sixthiterationlogs | ( CLOSED ) Once in a lifetime.

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( CLOSED ) Once in a lifetime.

WHO: Mayor Hotdog
WHERE: House 6
WHEN: A few days following the Crab Boil.
OPEN TO: Karen Page
WARNINGS: If awkward people trigger you, steer clear.

Frank hadn't been deliberately avoiding Karen, at least, not according to his own flawed logic. He had chosen the house directly across from hers because of the number affixed on its door and not for the proximity, though it would be a lie to say it didn't lend him peace of mind. It's early one morning and he's carrying a cord of wood back to his dwelling, as many as he can carry at a time. It's tedious work, but work he enjoys, stashing it outside in the yard while he watches the Sun come up. Everything here is so peaceful, and it makes him anxiously await when the other pin drops.

The hair raises on the back of his neck tellingly, like it had when he'd seen Jessica, except not taken to any type of extreme. Kamala thinks they're abilities of some sort, something that helps him sense and categorize danger, though he never had trouble with that before so why he needs an added sense is anyone's guess. He glances over his shoulder anyway, but it's only Aretha bounding up to him with Karen in tow. Frank puts down his task and crouches down to take an armful of the dog instead, rubbing her ears and belly simultaneously as she pants happily and licks his face in greeting. Slowly, his eyes flicker up to Karen's, warmth in their gaze. It's never bad to see her, no matter the context. But he has to wonder if the same is applied in the opposite; or if maybe she wishes he weren't here at all, especially in the shape he arrived and not at all the man she's used to.

"Hey, Karen." It's crackly and beyond soft - probably inaudible from where she's standing actually, but she'll have seen his lips form those words often enough to read them, he thinks. And if not, it's just one more thing for people to be angry at him about. Not like he isn't used to that too. After a moment with the bloodhound, he stands, teal scrub top poking out of the black jacket he'd found though he's wearing jeans tucked into found boots. There is one curious item she may not have noticed before: a brown leather bracelet on his right wrist seemingly braided by hand and spelling out the Celtic knot for 'leader' all the way around. She knows he isn't Irish and probably isn't adept at making bracelets, though, who knows with this guy am I right? In any case, she'd be right to assume it was a gift, in this instance twofold. He can still see it sitting on his kitchen table from where he'd taken it off for the first time since Beth made it for him - the day of the Mayoral results. He touches it now, idly, taking in Karen's face and trying to assess her mood.

Instead of staring at her overly long, as he is occasionally wont to do, he inclines his head back towards the house he's currently sharing with Kamala, his charge in Reims as well. She's still sleeping and he knows from experience she could sleep through a monster truck rally, so it shouldn't be an issue to have some tea with Karen while the teen dreams on a floor above their heads. The second he opens the door, Aretha barrels through it and he gives her a half-hearted glance in warning. He's still working on her, but she'll be shipshape in no time. Frank wipes his feet on the mat and hesitates for the first step he knows will be the loudest; but then his boot taps against the hardwood and nothing terrible happens, so he follows it up with another and then another until he can beeline for the kitchen. Every wall is covered with detritus, taped and nailed up in strategic arrangement to cancel out the most noise.

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It's always been like this with Frank — The push and pull, the dance it frustrates Karen to realize she already knows by heart. For not the first time in her life, she's been recently mulling the question of her own culpability in allowing it to go on, but then and now, she always comes back to same conclusion: That the only other option is unthinkable.

Somehow, some way, putting her foot down always backfires. And here she is, despite the stone that's been sitting in her stomach for days, bringing Frank his own damned dog, which they apparently now have joint custody of.

Because, because, he always does just enough — There's always that moment where she catches him looking at her with a soft sort of wonder, or like now, when he opens his mouth and says something as mundane as her name and it means the whole world. It's a fleeting kiss to her cheek, the cold steel of a handgun against her throat.

And she really should be declining the invitation and walking away, should be thinking more of her completely justified frustration and less about the way he'd finally softened just a little that night behind the town hall. But here she is, following him in and dutifully carrying both emotions along with her, although they're forgotten for the moment when she crosses the threshold and sees what the hell he's done to the inside of the place.

It merits some sort of exclamation, probably — A good old 'what the fuck' would suffice — but instead she stands, agog, until she can pick up her feet again and follow haltingly to the kitchen, where she wonders, staring at him, if he's actually, finally lost his mind in a way she can't pull him back from.

