Chapter Text
The roadhouse was exactly what Matt had expected it to be, or as much of it as his senses could put together based on what Frank had told him. There was its shape: a stocky, rectangular, single-level structure with a triangular roof, its bright neon sign creating an electrical discharge that Matt could read. There were the sounds: peoples’ voices, rough, loud, a little drunk, happy; the music from the band that Frank liked; and all the other countless sounds – the minutia that went unnoticed to ordinary hearing – that came from a place like this. There were the smells: sweat mingled with aftershave and perfume, alcohol spilled on tabletops, mud from boots that had tramped through damp earth, oil and grease from fried food. Then there was a hand at the back of his neck and Frank leaning in to say:
“Too loud?”
Frank was always like that: looking out for Matt, thinking of Matt’s comfort before he thought of his own. Matt had become the priority in Frank’s life, and Matt often found Frank’s unrestricted love and care humbling. He’d never had a partner as thoughtful and considerate as Frank before. Frank put everyone that had come before him to shame. (And since Matt couldn’t imagine anyone coming after Frank, then that was a moot point.)
Matt shook his head. “It’s fine,” he said.
Frank’s unwavering look and body language told Matt that the other man didn’t entirely believe him. Matt leaned closer to him and repeated, “It’s fine. If things get uncomfortable, I’ll let you know.” He paused and then nodded in the direction of the bar. “The bartender’s already clocked you. I’m assuming that’s Beth. Go say ‘hello’ and get our drinks. I’ll go nab the corner table behind us to the left.”
Before Frank could object, Matt had eluded his grasp and was headed toward said corner table. He wasn’t ‘playing’ blind tonight. In fact, for the majority of their road trip, he hadn’t played blind at all. Most of the time, he still carried his foldable cane, but it was more out of a sense of comfort and familiarity (and the fact that it made a great weapon) rather than necessity. Tonight, he didn’t even have the cane.
By the time Matt took a seat at the table, Frank had made his way to the bar. This should’ve been an awkward moment, but like so many ‘should’ve’s where Frank was involved, it wasn’t. Frank was about to have a heart-to-heart with a certain bartender – the whole reason they’d included Michigan on their road trip – and Matt would hear every word of it. It wasn’t as if Matt was purposely eavesdropping, but it wasn’t like he could tune it out either. It was what it was. Frank was never bothered by the idea that a ‘private’ conversation was impossible wherever Matt was concerned. “Ain’t got nothin’ to hide,” Frank had said, a statement so quintessentially Frank Castle that it had made Matt smile.
The truth was Frank had found multiple ways to turn Matt’s hearing against him. (And God help him if he and Frank ever found themselves on opposing sides in a war. No one knew Matt’s weaknesses now the way Frank did, but Matt supposed that went both ways.) That first week had sealed Matt’s fate. Frank had spent that week in Matt’s apartment, sleeping in the first three mornings, and then joining Matt for breakfast for the rest of the week. Matt looked back on that time as their ‘honeymoon’ period. In many ways, that week established what would eventually become their ‘routine.’
Frank spent that week getting to know Matt’s beloved Hell’s Kitchen. Matt had told him some childhood stories about growing up in the Kitchen and Frank visited those places. He explored Hell’s Kitchen, coming to understand why Matt was so attached to his neighborhood. He discovered the second hand bookstore two blocks away from Matt’s building, the neighborhood grocery down the block, the Korean grocery in the opposite direction, the local art house cinema that played classics and foreign fare, as well as the nearby park.
When he wasn’t exploring, Frank liked to read. Matt’s handful of books were all in Braille, which was to be expected. So, Frank picked up a few hardbacks from the used bookstore. Most of the time, he liked to read stretched out on the sofa in Matt’s apartment, which he found remarkably comfortable. (That sofa sure as hell didn’t look comfortable, but it was.) Thanks to those expansive floor to ceiling windows, Matt’s apartment was flooded with natural daylight, the angle of the windows and the buildings across the street ensuring that though well lit, the apartment never got too warm. The other place Frank liked to read was at the park. And if he was reading in the park, then it meant that he was usually picking up groceries too.
