underachievement | IC INBOX + OPEN POST / memes, psl, etc.

He's had coffee. That or he's been so looking forward to this trip with her, he hasn't needed today. Jess turns in her seat to acknowledge Rocky, straining for her on the edge of his seat. Satisfied after a few pets, he settles down and she tries to, too. There's a thermos in the cupholder between her and Frank. She plucks it out and pops off the lid that serves as a little cup, discarding it in her lap.

Either this will be fresh or it won't. Doubtless it'll be strong as sin and blacker than tar, fit to sear away the stale grime lining her mouth from sleep. She has an awful gulp from the thermos, jumping in with both feet.

Immediately, his eyes go wide when she steals his coffee and he puts a hand out towards her without taking his eyes off the road. "Hey, hey, what do you think you're doin', huh?" If she didn't know better (which of course, she does) she might think he were actually upset at the swipe, but he's doing a good job pretending, for him anyway. "How'd you even know what's in that, could've been anything." No, it couldn't have.

His hand connects with her free wrist over Rocky's head and Frank turns to her quickly just as he rolls to a stop sign. He leans over to take his kiss, finding it earned now as he licks the bitter taste from her lips even as he pulls back and faces forward again. He made it a little weaker today, which might be a coincidence.

"We're really doing this, ain't we?" Running away. It feels more like running towards something if he's honest. His hand goes back to his lap, only ever driving with one of his giant mitts. He already can't wait to leave the city behind.

Jess grumbles unintelligibly between mouthfuls of coffee, warmer and weaker than anticipated. The smell doesn't interest Rocky in the slightest, unlike the whiffs of hard liquor that waft off of her. She screws the cap back into the top of the thermos and is setting it back into the console when he steals a kiss from her. It's both too long and too short, considering he's at the wheel.

Head to the headrest, she rests her eyes as they accelerate past the stop sign. Maybe if she sleeps the entire time they're gone, she can stop feeling so tired. That ought to last half a day.

"How far are we going?" A yes in other words. She hasn't asked until now. Aside from offering a legitimate name and credit score, if he needed it, she's stayed willfully blind on planning the trip. Okay, and limiting them to one canine companion, but she didn't help in the selection process, which had to be harrowing for him.

"Far enough for you to get a nap in," he confirms for her, voice sounding impossibly gentle after his fake scold of a moment ago. She looks so tired, not like that's new. He'd be happy enough if she just got some good rest while they took their break from civilization. The choice was pretty excruciating of which dog to bring, it's true. Frank scratches Rocky's head and the dog lays down with a little sigh, tucking himself in close to Jessica for the ride. Max was always his first consideration, but the dog was blocky and his disability did put them at a disadvantage should anything happen - not that he's expecting danger, it's simply his wiring to consider it anyway. If they do have to go into town, Bruno was out of the question, though pocket-sized. Rocky needed the most socialization but was the most well-behaved, while also being compact enough to comfortably travel in the van with them. He was the natural choice, not that it made it any easier for Frank to make. He thinks of Kamala and Lockjaw watching over his pack and it brings another sudden smile across his face as he drives. Belatedly, he gives her more detail, in case she actually cares. "Catskills." He can't even remember the last time he went to the mountains, maybe when he was a teen. It would be nice to carve out a slice of it for themselves.

That's great news, if not the information she wants. She means to open her eyes back up well before she does, when Rocky hunkers down for the ride. She rests her hand on his big head, prodding Frank with silence. It's going to take them the better part of an hour to get out of the city, after which the traffic will be relatively nonexistent.

Catskills. The traffic should be nonexistent when they arrive, too, unless it reclaimed its former glory while she was busy being abducted. Though if her life were perfectly together, she probably wouldn't know then, either. Everything she didn't learn about the Catskills from Dirty Dancing was gleaned from Ms. Walker's declining remarks to invitations there.

"Never been." She flicks her gaze up from Rocky's mug to Frank's, distantly curious how familiar he is with the area.

When her hand settles on the dog, his shifts to her knee, throwing her a glance when she looks over instead of sleeping. Maybe he can be boring enough she'll fall asleep organically anyway. Seems pretty plausible, given their track record.

"I remember it bein' uneventful." Which factored into his choice. As a kid, he'd tried to get into trouble and there just wasn't any to be had. Probably why his parents picked it, in retrospect. Seems perfect for their purposes.

So he has been. Unrelated to his life as the Punisher, is the implication. A safehouse should be low profile, its dullness taken as read. Other qualities would bear mentioning first. It isn't a property he had hidden away for a rainy day or post-traumatic shitstorm. And it can't have been in the family: Frank Castle is legally dead.