He loads the woodstove with less care for silence and puts on some water. Then he's snapping up the bowl off the floor he uses for Aretha and fills it with fresh water as well before replacing it. When he leans back against the sink to catch Karen's eye, she's looking all around the sanctuary he'd made himself. He recognizes that look - she thinks he's finally snapped. And in a way, she would be right. Never one to back down from a challenge, Frank still winces when her gaze lights on his, as hot and unwieldy as the flame a few feet away.

"Sorry for crashing your party here," he grinds out past his gravelly voice, determined to make the effort though it scrapes the inside of his sensitive throat and leaves him clearing it for several seconds. He isn't backing down this time, not when he can see he's hurting her. "I mean that." And he does. He would have been pissed if she'd shown up in Reims. Surely she must feel responsible for him in a similar way, and he wants her to drop that even knowing full well that she can't.

The notion is so absurd that it's actually a little insulting, and Karen finds herself unable to reply for a long moment, her face pinching with disbelief.

"I've been waiting for you for months, Frank," she finally allows. "I've been sitting in this place with your damn dog and some notes written by a girl who used to know you—" She halts, looking away with a shake of her head. "It's not you I don't want around, Frank, it's the bullshit. You're the one who wants to talk to everyone but me, including the dog, including someone I didn't even know you knew, in front of the whole village."

Frank wants to argue because at his core he's a contrarian, but she's right. Maybe he just feels beaten down by everything so far - it's an excuse too. This place is easier in so many ways, than Reims and New York. Sure he has wacky super powers and the woman he might actually be in love with hates him, but. That's simple in his sphere. If he's not almost dead, it's a good day.

"You saw that, huh?" Not like he's surprised. They were loud and Karen is the nosiest person he knows. Usually it works out for him, so he doesn't sound upset she'd overheard the argument. "Then- then I'm sorry about the bullshit, okay?" It's a lame apology and one he knows he won't be able to abide by anyway. He'll be back to his old antics by lunchtime. Frank idly toys with the closure of his bracelet and tries to take a calming breath. That's what David would tell him to do, right? God, he misses that bastard.

"Just. Sit- please?"

The look she slides him says quite clearly that everyone saw that, huh, but she relents and she sits. Because there is nothing else she can do. She'd stood in a forest and watched him balatantly ignore her, walk away from her in pursuit of his demons, and she'd sworn, sworn, that was it. Finished. DONE.

But it had been a lie. And walking away is never going to be an option for her ever again.

So she sits, and drags a hand across her face, and squints a moment at the flotsam covering the walls before she slides an expectant look back to Frank, the curled fingers of one hand resting against her mouth.

Just as he opens his mouth to speak, the kettle goes off, and he's like a startled rodent, head jerking around until he can remember what it means. His hand touches over his heart, trying to get its pace back under control before he goes about steeping two very herbal cups of tea. He makes a face down into the liquid but brings it over for Karen anyway, setting one in front of her and holding the other close to his chest even though it's so hot it burns his hand to hold onto. That's its own comfort, in a way.

"We were in a place like this before. Me and Jessica." A place with a shared arrival point, unexplained shit for miles, people from all different universes... That place was a lot worse than this one, though. Every day he's here, Reims feels further away, and more and more surreal. But he's still waiting for the other shoe to drop; for Sound Eaters to tear through his house and scoop himself and Kamala out of it.

His hearts pounding again as he sits, too fast, spilling scalding water over his hand and the tabletop. "Shit."

"Frank," Karen says, immediately reaching out across the table to press a hand against his wrist, her expression soft with concern. "Just— Stay there," she adds, and scoots her chair back so that she can dive into the cupboards. The contents of most are pretty similar, she's found, and it only takes a moment before she returns with a towel and starts mopping up the mess.

"Just take a deep and explain," she quietly adds, shooting him a sidelong glance.

His lips part in surprise at the touch, though it shouldn't shock him. Numbly, his head bobs into a nod as she moves around him to fix his blunder. He touches the leather bracelet again, looking from his red, inflamed skin back to Karen's face. Explain. How can he? None of it makes any sense. But he is breathing again, looking down at the towel as it sops up downed tea now.