Few people would’ve guessed, but Frank Castle was a great cook. Breakfast was Matt’s domain (no way could Frank compete with those eggs), but Frank prepared the evening meal. (Once he made sandwiches for lunch, and Matt had met him in the park for a quick bite.) It was usually while he was shopping that Frank liked to turn Matt’s hearing against him. He quickly learned that the ten blocks that marked the boundaries of Hell’s Kitchen was totally within Matt’s range. (Maybe that was why the Devil was so territorial. He could literally hear everything that went down in his neighborhood.) That meant that as long as Frank stayed in the Kitchen, he could talk to Matt at any time, secure in the knowledge that Matt would hear him.
Most of the time, Frank would simply share his observations with Matt. (And Matt would pick up that conversation later in the day when they saw each other again.) In fact, Frank got used to talking to Matt whenever he felt like it, which, when he was in public, probably made him look a little nuts. But, there were other times when Frank was feeling a little devious that he liked to goad the Devil. Out of the blue, he’d describe what he’d like to do to Matt later that night, or what he’d like Matt to do to him. Frank didn’t spare any detail. He was such a traditionalist when it came to sex (a trait that Matt found both amusing and endearing) that it was a massive turn on to hear Frank talk dirty to him in his deep, gravelly voice. It all came to a head one afternoon in that first week. Matt had called Frank after listening to the other man detail a steady stream of fantasy porn for almost thirty minutes. Frank had picked up on the first ring.
“Something you wanted to tell me, Red?”
“You are a total asshole,” Matt had hissed back. That statement was met by Frank’s deep laughter rolling over him in warm waves. “Do you realize I was in a meeting with the ADA?”
“I was wonderin’ if I timed that right.”
Matt was stunned into silence. “You shit,” he said, when he’d recovered.
Frank laughed again. “How’d the meeting go?” he asked.
“It’s still going,” Matt replied. “I excused myself and left Foggy to deal with Simpson.”
Frank chuckled softly. “Whaddya want for dinner?” he said, changing the subject. He could tell that Matt wasn’t really pissed.
“Depends,” Matt said. “Are you cooking or are we going out?”
“I was thinkin’ of that new Vietnamese place that opened down the street,” Frank commented.
“Uh-huh,” Matt said knowingly. “You just want to see if their thit ko is as good as yours.”
Frank shrugged. “I was thinkin’ more of their pho bo,” he admitted.
“I wouldn’t mind a pho bo,” Matt agreed. “Or a good banh mi.”
“Vietnamese, then?”
“Vietnamese.”
>At the end of the first week, Matt casually cleared out two drawers in his bureau and some closet space. It was a tacit invitation that Frank accepted. They never actually talked about it. Frank didn’t have a permanent place in the city anyway, though he did have a few hideouts largely courtesy of Micro. So, Frank got his stuff together (what little he had) and moved in. Matt’s only condition was that Frank couldn’t bring an arsenal with him, which was fine by Frank. He did, however, insist on a single handgun and Matt conceded to that.
By the end of the first month, Frank began looking for a job. A real day job. He was still using his Pete Castiglione alias, an identity that was as clean as Frank Castle’s was not. He thought about going back to construction. He liked the physicality of it, though he didn’t have any more rage issues to work through. He sat down and talked over the possibilities with Matt: what he liked to do, what skills he possessed, what sort of environment he preferred. Frank Castle wasn’t exactly a people person and his best skills basically revolved around killing. He could’ve easily gotten a job in private security or as a PMC, but Frank didn’t want to re-enter that world, and Matt didn’t think it was a particularly good idea either. In the end, Matt recommended an animal shelter in Hell’s Kitchen that Nelson & Murdock had represented before they became Nelson, Murdock and Page. With Matt’s glowing recommendation, Frank got a job with the shelter. The pay was peanuts, but Frank didn’t care. He was able to do something he loved, which was help rehabilitate animals that had been victims of cruelty.
