Work Text:
The problem with Frank Castle was that he wasn’t curious.
Frank was almost never curious.
He saw something, reached a conclusion, and moved on with his day.
So when Peter walked out of the tiny bathroom in his apartment at nine-fifteen in the morning and found Jean Grey sitting casually at his kitchen table across from Frank Castle, he knew immediately that his morning was ruined.
Jean was wearing Peter’s dark blue T-shirt.
Only Peter’s dark blue T-shirt.
Frank looked at her.
Then at Peter.
Then back at Jean.
Peter froze in the doorway. “…Hey.”
Frank slowly took a sip of coffee. “Morning.”
Jean glanced up from her phone. “Your coffee is terrible, by the way.”
“I didn’t make it for you.”
“I know. That’s why I’m insulting it.”
Peter closed his eyes.
Jean had absolutely no survival instinct.
Frank looked at the shirt.
Then at Peter’s bare feet.
Then at the closed bedroom door.
He didn’t say anything.
That was worse.
Peter walked over to the counter. “Why are you here?”
“Needed to talk to you.”
“Okay.”
Frank gestured toward Jean with his mug. “Didn’t know she was part of the package.”
Jean raised one eyebrow. “I’m not.”
Frank looked at her. “Thought you left the city. Went to some school upstate.”
“I did.”
Frank looked at Peter’s shirt. “Clearly didn’t stay there.”
Jean shrugged. “I visit.”
Peter coughed.
Frank looked at him.
Jean looked at Peter.
Peter became extremely interested in the coffee machine.
Frank put his mug down. “No.”
Peter turned around. “What?”
“No.”
Jean started smiling.
Peter immediately pointed at her. “Don’t.”
Frank stared at Peter like he’d just discovered Spiderman voluntarily ate rat poison.
“You’re sleeping with her?”
Peter tipped his head back. Jesus Christ.”
Jean, helpfully, said, “Yes.”
“Jean!”
“What? He already knows.”
“I did not know,” Frank said.
“You absolutely knew.”
“I suspected.”
“Same thing.”
Frank slowly turned toward Peter.
Peter knew that look.
It was the look Frank usually reserved for people who were about to make an exceptionally stupid decision.
“You.”
Peter pointed at himself. “Me.”
“And her.”
Jean held up two fingers. “Hi.”
Frank ignored her.
“You two are…”
He made a vague gesture between them.
Peter grimaced. “Can we maybe not do this?”
Frank looked at Jean’s bare legs beneath Peter’s shirt. “No, I think we’re doing this.”
Jean bit her lip to stop herself from laughing.
Peter noticed. “You’re enjoying this.”
“A little.”
Frank suddenly turned his head toward Jean. “Didn’t you kiss him pretending to be his ex?”
The smile vanished from Peter’s face.
Jean blinked. “Okay.”
Frank pointed at her. “No, seriously. That’s where we’re starting.”
Peter groaned. “Frank.”
“What?”
“We dealt with that.”
Frank looked at Peter like he’d just told him he’d adopted a land mine.
“You dealt with it.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Jean put her phone down. “We talked.”
Frank looked at Peter.
Peter shrugged.
“We talked.”
“You talked.”
“Yes.”
“And then you started sleeping together.”
Jean glanced at Peter. “Not immediately.”
Frank closed his eyes.
Peter muttered, “Why would you clarify that?”
Jean whispered back, “Accuracy.”
Frank pointed at her without opening his eyes. “Stop helping.”
Jean leaned back in her chair.
Peter finally poured himself some coffee.
Frank stared at him. “She got inside MJ’s head, used her body, kissed you while you thought it was MJ, screwed with your head…”
Jean’s mouth tightened. “I know what I did.”
“…and now you’re doing this.”
Peter’s expression became more serious. “Frank.”
“Nah. I’m asking.”
“You’re interrogating.”
“Same difference.”
Jean looked down at her hands, suddenly the room wasn’t quite as funny anymore.
Peter set his mug down. “She apologized.”
Frank scoffed.
“Great.”
“Not like that.” Peter looked briefly at Jean. “We talked about all of it. The kiss. MJ. What she did. Why she did it. What happened after.”
Frank said nothing.
Peter continued. “And I was angry.”
Jean looked at him now. “Very angry,” she said quietly.
Peter nodded. “Yeah.”
Frank looked between them. “Then what changed?”
Peter didn’t answer immediately.
Jean did. “He let me in.”
Frank’s eyes moved to her.
Jean tapped two fingers lightly against her temple. “Really let me in.”
There was a beat.
Then Frank’s expression changed.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
“Yeah,” he said slowly. “I know.”
Peter glanced at him.
Frank looked between the two of them. “I was there for the part right after.”
Jean’s mouth twitched. “You mean when you shot him?”
Frank’s eyes narrowed. “I was aiming for you!”
“That does make it much better.”
“Jean,” Peter warned.
“What? He brought it up.”
Frank ignored her and kept looking at Peter. “You talked her down. Let her into your head. Whatever the hell happened in there worked.” His gaze flicked toward Jean. “Then I put a round through you trying to hit her, and she spent God knows how long using that magic voodoo shit of hers to keep you breathing.”
Jean folded her arms. “Telepathy.”
“Magic voodoo shit.”
“Telepathy.”
“Don’t care.”
Peter was trying very hard not to smile.
Frank caught it. “Something funny?”
“No.”
“Looks funny.”
“It’s just nice seeing you two bond.”
“We’re not bonding.”
Jean tilted her head. “I think we’re bonding.”
Frank pointed at her without looking away from Peter. “Stop.”
Jean smiled.
Frank’s attention returned fully to Peter. “I told you in the hospital, what she did for you mattered. Girl could’ve run. She didn’t.”