"Just... that? Would've gotten us and everyone in a mile radius killed." Where he had been. He doesn't expect her to know what he's talking about. Suddenly, he does have a question - one he should have asked on Arrival Day. "Can we die here?" Or do they bounce back, as it had been in Reims. People came back alright, but never completely at 100%.

It would seem an odd question were they anywhere else — Or at least anywhere else in Karen's reckoning. Here, though, it's not unusual for people to think they'd died before coming through the fountain. And then there's the people who come back, who remember or don't, and of course, there's what she and Kira saw that day months ago, in a cave that doesn't exist anymore.

"Yeah," she replies now, pausing, damp towel in hand as she looks more fully at him. "But there's only been two deaths in almost two years, so..." She cants her head, wishing she had a more solid answer, something that would put him at least a little more at ease.

"One of them, a young woman. She was attacked by some kind of wolf thing. Her body actually disappeared, but that was before—" It's probably not the best time to get into the semantics of Before and After, or to mention that he himself had been there; that he'd tried to hold that girl's guts in with his bare hands, or that the girl's name had been Karen.

"And, um. A guy, hit by lightning. He came back months later, or some version of him did. He didn't remember anything from when he'd been here before. But we're not living under threat or anything like that, if that's what you mean."

Frank brings a trembling hand back up to his cup, curling around it with a pitchy breath. He can tell she's holding something back already, but it's not important now. Even if it does start a little niggle of annoyance at the base of his skull. Especially when she wants every detail of what he's talking about. He flashes a look to Aretha, now laying under the table between them. His boot reaches out to rub her spine gently while he thinks, licking at his lips.

"That's not what I mean." Though it helps, on some level, to hear her say that. "You're not gonna believe any of this."

Which is unfair, he knows. She had been the only one to believe in him once, but maybe he's more afraid that she will believe him. Jessica and Kamala being here already cements that it's real - his bracelet showing up, all of it... It really happened, and even if he doesn't have the device the Natives gave him or any of the shit he'd accumulated in Reims, maybe he could convince her on faith alone. The thing is, he really doesn't have the energy for that now.

"You know... there are other places like this?" His eyes catch hers as he pokes the table with his free hand like he's making a point. "People get sucked in, they get kicked back. Sometimes they come back a few times without remembering. Sometimes, they go from one to another somehow, like... I've heard it called 'world-hopping.'" He says the phrase with all the conviction of a man who'd never said it aloud before.

"You know, there's a lot I probably shouldn't believe that I do," Karen replies as she carries the towel back to the sink. Rinsing it and draping it neatly over the edge of the basin gives her a moment to breathe, not as needed as a moment ago perhaps, but they're on the cusp of something she's probably not going to like hearing, she can tell that much.

"I haven't personally talked to anybody like that, but I know what it is," she adds at length, and turns, choosing to stay where she's at, leaned back against the cupboards, heels of her hands braced against the edge of the counter top as she steadily watches him. "That girl who used to know you, she took really good notes."

He knows that feeling. At another time, he might have followed her, but he knows she needs her space as much as he ever does, even if it's less frequent. Something he'd do well to remember in a situation like this. If she had been with him in Reims he would have never let her out of his sight. This is his backing off. The problem is he doesn't even know if she wants him to back off or step up or some combination of the two he hasn't configured yet.

"What girl? You have her notes?" He blinks a few times. He guesses it's not so weird if she has his dog. But it's still odd. "I did it, I think. I mean- I hopped. Or something."

"Her name was Veronica," Karen answers. "I have copies of some of her notes. She kept diaries and left them to Mark, for the village records." Apparently it hadn't taken that long for people to realize they should plan ahead for being blinked out of the village as abruptly as they'd been tossed in.

"Where were you, Frank?" Karen carefully asks, unmoving against the counter but her eyes fixed on him now. He's going to tell her something terrible, something that has to eclipse the lightning strikes and deadly spores of this place. Anything less and he wouldn't look like he does now, like he did that first day: A cornered animal or almost cowed. It's unnatural the way it sits on him, but there it is.

"What happened there?" she quietly adds, afraid of the answer, of how he'll look when he tells her.

Frank doesn't know a Veronica, but that's not surprising. He knows how things like this go. He's getting the feeling that Karen Page in all of her deductive reasoning is getting that. Reims wasn't worse than this, well. It was, it was a lot worse. But it was also the one place he'd thrived, the only way he ever could have made a life after what he'd been through, and after what he'd done.