One day, an attack dog named Max was found on the streets near the shelter. Her owner had left her for dead after a vicious fight, probably thinking that Max wasn’t any good to him or her anymore. Frank nursed Max back to health and that was that. He figured that Max was short for ‘Maxine.’ When Max was healed up, albeit with a permanent limp in her right hind leg and deteriorating eyesight in her left eye, Frank brought her home. She jumped onto the sofa, settled herself on Matt’s lap, and that was that too.
Frank also began going to Curt’s VA meetings. He didn’t go every week, but he usually dropped by twice a month. Everybody knew who he was, of course, even if he went by the name Pete Castiglione. Nobody called him out on it, whether it was out of fear or respect. Vets were a tight group, and whatever he’d done, Frank Castle was one of their own.
At the end of the second month, Frank asked Matt if he wanted to swing by once the meeting was over. This wasn’t something they’d specifically talked about either, but Matt agreed easily enough. (It was amazing how much of their relationship was based on tacit understanding. They didn’t talk about the supposedly ‘big things’ because there seemingly wasn’t any need to. They were simply…in tune.)
Frank wanted Curtis to meet Matt officially, though he hadn’t exactly been planning to out Matt as Daredevil. It didn’t matter. Curtis took one look at Matt’s outstretched hand, examined his profile, recognized his voice and said:
“You’re shitting me.”
“We’re really not,” Matt informed him calmly.
Curtis barked out a short laugh and shook Matt’s hand. “It’s good to see you again, figuratively speaking,” he added, eyeing Matt’s dark glasses and white cane. “Are you…?” he trailed off.
“I am,” Matt confirmed.
“Right,” Curt agreed faintly, even though he clearly didn’t understand. He turned to Frank. “I knew you were in bed with the Devil, but I didn’t think that was so literal.”
“The Devil’s been watching over me,” Frank replied.
“You mean he’s been keeping you in line,” Curtis translated.
“Actually, I think Frank’s been watching over me,” Matt broke in.
Curtis shook his head. “Daredevil and the Punisher,” he said. “That’s a tabloid reporter’s wet dream. You two really are your own support group.”
“Join us for dinner?” Matt invited. “There’s a Thai place near here that serves great food.”
“Muang Thai,” Curtis supplied. “I know it.”
“C’mon,” Frank said, nudging Curtis with his elbow. “You know you can’t resist real pad seew.”
“It’s gonna be an interesting evening,” Curtis observed, following the other two out.
That interesting evening led to other interesting evenings, as well as regular Sunday afternoons in the park with Max. Frank had been right when he’d said that Matt and Curt would get along well. They were both thoughtful, compassionate, intelligent men. In fact, they had a lot more in common than Frank and Curt did. But Frank and Curtis were bound by the experiences that they’d shared, by the brotherhood that the military had given them.
Sometimes, on those Sundays, Frank would marvel at the new brotherhood he’d forged with Matt. Bill’s betrayal stung less as Matt filled the hole in Frank’s heart, and then patched over the other parts that weren’t fully healed yet. Before, Frank believed that he’d had two families. There had been Maria and the kids, and there had been the marines. Frank had loved his families equally, but he’d always been forced to choose. And it’d gutted each time when the call of duty had trumped that of staying at home. But Matt didn’t force that kind of choice out of him, and it wasn’t just ‘cos Frank was out of the army. It seemed so obvious now, but Frank hadn’t been able to see it before. Matt didn’t present him with that choice, because Matt was the best of both those worlds. Matt was his family, and Matt was a fighter. Like Maria, Matt understood Frank for who he was, and he accepted him and loved him anyway. It made Frank feel blessed. What were the chances that he’d find two people in all the world who could accept him as he was, even after all the terrible things he’d done in the army and afterwards?
“I get it,” Curtis said to him that first Sunday at the park as they were sitting on a bench.
Matt was buying hotdogs for all of them at a nearby vendor, Max barking happily at his heels. They’d put a harness on her so that she acted as Matt’s seeing-eye dog when Matt brought her out, even though she wasn’t properly trained for it. Truthfully, Max was a terrible seeing-eye dog but it didn’t matter. It didn’t even irk Frank that his dog loved Matt more than she loved him. Frank understood the appeal.
“Get what?” Frank said absently, his gaze fixed on Matt and Max.