She's content with that, facing the road with a wan smile. "I could chop the crap out of some wood." It was a chore in the villages, but a cathartic one, with or without super-strength. Slightly more cathartic with.

Nothing so dramatic, and if it were he would have actually prefaced it that way. Not that he knows what she's thinking about now, so he's blissfully ignorant, which is to be expected.

"You sure can," he praises idly, unable to shake the good mood that seems to be clinging to him and just won't quit. Frank reaches for his thermos though he hardly needs the perk. "Don't think it'll get too cold... for a while yet anyways." They never did discuss how long they were staying, he figures they'll play it by ear.

She gleans that there's no deadline to leave. That'll be a double-edged sword. If Jess lets her phone die, Trish won't be able to (rightly) harangue her into acknowledging her life, addressing why she can't fit into it anymore, instead of bailing on it. Malcolm won't mind being probed by her sister for her whereabouts, and then he'll get distracted flirting with her under the guise of lamenting the pain-in-the-ass that brought them together. Hopefully, they don't screw, but she barely cares.

"Yeah, well, you can tell I don't know what people do at cabins." If it is any different from village life. Better be. As long as it's more isolated than her shit shack at the end of the road, she can deal with other similarities. And she won't mind leaving behind a stack of firewood for the next occupants, if they don't use it themselves. It's anyone's guess what the state of the cabin will be by then, so it may not end up a gift at all. A lame apology is patently her style, on the rare occasions she apologizes. She can downplay the gesture from almost any angle.

Though he's hardly a mind-reader, he does pick up on her anxiety related to this "vacation" being similar to any past experiences. And honestly, even he's feeling hesitant about the same thing. But he just figures if they miss the city life after a week or two, they'll head back. No harm, no foul.

"Whatever we wanna do, right? Who's gonna stop us?" He takes a sip to punctuate that, still edging through Manhattan at a snail's pace. He probably should be eating a valium right now instead, but at least by the time he gets really shaky, they'll be on a straightaway. It's telling how white his knuckles already are though.

The knuckles aren't what she first notices. It's the tensed muscles at the back of his neck that tip her off and the knuckles that confirm it. She envies him, how genuinely easy he can be with a dozen concerns on his mind. For a moment, she lifts her hand from Rocky's head, and as he slumbers along unbothered, she runs it down Frank's forearm. Her touch starts to vanish at his wrist, fingertips pulling away from his tattered knuckles.

"You got any CD's in here?" she asks. She could pop open the dash or flip down the sun visor or take a look in the back seat, if she wanted to waste effort and postpone the answer. Sober Jess don't have the time.

Jessica's cool touch pulls a pleasant shiver up his spine and he has to refocus on the road before he can even process what she's asking him. Somehow, he didn't expect her to request music, but then he remembers he has something she might like.

"Here, uh..." He pops open the glove compartment which definitely has a fully loaded 1911 in it, also a knife. He ignores both in favor of the Garbage CD he'd bought based on a conversation of theirs, and somehow juggles it with the Springsteen CD already in the player, though not before the first notes of 'Made in America' spill out of the speakers. Frank entrusts her to put the CD in the case and put it somewhere or other while he snaps the glovebox closed and waits for 'angry girl stuff' to queue up.

"Holy shit," she utters under her breath, and not at the gun. She might loathe them but she recognizes that Frank's peace of mind can never be disentangled from access to an arsenal.

The case is scratched from a decade of drifting through thrift stores. Both the cover and the label on the disk are chiseled into her early memory. It's Intro to Angry Girl Stuff, an album she'd pick up for Kamala. It wouldn't have occurred to her to revisit it for herself. The track listing escapes her, then the first song starts to play and she can instantly recall that "I Think I'm Paranoid" will follow. Shirley Manson's voice possesses the same dream-like quality as it ever did, gossamer words floating above grungy guitar strings.

Her eyes close with the lightest sigh. "Now I'm definitely going to fall asleep." Within the first several tracks, she does, piling her scarf between her head and the window for a pillow. Her hand is returned to Rocky right before she fades out.

For a while after returning to the real world, Frank wasn't sure he'd ever shoot a gun again. Without the villages, he doesn't think he could have worked past the things he saw in Reims, and the things he didn't hear. In fact, that he never thought he would hear again. He tries to push all of that aside when he realizes her exclamation is a reaction to the CD and not the firearm. For once, he did exactly the right thing, and he couldn't be happier about it. He's sure it would annoy her if she weren't out like a light already. Frank turns down the volume just a little bit and sets the CD to loop so that with any luck she could hit some REM before they get to the cabin.