His fingers close around his cup tighter, looking down into the liquid. He doesn't know why he suddenly feels so ashamed. Why Karen is the one person he doesn't want to talk to about this.

"I dunno where to start." He knows he has to, though. That she doesn't have eternal patience and he can't blame her, really. "Do you know about Kilgrave?" The vitriol he spits the word with is venomous as is his gaze when it slides up to meet hers bravely.

"Back home? Yeah, sure," Karen answers with a nod, her brow pinching. This isn't the segue she was expecting, but within five seconds of answering, it begins to dawn on her why Frank would ask.

They haven't really had anyone dangerous come out of the fountain yet, but that doesn't mean it couldn't happen. In her idle moments when she's less focused on the idea of how they're here, the general complacency of the group has certainly entered her mind.

"Was he with you?" She takes a step forward, ducking her head to better look him in the eye. "Frank, did he do something to you?"

It never is expected, but here they are. His eyes skitter away the second she confirms what he already knew. Jessica killing Kilgrave had made the papers, so of course Karen knew about it. He swallows dryly and tries to tamp down the way his heart races fearfully. He hates that he's scared of that coward of all fucking people. Reminding himself that he's immune, that he and Jessica could both dispatch of him if he came here, he pulls in a thready breath.

The question that comes next is worse, it digs under his skin and leaves him bereft all over again. Frank pushes out a huffing breath of laughter, though there's nothing amused about it. There's nothing funny about any of this, truth be told. Did he do something to you? What didn't Kilgrave do? He shakes his head anyway.

"It doesn't matter. If he comes here... Me and Jess are here, so he might." Brown eyes pierce blue again, a sudden spear of insistence. He can't hold eye contact, but he was never great at it. His gaze dances around again, and settles on her face, on and on back and forth. "He's got a score to settle."

"That's bullshit, it matters," Karen insists, and steps back over to the table, pulling back a chair so she can sit beside him. "It matters to me, even if it doesn't matter to you." And if people had kept their powers in this other place, the place he just left, there's really no telling what Frank might have been made to do if everything Jessica had claimed was true.

"Look at me, okay?" Karen continues, leaning in, watching the way Frank's focus darts around, manic. "I'm not going to say this place is great. It's not great. It's actually a pretty big head-fuck. But if he comes here, out of that fountain, we'll deal with it."

Frank shakes his head, looking down at his hands again when she comes close. He's grateful to have her next to him again, but he also can hardly stand it - push and pull as ever. Fighting through the rolling discomfort in his midsection, his eyes snap up to lock on hers in an almost desperate move to obey, one hand clutching the other on the tabletop, thumb working worried lines into his palm.

"I can deal with it. Jessica made a serum, from her blood." He swallows, shrinking back a little though he holds her eyes. "Claire helped. The Claire I knew, yours doesn't remember."

"Hey," Karen starts, and then reaches out to cover his hands with her own. "Hey. Nobody comes out of that fountain with any super powers or magic or whatever they used to have. Nobody, not ever. If he comes here, he dies. Okay? That's it. We'll take care of it." And if there's fallout, there's fallout.

"I've been here six months." She gives his hands a squeeze, her gaze steady. "Do you trust me?"

He frowns, looking down at her hands, but not shifting away. In fact, he scoots his chair across the floor so he can lean in a little, ignoring the terrible sound it makes.

"Of course I do." His gaze is much more even when it meets hers, from much closer this time. Karen wouldn't lie to him, and she wouldn't let him down. It's four months of gaslighting and trauma that have him so on edge, not her. He shouldn't have doubted her, but all the Natives ever wanted to do was give the guy a mansion and free run of that place. It didn't exactly inspire confidence. "If we kill him, he'll stay dead." That's all he needs to know, in order to get some peace.

"Right," Karen manages with a little nod, voice tight. Just that little movement closer, that minor acknowlegement — They're a team, god damn it — is enough to strap emotion across her chest like a vise. She swallows hard, throat gone dry, and pulls in a slow breath.

"And if he comes back through the fountain after that, we kill him again. Deal?"

He could actually cry he's so relieved. Frank nods slowly, brows knitting together. "Yes. And the time after that." He'd been waiting so long for this vindication, for the support. His hands turn to hold onto hers from below. "Deal." The gratitude is palpable in his tone, looking deep into her eyes now without even the hint of a waver in his gaze.