“I get why he makes you so happy,” Curt continued. “I mean, look at the way you’re looking at him now. You’re so far gone. I can’t remember ever seeing you like this. Not even with –” Curt broke off suddenly. He held up a hand apologetically. “Sorry, man. I didn’t mean –”
“Forget it,’ Frank cut him off. “It’s okay. I compare them too, sometimes. Even though I shouldn’t, even though it’s not fair…on either of them. And Matt would hate that.”
“It would be a pretty awkward conversation,” Curtis agreed.
“Y’know,” Frank said. “He can hear everythin’ we’re sayin’ right now.”
Curtis lifted an eyebrow. It was an expression that said, Really?
“Really,” Frank confirmed.
“Your boyfriend’s got superpowers?”
“You ever wonder why he’s the Devil?”
Matt joined them a few minutes later, Max trotting beside him instead of in front of him like a proper seeing-eye dog should do. (Matt had clearly given up the pretense of the harness). Frank moved a little to his right to make room for Matt on the bench.
“Not that I’m complaining,” Matt said, as he handed over their hotdogs and sodas. “But the optics of letting the blind guy get the food is pretty terrible.”
“You volunteered,” Frank reminded him.
“Did you really hear everything we said?” Curtis asked, intrigued.
Matt sighed. “You said you understood why I make Frank happy,” he began. “Then you put your foot in it by accidentally comparing me to Maria. And this one,” he said, gesturing at Frank. “Gave you a pass because apparently he compares me to his dead wife as well, even though he knows he shouldn’t and that it’s not fair to either of us. And yes,” Matt said, turning his attention to Frank. “I do hate it.”
Frank gave Curtis a look that said, See?
Curtis gave a low whistle. “Shit,” he told Frank. “Your boyfriend’s got superpowers.”
“Heightened senses,” Matt corrected, as if on cue.
They settled into their personal lives easily enough because Matt had been completely correct in his assessment of that. They worked best as Matt Murdock and Frank Castle (or Pete Castiglione, as the rest of the world knew Frank). Their vigilante lives? That wasn’t as smooth a transition, but Matt also realized it could’ve been a lot worse. They were immediately put to the test by the end of the first month as they worked to break up the partnership between the Algerians and the Russians that Matt had first stumbled upon when Frank’s saga with Billy Russo and John Pilgrim had ended.
It was a long, drawn out fight. A proper turf war. It took them almost eight weeks to strategically dismantle the joint operations of the Algerians and the Russians, everything from arms dealing to narcotics distribution to human trafficking. By the end of the eight weeks, they’d driven the Algerians out of Hell’s Kitchen, had most of their head honchos arrested thanks to Brett Mahoney and put the Russians back in their place. (Meaning, having to start their operations again from the ground up and not in the Kitchen.) It was Matt and Frank’s final raid at the docks that broke the back of the Algerian-Russian partnership. As they’d been surrounded by the broken bodies of the two groups (everyone wounded, some seriously so but no fatalities), a few men managing to escape into the night, Frank had let out a disgruntled sigh, discharging the magazine from his weapon before loading a new one. Matt glanced back at him.
“It’s a lot harder,” Frank groused. “When you can’t kill ‘em.”
Matt chuckled, stepping over the unconscious bodies of two Russians to get to Frank. He knew that they were alone, and that all the surveillance cameras had been disabled.
“I appreciate the effort,” he said, when he reached Frank’s side. He could still sense the other man’s aggravation, the blood lust that flowed through Frank’s veins when they got into prolonged fights like this. Matt sometimes worried that Frank would lose himself in the heat of the battle and forget the agreement they’d reached, but it hadn’t happened so far.
“I’ll only kill when I have to,” Frank had said. “But if there’s ever a question of your life or my life over some scumbag’s, I ain’t gonna hesitate.”
There wasn’t much Matt could say to that. It was a reasonable statement. As Frank had pointed out at the start, compromise was now the name of the game.
