Chapter Text
Frank had wanted to surprise Red. So, hands full of grocery bags, he’d made his way up the fire escape and slid open the window to Red’s kitchen, dropped down on the counter, and got his groceries inside before stepping down to the floor. Immediately, an unholy wail started up beneath his boot, and Frank looked down as he released his foot. A cat shot out from beneath it and ran to the bedroom.
Nonplussed, Frank set down the groceries and went to go and check on the damned cat.
He found it under the bed, and it staunchly refused to come out. Frank felt bad, saw how its ribs stood out starkly under its fur, but there was nothing to do that wouldn’t traumatize it further. So, he left it, for the time being, once he’d made sure there was no blood puddle or obvious wounds on it. He turned on his playlist that he’d played while he lived with Matt. Nothing too jarring, but some mix of easy listening and a little bit of rock and blue grass. He found himself humming to it while he made dinner, one of his Nonna’s favorite recipes.
Eventually, Matt returned to the apartment via the normal way, and the damned cat shot out of the bedroom to greet him. “Hey, Oscar. Yeah, I missed you too, buddy.” Red’s voice was soft, a little tired, and Frank cleared his throat. “So, you met Oscar?”
“He met my boot when I came in. ‘Bout gave me a heart attack.” Frank nodded to the window. “Hell of a security system you’ve got.”
Red set Oscar down, and the cat sauntered over to a tiny food bowl and water dish. Sat with his paws carefully tucked into his bony body, tail wrapped around himself like it would protect him. Red moved around him in the kitchen, produced a can of wet food and cracked it open while Oscar waited patiently by his dish.
“It smells good.” Red said as he bent over to tap the contents of the can into the dish.
“Never was a fan of cat food, but I guess there’s no accounting for taste.” Frank teased. He turned around to watch Red’s reaction.
Red stood up, about to speak, but just ended up shaking his head. “Thank you for making dinner. We could have ordered something.”
“Yeah, but take-out will only get you so far.” Frank shrugged as he went back to stirring. It was the steam from the roiling pot of noodles that made his face feel hot.
“I remember.” Matt said. Frank had made that argument more than a few times during his stay in Matt’s apartment. The smaller man made sure Oscar had started eating, then stepped in beside Frank, reached for the spoon in the pot of sauce that was slowly simmering while Frank waited for the noodles to boil. He took a taste, and let out a little moan that was definitely not doing anything to Frank. Maybe a little pride in his cooking, but definitely had no other effect on him.
They sat in silence for the few minutes it took for the noodles to boil, but Matt didn’t move. Just stood close and observed Frank while he stirred the sauce and tested the noodles for the perfect al dente. When the oven timer dinged, he pushed playfully at Matt’s shoulder to get him to move so he could take the chicken out.
It took moments to plate everything, turn off the stove, and usher Matt to the couch to eat.
Matt groaned a bit at each new bite, and Frank was going to go getting a big head over it, but in tasting it himself, had to admit that he’d done well. Eventually, the plates were clean, and Matt rose before holding out his hand. Frank stood instead of handing it over. “No, you cooked. I’ll clean up.” Matt insisted, hand already on the plate Frank gripped with both hands.
“You wash, I’ll dry.” Frank tried, with a genuine smile. He kept having those more and more, as he spent more time with Red. It was odd, considering he’d never thought he’d have a reason to, again. Still, Red smiled back at him, and Frank’s plate was released so they could walk to the sink.
The domesticity of it brought back memories of when he’d been home on leave and feeling well enough to cook, and Maria would insist on doing the dishes, but he’d win by taking on the task of drying them, at least, despite her protests. Matt didn’t flick water at him, or blow bubbles in his face, just calmly washed the dishes and handed them off to Frank so that they could be dried and put away. The playlist he’d never turned off was playing CCR’s ‘Have You Ever Seen the Rain’, and something about the quiet peace of the night was enough to lull Frank into something like being tired. The sun had barely set, Matt would be getting ready for patrol soon. Frank had packed his gear in the van that waited in the alley by Matt’s building for the same thing. Still, something in him wanted to just… stay in. Like they had when Frank had taken up semi-permanent residence here and Matt had been out of commission.
“I was thinking about staying in, tonight.” Red broke the silence. Not for the first time, Frank wondered if the guy was psychic and just refused to give up the secret.
“Yeah?”
“I’m pretty beat, and I haven’t heard anything going on while we sat here and ate dinner.” Matt replied, sounding soft and warm and like everything that should have made Frank want to turn tail and run.
“Alright, what would you like to do?” Frank asked, setting aside the dish he’d been drying.
“Just like that, huh?” Matt asked, a funny smile on his face.
“I can go, if you want.” It wasn’t really a question, because Frank had always known Red to speak up for what he wanted Frank to do. At least, when it was just the two of them.
“No.” The simple denial hung between them. “Frank, I-” He stopped. Frank watched him closely. “Foggy’s coming up the stairs.”
_____________________________
Of all the days for Frank to surprise him, it had to be the one where he’d lost a case. In his defense, with what Fisk was doing with the police force, not to mention his diminishing pull in the court system, it should not have been as shocking as it was to lose his case. Hearing an innocent man be put in handcuffs, though, saying goodbye to his loved ones? It had taken the kind of toll Matt wasn’t used to bearing as just plain old Matt Murdock.
Coming home to find Frank in his kitchen, Oscar avoiding the behemoth like the plague, and dinner simmering on the stove had at least helped to raise his heart a little. Out of his shoes and into his lower legs, at least. Then, Frank had plated their food, and Matt had died a little at how good each bite tasted, even as he forced himself to eat more than he originally would have. He’d been on the precipice of asking Frank to stay, maybe for longer than just one night, to tip over an edge they’d been dancing on for years, when he’d heard Foggy’s gait on the stairwell. It sounded like he was carrying something heavy, given the way he stomped with effort, but it startled him to realize that he probably wouldn’t have heard the sound, otherwise.