Of course, that makes the rest of the ride a bit boring for him, but it's nothing he isn't used to. He tries not to allow thoughts and questions of the future bog him down, not when they're finally doing something just for themselves. Stolen moments for years on end, however enjoyable they were at the time (which varied dependent on how much danger they were practically in, usually) weren't sustainable. He's not even sure how they made it this far, or at least him. Their on again-off again thing often felt like it was going to defeat him, honestly, where every foe of his had failed.

Rocky lets out a loud, sleepy sigh which thankfully breaks off his mental dalliance. The road looks the same the whole way up so it's hard to focus on much else than inner turmoil. He whispers a stern Shhhh to the lazy mutt and watches Jess like a hawk for any sign of stirring from the corner of his eye. When she does wake, they'll be winding up the mountain on a seemingly endless trek to the little place he definitely didn't gain access to through any shady dealings. It's only once he sees the entrance to the abandoned resort that he starts to get a little excited, glancing over again to see if she's up.

Her sleep is black and formless, flirting with deep restoration. The rumble of the van and the soreness in her neck wake her up every so often, then she sinks immediately back under. It's impossible to know how much time has passed when she can swear that songs are being replayed. She seriously doubts that Frank likes this music. He must be sustaining it for the sake of her lullaby.

Letting her rest also lets her get away from old, old memories that haven't merited mentioning. Jess hasn't gone on a long car trip since the accident in her childhood. It's not an issue, she convinced herself, but if it isn't, why hasn't she ever taken a road trip? There were offers in her twenties. She could always devise an excuse and the excuse was always true. And the heart of the matter was deftly avoided.

Asleep, she doesn't have to worry about remembering a single second of it. It might be an inane, short flash of detail, like the reaching of her mom's hands or the anger in her dad's voice, but it wouldn't be harmless.

Half-asleep is doing the job too. Blearily, she sneaks a peek or two once they're on the open road. When the trees beside them thicken into legitimate forest, she figures they must be closer to their destination than they are far. Whether or not he's obeying the limit, the vehicle is flying. Jess indulgently continues to rest until the tires grind onto dirt. She's grown sick of half the album, announcing she's awake by jamming the volume knob down with her palm to turn off the CD player.

"This us?" she asks, squinting down at Rocky instead of ahead through the windshield. He's silent, breathing shallowly, awake and in denial.

He's studying the scene in front of them before turning down a dirt road and slowing way down. When she stops the music, it actually startles him some, and he turns again to make sure everything's alright, realizing enduring the quiet for so long plus all the caffeine has in fact made him just as jumpy as he usually is. "I think it's fifteen minutes more," he confirms gruffly. That's what he'd been told, in any case. They'd passed some simple supply shops a few minutes earlier, and a more booming resort, but only a few miles away this seems every bit as secluded as it had been billed. "Feel better?"

"Jury's still out." She feels marginally more human and incrementally more rested but she won't be fully ready to face the day without a little liquor in her. She can wait another twenty minutes to get her hands on a glass. She could dig into her bag and dive directly into a bottle, if it was that kind of morning.

It's not. Too many unknowns, too few dreams.

She's glad they're moving away from the large, commercial vacation building she caught sight of in the passenger side mirror. Reminds her of the Inn. Two years ago, she would have wondered about the people inside -- families, mistresses, teenagers with summer jobs. Now she assumes that whoever is in there, whatever their story, she couldn't care less about them. Guaranteed to be mutual.

It's far from her most pressing question, but those will answer themselves shortly. "Is there a lake around here?" Neutrally posed. He's got good cause to be soured on them but Jess still finds some escape in staring at the water.

Frank nods in understanding, as ever just grateful she speaks to him. He could go for a drink himself once they get settled in, there's a lot of unpacking to do before that though. For him anyway. The sudden question does cause a tiny jolt through his middle, but he covers it over smoothly enough. He doesn't hate the water the same as he doesn't hate the park, but to say it doesn't bring things back for him would be an unnecessary lie.

"Yeah. Thought we could fish some if the weather's alright." Maybe even swim, even if it is late in the season. Anything to shut their collective brains off - that's really what they need. There's a lot more nothing stretching on before them and as opposed to the highway, Frank finds it peaceful enough. Trees, gravel, even the occasional bunny off the path. It all paints a pretty quaint picture though he keeps expecting something horrible around the next bend. It doesn't come so he keeps on driving.

Just then is the little sign for Sleepy Hollow Lake and it has his lips twitching up some. As they round the next ridge and up their altitude even more the lake appears, vast enough that the edge of it isn't visible from this side of the cabin. The tiny red house is nestled on the bank of the water, still some ways up the trail but facing the road in either direction so it'd be impossible to sneak up on. Impossible to find without knowing what you're looking for, too, which might be more to the point.