But that night in the warehouse by the docks, Matt could sense Frank’s dissatisfaction rolling off of him in waves. They’d succeeded in their task, but Matt knew that it was only his presence that had prevented Frank from blowing everyone to smithereens. There was no more sermonizing between them, no more lecturing, no more taunting, and no more goading. But that didn’t mean that Frank’s silent critique of the situation wasn’t as plain as day to Matt. Matt knew it was totally against protocol, but he had to find a way to soothe Frank, to assure the other man that they’d done the right thing. So, while he counted the distance of the approaching police sirens, he slung an arm about Frank’s shoulders and drew the other man towards him. Frank stepped into his embrace willingly, and then Matt was slotting their lips together amid the blood and the gunpowder and the stale air of the warehouse.
“That ain’t gonna work all the time, Red,” Frank told him when the kiss ended.
“I know,” Matt agreed, still nipping at Frank’s jaw. He couldn’t keep the smugness out of his tone. “But it’s gonna work most of the time.”
Another exasperated sigh and Matt knew he was right.
It was towards the end of the third month that Frank got a call from Madani, offering him a job working for the CIA. Black ops. Wet work. A hired gun. Madani had switched teams, going from defense to offense in the process. She needed someone to pull the trigger, to shoot where she pointed, and Frank was the best at what he did. Frank would be lying if he said that he hadn’t felt the pull of patriotism again, even after the terrible betrayals he’d faced. Fools like him were suckers for the flag. And Frank had to believe that Madani was different, that she wouldn’t let herself get caught up in all the bullshit. She’d be able to block out the noise. After everything they’d been through together, Frank knew he could trust her. He didn’t give his trust easily. It had to be earned. (There was still a part of him that could be as idealistic as the altar boy when it came down to it.)
He brought up the subject with Matt later that night after Matt had done his patrol. He hadn’t joined Matt that evening, but he was waiting for the other man on the roof when he returned.
“How’d it go?” Frank asked, handing Matt a freshly brewed mug of coffee. It’d become somewhat of a ritual between them.
“Pretty quiet,” Matt answered, accepting the mug gratefully. “Which was nice for a change,” he added, after taking a sip.
“No criminals are gonna mess with you so soon after the Algerian-Russian takedown,” Frank informed him.
“No criminals are gonna mess with us,” Matt corrected.
Frank brushed the compliment aside. “Not after the glory, Red.”
“That makes two of us,” Matt agreed. He sipped more coffee. Frank always spoiled him. “What’s on your mind?” he asked after a moment.
Frank bit back a laugh. Matt could read him so well.
“Madani called.”
“Didn’t realize she had your number.”
“She’s with the CIA now. She’s got everybody’s number.”
“Did she offer you a job?”
“You sure mind-readin’ ain’t one of yer superpowers?”
“I’m sure. Did you accept?”
This time, Frank didn’t bother to hold back his laugh. “Nah,” he said. They were sitting on the concrete ledge against the steps that led down to Matt’s apartment. It had become their favorite spot on the roof.
“But you thought about it.”
“For about five minutes,” Frank admitted.
“I wouldn’t mind, y’know,” Matt told him. “If you wanted to go back. If you feel that’s where you belong, if you think that would make you happy.”
Frank shook his head. “Nah, Red,” he said, running his hand down Matt’s leg.
He liked the feel of the lightweight armor of Matt’s new suit. Potter had really come through. The new suit was nearly identical to Matt’s old one except in color (it did come in black) and to upgrades in the joints for greater mobility and protection. It also had an outline of a double D on Matt’s chest in a dark maroon color that glinted when the light caught it just right. The glint of the double D matched the red glint of the Devil’s eyes. It was a true superhero costume. Frank wouldn’t be caught dead in a costume (he stubbornly didn’t think of the skull logo as a ‘costume’), but he loved the whole look for Matt. Red embraced the superhero persona. He should have a costume to match.
Frank reached for Matt’s coffee to have a sip. They’d gotten used to sharing. “This is where I belong,” he said, smiling as he watched Matt remove his mask.
Coming out to Curtis was one thing; coming out to Matt’s two closest friends was something else entirely. Frank thought of it as the last hurdle. What they had was working, and so far, they’d passed every test that’d been thrown their way. Nelson and Karen? They were the last test.