They were too close together, Frank right in his space, but he stepped away when Matt announced Foggy’s presence. Matt found himself wanting to reach out and catch that muscled forearm in his hand, stop him from moving away, but he didn’t need the lecture from Foggy, much less while Frank was in the room. So, he moved to the door and opened it after the first knock.
“Good. You’re still here. I’m not going to let you- Oh…” Foggy’s voice told him that he noticed Frank in his kitchen putting dishes away. “Did I-”
“Interrupt? A little.” Frank was not helping. Foggy’s head turned towards Matt, and he shook his head. They were not going to talk about this right then.
“Well, I came to get drunk and commiserate. Just because there’s a mass-murderer in your apartment doesn’t mean I’m not seeing that through.” Foggy marched past Matt, through the apartment, and set a pizza box as well as what sounded like a case of beer and a large liquor bottle on the new-ish coffee table. (“Ish” because he’d bought it second-hand a few months prior). Really, his best friend’s actions may have been surprising, but they were an improvement on Foggy’s previous interactions with The Punisher, so Matt was going to take it.
Frank finished putting away the dishes while Matt grabbed three mis-matched shot glasses from the cupboard to his left. “Need me to go, Red?” Frank asked under his breath. Matt shook his head, shot him a small smile, then made his way back to Foggy on the couch. Frank, of course, took the floor on the opposite side of the coffee table.
“Is that The Eagles?” Foggy asked. They’d forgotten that Frank’s phone on the kitchen counter was still playing music in the rapidly-changing evening.
“Uh… yeah…” Frank sounded as though he wished the floor could swallow him up. As they sat in silence for a moment, the song changed from ‘Witchy Woman’ to ‘Bad Moon Rising’.
Foggy snorted into the quiet. He reached over the table and picked up the bottle, cracked it open, and the scent of decent whiskey flooded the apartment. “Dude. How old are you?” The question hung for a moment. Then, Frank chuckled. Shots were poured, beers were opened, and everyone settled in for the night. Part of Matt was still wishing that he’d been left alone with Frank, but having Foggy there for him made his heart warm.
They drank long into the night, finished the bottle and beers between them. The world spun around Matt, and everything was a bit wobbly when he tried to stand. Foggy had fallen asleep early, so Frank and Matt had continued drinking and listening to the music and talking a little bit about the case and the state of the city.
Finally, Frank stood and seemed to only sway slightly. “Alright, Red. I think it’s bed time for the light weights.” Frank laughed a little as Matt attempted to stand as well, sounding light.
“No way you’re not feelin’ this too.” Matt did his best not to slur his words together, despite how heavy his tongue felt in his mouth.
“Maybe, maybe not. Chances are, you won’t remember in the morning.” Frank’s voice was warm, and grew closer to him as he stepped into Matt’s space. Matt reached out and felt along Frank’s biceps, up to his shoulders, and Frank’s hands went to his hips to steady him as Matt began to sway to the music. It was something soft, sounded like one of his grandmother’s records that his dad used to play while Matt patched him up.
“Wanna dance, Frank?” He was just tipsy enough not to feel like it was an awkward question. Frank stilled for a second, his heart beat jumped, and Matt laughed at him. Always so skittish, just like Oscar, who had curled up on the foot of the bed where Matt had left a warm blanket for him.
“I don’t dance, Red.” Frank lied, his hips swaying a bit in time with Matt’s movements.
“We used to dance all the time, Castle. Just had different moves.” Matt wasn’t even entirely sure what he meant by that, but as he snuggled into the warmth of Frank’s chest, arms wrapping around his waist, Frank didn’t push him away. Maybe that would be enough.
It could have been a small eternity that they swayed to the music together, neither of them sober enough to do half of the moves required for actual dancing. Still, as the playlist went back to soft rock, Matt felt Frank’s head lean down to rest against his shoulder. Warm breath tickled his ear as Frank settled into his hunched-over position.
“You can stay, if you’d like. Plenty of room in the bed.” Matt offered, noting with a nod of his head that Foggy still lay passed out on the couch.
“Yeah? Gonna keep me warm tonight, Red?” The growl in his ear sent a shiver down Matt’s spine, and he sighed into it.
“Or maybe you’ll keep me warm.” Matt murmurred. Frank stepped back, and Matt almost pouted at the loss of the warmth that surrounded him, but then he was being lifted, legs in the air. He was tossed on the bed, and Frank began stripping out of his jeans and tee shirt until he was left in just his boxers. He seemed not to care that Matt was in the room, and why would he? Matt, though, felt self-conscious enough to leave his under-shirt on and pulled on a pair of sweat pants almost as soon as he’d removed his suit pants.
Frank was already in the bed before Matt could finish tying up the strings to ensure those pants stayed on, his fingers fumbling stupidly. He may have sobered up a bit while dancing, but the fact that Frank Castle was laying in his bed, disturbing Oscar, and getting comfortable left Matt feeling a bit unsteady. When he finally made his way into the bed, despite Oscar’s departure in protest of all of the movement, he slid under the covers and closer to the wall of muscle that dipped the typically unused part of the bed down a bit.
As he shifted to get comfortable, Oscar jumped back up onto the bed and curled himself into Matt’s stomach, but the room was starting to spin again. Matt sat up, careful to cradle Oscar to his chest, and sat like that until the world seemed to stand still once more. Everything was muffled, thankfully, as he laid himself carefully back down and turned onto his side. Within seconds, he was asleep.
___________________________