Rocky perks up like he knows they're here too, sitting up some and arching his neck in a stretch before standing on the seat to get a look through the windshield. Frank scratches his head and drives on past the house to the parking area just beyond, slamming the van in park which gives a lurch punctuated by a pitchy squeal.

He gives her a look before opening the door to let Rocky bolt out into the yard and do his business. Frank slams it behind the dog and walks around the back to start pulling stuff out to minimize the amount of trips he'll make in and out. He puts the key to the cabin between his teeth and slings a case of water over one shoulder and a duffel bag full of clothes over the other. Moment of truth, right?

He'll wait for Jessica to be standing next to him before dropping his bag and spitting the key into his hand so he can open the door for her. He toes the door open and picks his bag back up as he walks in to drop the first load on the kitchen floor and look around. There's a big elk head over the fireplace in the center of the room, and a little deck out the back with a grill. It's cozy, for sure, but he thinks it'll do for their purposes just fine. The kitchen is well stocked with dishes and a big gas range so Frank can cook as much as he wants.

"Well? What do you think?"

Fishing? Sounds horrible. Sitting with him in the boat, or observing him from the lake's edge, the might be able to make a tolerable time of that. The short row of stores they drove past reassure her that they won't be living off the land if their supplies run dry. While her mind went wandering the existential cosmos, her body stayed in the exact same time and place, and abruptly switching to a paleo diet would wreak havoc on her system. As would Frank's basement wine. (Thankfully, it's impossible for there not to be a winery in the Catskills.)

The name is ominous as shit. She'll find out from Frank in the next few days, who she can hold accountable if that "sleepy" promise gets broken. Nobody in their lives can follow them here except through that loose end. If they know who Frank really is, they won't betray him by choice. But they could be compelled to.

The cabin that finally pulls into view is brighter than she's expecting, bearing zero resemblance to the dull colored houses they lived in. It's a few merciful shades off from the red sand of Reims, too. Stubbornly, she holds onto her reservations until she can get a look inside, ensure no one is waiting for them. With plenty to say and no energy to say it, she nods to Frank and Rocky before they get out, then clambers out her side. Her knees crack and her muscles yawn as she stretches, reaching her hands high above her head and dropping them listlessly to her sides.

After slinging her bag over her shoulder, she makes her way around the van to assist with unpacking. Jess grabs the heaviest two totes nearest her and follows Frank to the door, three steps behind. She bites her lip and releases it right before catching up with him. As much as she'd like to go first, she smothers the instinct and gives him the lead. She can be fully on guard while they scout, and he can be ignorant of it on point. Given the quaintness of the house, the entire floor is swept within moments of walking through the door. At last, her paranoia relents.

If Kilgrave were here, he'd leave an overblown hint they couldn't miss. A roaring fire, a ready meal, roses guiding them to a horrific crime scene. He can't resist his gruesome theatrics.

"Seems safe enough," she answers honestly, her mind clearing but not quickly enough. Jess smiles gently at him, then goes to drop off her crates containing god knows what next to where he set his. What happy coincidence, it's the kitchen. Her bag is hefted onto empty counter space, then Jess goes to familiarize herself with the cupboards in search of a glass.

Edited 2019-09-07 04:02 (UTC)

Her words echo his thoughts and he holds his breath a minute before going to check the bedroom and the bathroom for any lurking monsters. Right about then, Rocky comes zooming in with a big stupid smile on his face and goes to claim the couch for his own.

"Pour me one?" he asks as he walks back into the kitchen next to her, palming the side of her face so he can kiss the highest point of her cheek. "And some water for Rock." He gives a glance to the food she brought in for him, but decides he'll tend to it himself before heading back out to get the rest of the supplies.

He kisses her cheek, a sweetly coded "clear."

"Yeah, sure," she says in response to both his requests. Jess diverts her search from the cupboards above the counter to the ones below, soon hitting upon a set of metal mixing bowls. She pulls them out to select a medium-sized one, puts them back and starts the sink running. The view through the window above it is odd and calming. Nothing but trees and the paths cut through them. Nowhere for a watcher to hide.

Once the bowl is full, she shuts off the faucet and moves Rocky's water to the floor. Since they haven't joined him on the couch, he hopped down from it and came to find them. His tail beats against her shins and his snout disappears into the water as soon as it's on the floor. And she thought she was an inelegant drinker.

In short order, she has two stranger glasses filled with her whiskey. Frank's glass is placed on the counter while she drinks from hers and idly checks the contents of one of the boxes. Dog food. She isn't sure where to put that. She drains her glass to half full in two gulps, leaving it with Frank's to help with the last of what's in the van.