Karen, of course, already suspected. She was a smart cookie. Frank had kept in touch with her. He told her about the job at the animal shelter and how Matt had set him up. Naturally, she’d read and watched the reports about how Daredevil had worked with a partner to take down the Algerian-Russian ring. Just because bodies hadn’t been riddled with bullets and the Punisher hadn’t been mentioned by name didn’t mean Karen couldn’t put two and two together. After the hospital breakout, who else would Matt team up with?
“You’re following Matt’s rules,” Karen told him one day over coffee at their regular diner.
“Your boy’s a stickler for rules,” Frank groused. He stirred his coffee, even though there was nothing to mix. He didn’t take cream or sugar. (Unless he was taking Vietnamese coffee. Then he succumbed to custom and had condensed milk.) “We’ve reached an arrangement,” he added, after a while.
“So, what?” Karen shot him a devious look. “You’re his sidekick now?”
Frank glared at her. “Partner,” he shot back. “Part time.”
That was true. He didn’t go out on patrol with Matt every night. They only teamed up for the big stuff, stuff he didn’t want Matt to handle alone. That’s what back up was for. Then Frank took care of the bulk of reconnaissance. Scouting. Strategy. Red did the covert work, whatever required stealth. Breaking and entering into secure areas was his specialty. Fancy locks and alarm systems were no match for the Devil. If Red ever decided to give up the superhero stuff, he’d make one hell of a thief.
Karen’s smile said that she wanted to say more but somehow held back. Frank was grateful. He was a lousy liar, and no one knew this better than Matt. If Karen asked the right questions, Frank wouldn’t be able to evade her. He wasn’t sure how Matt dealt with Karen every day, but perhaps he shouldn’t have been so surprised. Matt was a pro when it came to the whole sneaking-around-living-a-double-life bullshit. Frank supposed it was just another part of the whole vigilante superhero, secret identity gig. He was living a double life of his own as Pete Castiglione, but he was an amateur compared to Matthew-fucking-Murdock.
What made Karen and Nelson particularly tricky was that they both had keys to Matt’s place. This was understandable. Not only were they Matt’s closest friends, but they also knew about his secret identity. If Matt stopped answering his calls or didn’t turn up to work, they could simply bust in and make sure he wasn’t bleeding out on his living room floor. After all, it’d happened before. Of course, it also meant that Matt’s friends could drop by at any moment. But funnily enough, Karen and Nelson didn’t have to check up on Matt anymore once Frank moved in. (Matt may have kept Frank’s homicidal tendencies in check, but Frank took care of Matt. Period.) That alone should’ve been a giant neon sign that meant something significant had changed in Matt’s life, but once again he got away with it thanks to his living-a-double-life-secret-identity-bullshit.
At the five-month mark (two and a half months after they’d come out to Curtis, and a month after the Algerian-Russian takedown), they decided to break the news to Karen and Foggy. They were strategic about it, or rather, Frank was. He wanted a non-threatening but controllable environment, which translated to Matt’s apartment. Matt also pointed out that the way to Foggy’s heart was through his stomach, so Frank decided to prepare dinner, including the famous Castiglione Bolognese (made with tagatelle instead of spaghetti noodles). Matt chose the wine and prepared a salad, while Frank took care of the wild mushroom soup and dessert.
It seemed like a sound plan.
And it generally worked, with the exception of Foggy completely freaking out at the idea of a domesticated Punisher living with and in a relationship with his best friend. The freak out happened upon arrival at Matt’s place and continued during the wild mushroom soup. When the salad was served, Foggy had calmed down somewhat. By the time he was chowing down on the Castiglione Bolognese, he was relatively chill. Food truly was the way to his heart. That, and the fact that Matt had chosen a very good wine and bought two bottles. Karen spent the entire evening smug, like the perennial cat that caught the canary, but it was only Frank who had to suffer her knowing looks. Matt could sense their exchange, and at one point, patted Frank’s knee under the table to commiserate with him.
It was when Frank stood up to get the dessert that Foggy leaned across the table and said to Matt, who was sitting opposite him and said:
“Matt, buddy. I know you’re my best friend, but you don’t actually expect me to give the shovel talk to The Punisher, do you?”
