SUNSHINE [Frank Castle]

CHAPTER ONE - GUNSHOT WOUND

Charlotte Romanoff was jolted awake in the middle of the night by someone banging at her door. She glanced at the clock beside her, which read: 2:36 am in bright red numbers that hurt her eyes to read. She thought it over for a few moments. It was likely only one of her drunk neighbours thinking it was their ex's apartment. Or someone was trying to kill her. Either way, she was considering ignoring it.

But, the banging only got louder as the seconds ticked on. Sighing softly to herself, she grabbed her handgun from her bedside table and crept out of her bedroom.

She pressed herself against the wall next to her door, then unlocked and opened it. A large man stumbled through, seemingly injured. She raised her gun and pointed it at him, at least until she saw who it was. A man whom she had not seen for months. She lowered her gun and sighed.

"What are you doing here, Castle?"

Frank Castle did not look much like how she last saw him. He had the beginnings of a beard covering his jaw, and the look in his eyes made her sick. She knew that look all too well. It had been in her own eyes and her sister's too many times. She wondered what he had seen or done in the few months they'd been apart to make him look that way.

One thing that was familiar about him was that he was bleeding all over her hardwood floor.

"Didn't know where else to go," he managed to get out, leaning against the wall for support.

"Sit on the couch. Take off your clothes wherever the bleeding is coming from." She ran to her bedroom where she kept her medical supplies, but only after shouting behind her, "And try not to bleed on my couch!"

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, though through gritted teeth.

When she returned, his jacket and shirt were off, revealing a very bloody torso. "Ептель-мопсель," she muttered at the sight. Goddamn it.

She knelt down next to the couch and inspected the wound. "Gunshot, I assume?" She asked, reverting back to English.

"Yeah."

"Okay, hold still. This is going to hurt." She reached into the wound with her tool and, to her surprise, easily found the bullet. She pulled it out and set it in a small metal tray, then went about patching him up.

She glanced up at him, his face contorted in pain as he grunted, trying not to make any loud pained sounds. "You alright?"

"Yeah. I'm fine." He nodded. "It hurts, like you said."

"I'll be finished soon. I think. I'm clearly not a professional."

"No, but you're good at it. I remember—" he grunted when she pressed down too hard, and she gave him an apologetic look. He continued, "I remember from last time."

"Somehow I always end up patching you up, don't I? No matter how much time has passed." She finished and stood, then began cleaning up. "There. Finished. Now sit still, don't hurt yourself even worse."

She carefully gathered her things and returned them to their proper places in her bedroom. She went back to the living room afterward, a spare pillow in hand, where Frank still sat on her couch. Though, he looked as if he were trying to get up to leave.

"No," she said immediately upon seeing it. "You'll hurt yourself and then we'll be right back where we started. Get some rest, you can stay the night. You can tell me what the hell happened to you in the morning."

She threw the pillow onto the couch and folded her arms over her chest. "You're not going back to sleep?" He asked.

"Couldn't if I wanted to." She shrugged. "Wasn't having much of a sleep when you woke me. I've got some paperwork to do, anyway."

He seemed to remember that arguing with her wouldn't get him anywhere and nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

"The ottoman opens. There are extra blankets in there if you need them." She gestured to the black ottoman beside the couch, and he nodded again.

Just before she left the room for the last time that evening, he spoke. "Thanks, Sunshine."

Charlotte's steps stopped at his voice and she smiled at the nickname despite herself. "You're welcome, Frank."