Jean’s expression softened, just slightly.
Frank noticed that too.
“But,” he continued, “when I said that, I didn’t mean you should start sleeping with her.”
Peter nearly choked on his coffee. “Can we not make this sound like I got shot, woke up, and immediately decided to have sex with Jean?”
Frank looked at him. “Is that not what happened?”
“No.”
Jean considered it.
“There was a gap.” Peter slowly turned toward her.
“Do not.”
“What? There was.”
“You’re making it worse.”
“I’m establishing a timeline.”
Frank rubbed a hand over his face. “How long a gap?”
Peter pointed at him. “You don’t get to ask follow up questions.”
“So it wasn’t long.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Jean leaned against the table, visibly enjoying herself now.
Frank suddenly looked at her.
“Was it that thing in his head?”
Her smile faded into something smaller.
“What?”
“That where this started?”
Peter went quiet.
Jean did too.
Frank looked between them.
And there it was again, that tiny shift Peter hated because Frank was annoyingly good at noticing things he wasn’t supposed to notice.
Jean glanced at Peter.
Peter glanced back.
It lasted maybe two seconds.
Apparently that was two seconds too many.
Frank exhaled through his nose. “Oh, for Christ’s sake.”
Peter frowned. “What?”
“That’s a yes.”
“It isn’t.”
“That’s absolutely a yes.”
Jean looked almost amused again. “Technically, nothing happened then.”
Frank stared at her.
Jean paused.
“We were sitting on a bed.”
Frank’s face went completely blank.
Peter closed his eyes. “Jean.”
“What?”
“You didn’t need to tell him that.”
Frank looked at Peter.
“A bed.”
“It was a memory.”
“A memory of a bed.”
“It was my old room. May was there.”
That stopped Frank for half a second.
Peter’s voice had gone quieter. “She saw May.”
Peter looked at her.
Jean met his eyes.
Neither of them said anything.
Frank watched them.
Then he groaned. “Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me.”
Peter looked back at him. “What now?”
“Nothing.”
“No, say it.”
“Nah.”
“Frank.”
Frank gestured between them. “So that whole thing in your head… that was the beginning of you two fucking?”
Jean actually laughed.
Peter stared at him. “You shot me during it.”
“Yeah.”
“You almost killed me.”
Frank’s jaw tightened. “I know.”
The humor disappeared for a moment.
Peter knew that look too.
Frank had apologized in the hospital. More than once, in his own Frank Castle way, which mostly meant he’d looked at the floor and sounded like every word physically hurt to say.
Peter softened. “I know you know.”
Frank gave him a small nod.
Jean looked between them.
Then, because she apparently couldn’t tolerate sincerity for more than eight consecutive seconds, she said,
“For what it’s worth, I thought the bullet really added something to the moment.”
Frank stared at her.
Peter made a strangled sound.
“Jean.”
“What?”
“You cannot joke about Frank shooting me in front of Frank.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s Frank.”
Frank pointed at Peter. “Listen to him.”
Jean considered that. “Fine.”
A beat.
“Thank you for getting him to the hospital.”
Frank lowered his hand.
That caught him off guard.
Jean’s expression was sincere now.
“I could keep his body going. I couldn’t fix the damage.”
Peter looked at her.
Jean shrugged faintly. “So. Thank you.”
Frank studied her for a moment.
Then gave one short nod. “Yeah.”
Another brief silence.
Then Frank looked at Peter again.
“So.”
Peter immediately became suspicious.
“So?”
Frank gestured between them.
“What is this?”
Jean answered without hesitation.
“Sex.”
Peter inhaled coffee.
Immediately regretted it.
He coughed violently into his fist.
Frank stared at Jean.
Jean shrugged.
“You asked.”
“I meant emotionally.”
“Oh.”
Peter finally managed to breathe again. “Jesus Christ.”
Frank looked at him. “Apparently breathing’s a group project with you now.”
Peter stared at him.
Jean’s eyebrows shot up.
A slow grin appeared on her face. “Was that a joke?”
“No.”
“Frank.”
“No.”
“That was absolutely a joke.”
“Drop it.”
Jean looked delighted.
Peter pointed accusingly at Frank. “See? This is why I didn’t tell you.”
“You didn’t tell anybody.”
“Correct.”
“Why?”
Peter looked at Jean.
She looked back at him.
The moment lasted just a little too long.
Again.
Frank noticed.
Again.
Peter turned back toward him.
“Because it’s not…”
He searched for the word.
Jean supplied it.
“Dating.”
“Right.”
Frank looked from one to the other.
“So you’re not dating.”
“No.”
“Definitely not,” Jean added.
Frank grabbed his jacket. “You two are idiots.” Frank grabbed his jacket. “I’m leaving.”
“You came here for something.”
“Forgot.”
“You did not forget.”
“I decided it isn’t worth this.”
He opened the door.
Then stopped.
Slowly, he looked back at Peter.
“And Parker?”
Peter sighed. “What?”
Frank pointed at Jean. “We’re clear about something.”
Peter waited.
Frank’s eyes narrowed. “The next time she climbs into your ex-girlfriend’s head and kisses you with somebody else’s face, you call me before you decide to process it by sleeping with her.”
Peter’s mouth fell open.
Jean made a choking sound beside him.
“That is not what happened.”
“Looks like what happened.”
Frank looked at Jean.
Jean nodded.
“He’s right, actually.”
Frank stepped into the hallway.
Jean called after him,
“For the record, I don’t need telepathy to get Peter into bed.”
Peter froze.
Frank froze.
Silence.
Peter slowly turned toward her.
Jean realized, perhaps three seconds too late, that she had finally gone too far.
Frank looked at Peter.
Then Jean.
Then Peter again.
“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.”