Before Matt could reply, Karen said, “I’m not sure Frank’s the one that needs the shovel talk.”
“Ouch, Karen,” Matt told her, but he was grinning. It was a good sign that they could joke about something like the ‘shovel talk.’
Foggy leaned back in his seat. “She’s not wrong, actually,” he agreed. “I mean, no offense Matt, but you could probably trademark the saying ‘Worst Romantic Partner Ever.’” He paused. “Well, maybe not ‘Ever,’” he amended.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Matt said.
“Vote of confidence for what?” Frank asked, returning with two decked out plates.
“Oh my god,” Foggy said, leaning forward again. “What is that?”
“Almond butter cake with strawberry compote and vanilla ice cream,” Frank explained.
Matt inwardly laughed at Foggy’s stunned silence.
“It’s meant for sharing,” Frank said, sounding a little uncomfortable as he placed one of the plates in between Foggy and Karen, and the second plate between Matt and himself. He sat down again.
Matt smiled and topped off their wine glasses. They were halfway through the second bottle.
“He bakes too?” Foggy said, finally finding his voice again. “Matt, he’s a keeper.”
“I’m aware,” Matt said, flashing Frank a warm smile. The action had the desired effect as Frank dipped his head, embarrassed by all the praise, but Matt could still see the warmth that bloomed on the other man’s cheeks.
Frank cleared his throat, picking up his dessert fork as he did so. “What vote of confidence?” he asked again in an effort to change the subject.
“We were just giving Matt the shovel talk,” Karen answered him.
“Is that right?” Frank said, amused. “Don’t I get one of those, too?”
“I can give you your shovel talk later,” Karen said, with mock seriousness. She gestured at Foggy. “This one gets a pass.”
Foggy held up his hands in surrender. “You are far better qualified than I am to give the shovel talk to The Punisher,” he pointed out. “I leave it in your capable hands.”
“Uh-huh,” Karen said, unimpressed.
“This is amazing,” Foggy gushed, returning his attention to the almond butter cake. “The texture on this cake…and the mixture of flavors!”
Matt turned his head in Frank’s direction and gave the other man a soft smile. When he reached under the table to pat Frank’s knee again, the other man beat him to it, grasping Matt’s hand easily and giving it a gentle squeeze. The evening couldn’t have gone any better.
At six months, they decided to go on a road trip. There was a lull in the casework at the office, and Foggy said that he could hold the fort down for two weeks. In exchange, Matt would handle the caseload so that Foggy and Marci could have their own downtime.
“Wait a minute,” Karen had said. “When do I get my vacation?”
“Anytime you want,” Matt had replied, magnanimously.
The streets were also relatively quiet during that time. Crime wouldn’t take a night off so that Daredevil and the Punisher could go on vacation, but Frank had been quietly persistent about the road trip, so persistent that Matt had no choice but to relent.
He didn’t regret the decision. It was nice to get out of the city, even though he wasn’t a fan of driving – he wasn’t a fan of enclosed vehicles, in general. But the road trip made Frank happy, and that was more than enough reason to do it.
“Can you drive?” Frank asked him curiously, as they were passing through Pennsylvania.
“If you mean, do I know how to drive, as in the mechanics of it,” Matt answered. “Then the answer’s ‘yes.’ But if you’re asking if I should drive, then the answer’s definitely ‘no.’”
“Somethin’ yer superpowers can’t do, huh?”
“There are limitations in small, enclosed spaces,” Matt admitted. “A car’s windshield, for example, throws my radar sense back at me. It’s the main reason why I shouldn’t drive.”
“So, if I knocked this windshield out, your radar sense would be able to map the road outside?”
“Pretty much.”
“Huh.” Frank sounded thoughtful. “What about a top down? A convertible?”
“Better,” Matt conceded. “But the windshield would still be a hassle.”
“But you’d be able to drive?” Frank persisted.
“You realize that it’s illegal for a blind person to drive, right?” Matt asked in return.
“Altar boy,” Frank said, but he was laughing.