"You stay here," she tells Rocky, who disobediently tails after her.

"I forgot ice," he says aloud, probably to himself since he doesn't even notice her until she's right beside him again. He can head out and get it later, not like it really matters. It doesn't seem to dampen his spirits any, and with Jess helping they manage to bring everything in and shut up the van in just one trip. Once inside, he starts finding places for all they brought. Meat and various foods go into the chest freezer and after a moment, he grabs the whiskey bottle and lays it in there too. Then he's loading the rickety, ancient fridge with water and beer. Instant coffee hits the counter and then he's finding a place to tuck the bag of dog food, he'd brought a big one even though Rocky will probably eat with them most of the time if he's honest with himself.

He grabs both their bags of clothes and throws them into the little bedroom, stopping there for a second to open up the window. It really is the perfect night. And just by being here, he already feels some anxiety start to melt away. Frank goes back to the kitchen to retrieve his drink and scratch Rocky behind the ears, ignoring him begging at his kibble bag.

"Hey, uh. I'm gonna see if I can get the grill fired up. You wanna drag some chairs out there?" There's no deck furniture and everything in here looks like it's straight out of the 70s. He figures she can lift it with her pinky so what's the point in him fighting with it?

She holds back on pointing out that they can make ice. Even she can do it, that's how easy it is. His brain must be giddy from their safe arrival. Inside, she kneels on the floor with Rocky, out of Frank's way but within view. There's nothing peculiar he pulls out and no particularly odd spot where he chooses to store something, so Jess gives up on memorizing where things are. When she goes looking for them, they'll be right where she'd first assume.

With the exception of the whiskey bottle. Freezer, freezer, freezer, don't forget, Jones. She decides the rest of her liquor is good where it is, snuggled between her clothes.

While Frank clears the kitchen of their duffels, Jess stands and returns to her drink. Rocky remains seated for a moment, adopting a little of Frank's cautious ease. He gets up and pads over to her seconds before Frank rejoins them, and then Rocky starts to pant eagerly again, his attention torn.

"What about Rocky's couch?" she asks facetiously, setting her glass down. As she passes Frank, she runs her hand across the back of his shoulders. Jess can manage one chair in each hand, grabbing them by lower rails. It's cumbersome and forces her to walk sideways not to knock into anything. She doesn't need any help opening the door but if he gets to it before her, she's not in a position to refuse it without looking even more ridiculous.

"Yeah, why not?" he gives a little chuckle as he opens the slider for her, rolling his eyes as Rocky dashes out in front of her, terrified of being left behind in the house. Frank takes a long drink and follows the pair out, closing his eyes for a moment just to appreciate the end-of-Summer breeze that washes across his face a moment. He immediately sets to work getting the ancient grill up and running, retrieving a small propane tank from beneath the deck and goes through the process of getting it fired up. As with anything tedious, Frank finds comfort in the steps, finding himself unable to think of anything else while he does it, even while old memories try to break through. They're so hazy they're easy to push aside, and by the time he can smell burning charcoal Rocky is jumping in and out of the shallows of the lake, barking at it like it wronged him somehow. Frank turns to see what Jessica is up to and finds her predictably in one of the chairs she brought out.

"Hungry?"

Hell, he's right. Why not? The weather's clear enough. In the event that she gets too drunk to haul it back in, he can do it. The hardwood floors are hardly in pristine condition. A couple more nicks and scratches won't lose him the security deposit.

Jess carries the couch out, losing a cushion while wedging herself through the door. As soon as she makes for it to pick it up, Rocky dashes for it to snatch it up first. She scoops it right before his teeth chomp down on the air where it had just been. Once she reinserts it into the couch, Rocky jumps up, hopping from pillow to pillow, then jumps back down and bounds for the water. He barks up a chorus when his paws hit the lake, which doesn't distract Frank. She won't worry about Rocky, in that case, but she will angle her chair to give her a view of both him and the grillmaster.

She disappears inside to find and use the bathroom. Returning outside, she grabs their drinks. She contemplates grabbing the whiskey bottle to refill them but it can wait until it's time to get the plates and silverware. On the deck, she sets his glass on the seat of the unoccupied chair and occupies her own chair with drink in hand.

"I could eat." She's learning, too, though she'll have to watch him cook on the grill more than once to pick up what details she missed. Her attention is split, and if it weren't, she wouldn't be overt about it, lest he consciously teach her something. "Tell me what we're having and I can take some of the prep work off your hands."

Edited (blorbo) 2019-09-09 03:06 (UTC)

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