to swallow her whole.

"Fuck."