The road trip led them to Michigan, to the roadhouse and to Beth, whom, of course, Frank did want to check up on. But once he was standing outside the roadhouse, Frank had been hesitant.
“Don’t think she’ll wanna see the guy that got her shot.”
“You didn’t get her shot,” Matt had reminded him. “And besides, she was trying to help you. Beth already knew how to handle a shotgun before you came along.”
With those words of encouragement, Matt had opened the door and practically pushed Frank inside. Now Frank was at the bar having a quiet chat with Beth that Matt could hear with perfect clarity amid the din of the crowd and the loud music.
“You look good,” Frank said, sliding onto a barstool. “Sorry about –”
“Don’t worry,” Beth said, cutting him off. She smiled. “You did right by me. That business with the girl? It’s all sorted out?”
“Yeah, it’s been sorted,” Frank confirmed. “I wanted to check up on you sooner. Didn’t really have a chance until now.”
Beth smiled again. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” she admitted. “It’s sweet of you to check up on me.” She paused, tilting her head as she studied him. “You look good too,” she finally said. “Good…but different.”
“Different?” Frank repeated.
“Yeah.” Beth seemed bemused. “You look…happy.”
Frank chuckled at that. “Happy,” he said. Now he was the one amused. “That’s prob’bly ‘cos I am,” he agreed. It wasn’t as strange as Frank thought it would be, saying that aloud.
“Does it have to do with the guy you came in here with?” Beth asked. “The one who’s waiting for you? Mr. I-Wear-Sunglasses-Indoors?” she teased.
“He does that ‘cos he’s blind,” Frank explained.
Beth flushed. “Shit. Sorry, I didn’t mean –”
“Don’t worry about it,” Frank said. It was his turn to brush her apology aside. “Matt makes it hard for people to tell.”
“Matt, huh?”
“Yeah, Matt.”
“And how long have you and Matt been…?”
“Almost six months.”
“Wow. Six months.” Beth sounded impressed. “I guess it’s serious then?”
“It is,” Frank confirmed.
“I’m happy for you, Frank. Real happy,” Beth said, sincerely. “Or are you still going by ‘Pete’?”
“Still goin’ by Pete, but you can call me ‘Frank.’”
“You look like a Frank,” Beth told him with another smile.
“How ‘bout breakfast tomorrow?” Frank invited, on the spur of the moment. “You and Rex, me and Matt? It’ll be our treat.”
Beth laughed. “That’s a little sudden, isn’t it?”
Frank shrugged. “Why beat around the bush?” he asked. “’Sides, I want you to meet Matt. And it’d be nice to see Rex.”
“Rex would be glad to see you, too,” Beth admitted. She flashed him such a devious smile that it reminded Frank of Karen. “Does my approval mean so much to you?” she teased.
“It counts for somethin’,” Frank replied. He stood up, drinks in hand. “Say nine, tomorrow? We’ll pick you up.”
“9:00am,” Beth agreed, wiping down the counter.
By the time Frank made it back to Matt, the band was on its second set.
“Breakfast?” Matt questioned, as Frank placed his drink in front of him.
“Too weird?” Frank asked, taking a seat beside Matt.
“Doesn’t have to be,” Matt told him. He took a sip. The Macallan’s rich tones were a welcome burn down his throat. “You remembered the name of Beth’s son,” he commented, after a while.
“’m not gonna forget the kid’s name,” Frank chided him.
“Do you want kids again?”
Frank choked on his whiskey, shooting Matt an accusing glare that Matt couldn’t see, but could sense. He grinned a little smugly.
“It’s too soon to be thinkin’ like that Red,” Frank chastised.
“It is,” Matt said, apology lacing his tone. But he’d gotten the answer that he’d really wanted. He’d heard the skip in Frank’s heart, and Frank hadn’t instinctively said, No. Frank had no problem saying ‘no’ whenever he meant it. It was too soon to be thinking like that, but kids were something they’d have to consider in the future.
Matt leaned a little closer to Frank, saying, “They are a good band.”
“Not too loud?” Frank asked, the concern back in his voice.
Matt placed a kiss on the other man’s temple, as he slipped an arm under Frank’s jacket and around his waist. “Just right,” he replied.