Karen nods again with a quick little jerk, her lips pressing together as she looks back at him, eyes shining with unshed tears. Her mouth opens, but she hesitates — There's always a vast gulf of things unsaid between them, and even now it's difficult to give any of it a voice.

"I'm glad you're here," she finally allows, still watching him, and squeezes his fingers. "Really glad."

A bit of the fear seeps back into his gaze, but he doesn't try to dispute her. He really needs to clear the air about that, doesn't he?

"I didn't think you would be. It's... I was just trying to get out of your way." Because he thought that's what she wanted, not because he didn't want to be around her. He's only realizing as he hears it how that sounds. "I'm dumb." At least he's somewhat self-aware?

Edited 2018-07-12 07:33 (UTC)

Karen finally looks away, a little duck of her head with a barely-there smile. "Maybe a little," she allows, and peeks back up at him. "Not that I'm doing much here to get out of the way of." Going on nature hikes and writing down what she finds; really critical work, that.

"You gonna tell me what's going on with the house?" she asks, and tips a glance to the flotsam-covered wall. "I'm assuming this isn't just a decor choice."

Some of the heaviness finally breaks up in his chest, and he looks at her even while she looks away. It's good that they're here together. She'd said so, right?

"Soundproofing," he answers immediately, realizing it only raises more questions a second later. It's his turn to look down, though he squeezes her hand at the same time. The crap on the walls is the only reason he's talking to her so easily now. He owes her more than one-word answers while he can give them. "Kilgrave wasn't the only dangerous thing in that place."

Soundproofing. Karen looks back to him, her brow pinched as she mentally adds that puzzle piece to half a dozen others. There's still only a fraction of an image beginning to emerge, but she can start to see where they might fit together.

"What else?" she asks, ducking her head to catch his eye again.

It's impossible for him to deny the contact she seeks out, catching her eyes gamely and holding on.

"Monsters," he admits, pushing aside how juvenile it sounds. It had been the first word he'd uttered here, and every time he says it he sees them - their awful shambling bodies and terrible gnashing teeth. Their screams in fields of pure silence, shattering everything in their wake. He takes a sharp inhale, his eyes blowing open wider. He remembers, seeing them tear Kara apart, videos of them destroying the Natives' ancestors the same way. He suddenly looks pale. "Attracted to sound. Any sound, no matter how small."

Frank is always scared, but this is a new thing for Karen to behold. This is something that encapsulates him, the only thing in his life that's ever driven him to inaction. "Sound Eaters."

Edited 2018-07-13 10:18 (UTC)

"Hey," Karen repeats, the word a little breathless — She's seen him afraid before, but only ever on her own account, and there's always been a determination buffeting the fear. The look in his eyes now is just... hopeless.

She lets herself reach for him before she can think to rein herself in, letting go of his hand to press her own against the curve of his jaw. It's a lot; she knows it's a lot. But suddenly he's so far away and it's scaring her.

"You're here with me now. You're safe. Don't go back there."

He leans into her touch automatically, trying not to think about what that means as he leans his forehead against hers, on the very edge of his seat just so he can stay close because it's what they both need.

"I'm not goin' anywhere, Karen. Especially not back to that horrorshow." He can mean that because he has no control over it. Frank had left a lot of people behind that he cared about there, but they weren't Karen. And as much as he hates that he sucked Jess and Kamala into this place - if that's even how it works - at least he knows they're safe, too.

Eyes falling closed, Karen pulls in a tremulous breath, her hand shifting to curl against the side of his neck. The skin beneath her fingertips feels impossibly warm, the soft beat of a pulse there to match the thrum of the one in her own ears. How strange that the scent of him is so familiar when they almost always keep each other at arm's length.

"Good," she whispers, more breath than word. "I need you here. Okay?"

"Okay," he rasps softly, willing to soak in her strength yet again so he can face the day ahead. Just because she says she needs him, however, doesn't mean he'll be keen to believe it. He already knows he'll still keep his distance after this, until Karen forces him not to. There's always a breaking point between them, Frank can only hope this one won't be as dramatic as their last. He really doesn't have the energy for cornering a terrorist and escaping out an elevator shaft today. Maybe by the time he's ready to face this thing between them, he'll be built back up again enough to try.

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( CLOSED ) Once in a lifetime.

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/end scene