Ok ma let's get you day started off right! Lol. How's about 54! *Because I'm a messy bitch that lives for drama gif*

You sure got my day started off right, cos I’ve been thinking about this prompt half the day now! You really know how to get the drama going – as you didn’t specify and had no preference for who this was gonna be about, I made it about Kastle and I made it hurt a bit. Hope you enjoy! 💗

54. Why’s there a pregnancy test in the trash?

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He has been quiet all evening. Some people would say that Frank Castle is always quiet, but she knows better than that. He’s the soft tread of combat boots on her carpet. He’s the tinkering noises in her kitchen when he fixes her a cup of coffee. He’s the huff of breath after a nightmare, the gentle “ma'am” when she’s staring off into space, the knock on her door in the middle of the night. Frank Castle is never truly quiet. Not where it counts. 

Tonight, though, he is perfectly still. Sits on her new couch with his legs positioned as though he might bolt out the door at any second. Takes the proffered cup of coffee from her hands with no more than a vague inclination of his head. Listens to her ramble on and on about work as though the Punisher has nothing better to do than listen to a journalist’s misgivings about being asked to cover the gossip column for a coworker who’s on extended leave.

He’s been quiet all evening and she’s had enough of that, thank you very much.

“Okay,” she says, at the end of her long-winded rant about how Rand Enterprises can go drown in quicksand for all she cares, “I give up. I really, really give up.” Fixes him with the best stare she’s got in her repertoire. “Would you mind telling me what the fuck’s going on with you tonight?”

He has the audacity to blink at her. His eyes shift away from her face when he says “nothing” in reply, which really means that there is a whole lot of everything going on in that head of his. She hisses out an exasperated breath. Shakes her head. Doesn’t give up. (She’s a dog with a bone when it comes to these matters. He knows it. She knows it. The rest of the world is slowly catching up on that.) She presses him again. Asks what’s wrong in softer tones, gentler eyes, a hand on his knee.

“It’s nothin’.” He rasps the words out as though they have physically hurt him. “Don’t you worry.”

“This doesn’t sound like nothing.” She’s insistent. More than a little pissed, too, if she really stops to think about it. “If there’s nothing wrong with you, then there’s gotta be something wrong with me.” She shakes her head at him when he starts to argue about that. “You’ve been ignoring me all night. Staring into space and avoiding ever having to look at me. You jumped almost five feet into the air when I touched you just now. So I repeat: what the hell is going on?” She’s aware she’s practically yelling at this point. Doesn’t care what her neighbours will have to say about that in the morning. “Damn it, Frank, just talk to me!”

It takes a long time for him to put the words together. He opens and closes his mouth half a dozen times and she dimly thinks this is the first time she’s actually seen him totally speechless. When the words finally tumble out in a way that makes sense, she closes her eyes in silent prayer. “Why’s there.. uh.. why’s there a pregnancy test in the trash?”

She’s pretty sure she’s having what constitute as warzone flashbacks right now. Suppresses the laugh that’s threatening to bubble up inside of her. Laughing right now would be bad. Bad idea. “There’s a pregnancy test in the trash,” she confirms, “because Marci had a monumental 2am freakout and roped Trish into freaking out with her which meant that they both wound up on my doorstep at three in the morning clutching half a dozen of those tests in their hands and shouting about if Foggy would faint if he heard the news or not.” She smiles wryly, then. “The jury’s out on that one because Marci did all those tests and got a big fat nothin’. For now, anyway. So, if you see them in my trash in future.. she’s had another conniption.”

“So.. you’re.. not..”

She shakes her head at him. Understands the turmoil that’s swirling in his gaze better than he does. “I will gladly pee on a stick if it means you’re gonna talk to me again,” she comments. Wrinkles her nose a second later. “Forget I said that. I’m not pregnant. Not now. Possibly not ever.” She looks him in the eye and wraps her hand around his. “I’m okay with that. I got you. Don’t know how to deal with screaming kids, anyway.”

“You, uh, you sing for them.” Ever the father. “Sometimes, you just tell them to stop the drama and talk to you.”

“Like I do with you?”

He almost rolls his eyes at her. “Yes, Page. Like you do with me.”

“I can handle that.”

“I have no doubt.”

He’s not quiet anymore.