Taking down the Irish was never going to be an easy task. Luckily, there's not a heavy workload at the firm, and Karen and Foggy seem reasonably okay with the idea of Matt taking the time to look into the legal rights of shop owners in the neighbourhoods being targeted. He's been out of Frank's way the last couple of nights, both of them doing their own sort of recon. He figures though that it's time for them to regroup.
It's a weird sort of working together vibe, but at least they agree that sharing information to make the next plans is better than just going at it alone.
Matt's on his way home, ready to get out of one suit and into another after a long day at the office, when something pulls at his instincts. He turns down a different block and into an alley, following long drawn out breaths and a slow heart beat. The closer he gets, the more a dread settles into him. His pace picks up until he's nearly running, coming to the dead end of the side-street.
"Jesus Christ, Frank -" Matt crouches down, feeling along Frank's sides and chest. "Can you hear me? Can you talk?"
Working as a sort-of team with Matt on this one has been... interesting. It isn't going how Frank expected, for better or worse. Even though this started as "his" job, it was inevitable that Daredevil would get invested once he found out, and now they give each other room to breathe while doing their respective parts. Maybe that's why it's been going so well, though Frank tries not to think about it. He doesn't want to get used to dragging Matt into his shit willingly.
The news of Daredevil and The Punisher working together to take down those two warehouses spread quickly, so it was inevitable that the Irish would up their defenses too. It's how Frank gets into trouble tonight, not expecting what was supposed to be a normal night to turn sideways. He just barely got away in one piece, dragging himself away from the industrial sector and toward home - toward Hell's Kitchen - full of bullet holes.
He's been in and out of consciousness with the blood loss and pain, unsure how long he's been like this at all. It would be a pathetic and shitty way for The Punisher to go, but a part of him is always ready for it, always wishing for it deep down inside, and maybe bleeding out in some grimy alleyway alone is what he deserves...
Naturally, God doesn't let him get away with it that easily.
Of course Matt finds him even when he probably wasn't looking, even when Frank wasn't hoping. His vest caught the brunt of the damage but some sliced through his side, his arms and thighs littered with more superficial wounds too. He's slumped down against the wall, eyes barely focusing up at Matt when he hears his voice. The situation is too bizarre and a strange chuckle wanders up into his chest, but even laughing feels too painful right now, so he lets out an awkward cough instead.
"Where the hell did you come from?" is his response. "Shit..."
At least that's a pretty expected response from Frank, which gives Matt a bit of hope. He knows what Frank needs is a hospital, and he knows that's not on the table. He knows that hauling Frank to the street is going to raise eyebrows. He thinks, maybe, they could get lucky and get a cab that doesn't care. But everyone knows The Punisher.
"Hey, hey." Matt pats Frank's cheek gently, enough to hopefully keep Frank from falling into an unconscious state. "We need to get to the other side of the building. Can you do that, Frank?"
He knows that, from there, the alleys connect and they've got a chance to get to Frank's hideout without interruption. Wasting no time, Matt starts to pull Frank up, bracing himself to support all the weight of the other man.
It's definitely not an easy feat to take Frank's dead weight but it's not Matt's first rodeo with this, and probably not the last either. Frank tries to do his part in keeping himself up but he's lost too much blood, and even standing is enough to pull a loud, pained groan out of him. He's leaning heavily into Matt and making a mess of his nice suit already.
"Christ..." he curses quietly, breaths staggered and unstable, his heartbeat not as strong and proud as it usually is. He's a bit of a mess. Frank is a fighter though and he's trying his best not to collapse onto Matt, pushing forward with him, though he'd certainly collapse back onto the ground if Matt wasn't keeping him up.
His head lolls dazedly to one side, eyes blurry and unfocused, and he wonders if this is even happening, or is he fucking hallucinating?
It's not easy. Frank's place isn't far, but hauling Frank along and making sure they won't run into any people makes it feel like forever. Matt talks to Frank along the way, as if that alone is going to keep Frank from dying on him.
Once the door is kicked open, Matt wastes no time. He eases Frank down and starts looking for the medical kit. He doesn't even know where to start with Frank. Find where he's bleeding the most and triage that? Shit. Maybe he should Claire...
"Stay with me, Frank."
Finally he finds the kit, glad that Frank keeps it stocked with things that are near hospital grade.
Frank follows the sound of Matt's voice, his head rolling toward him from where he was set down. The fact that they got here at all is a miracle and a half. The last time he was out this bad, it was David panicking on his behalf, though Frank barely remembers.
He tries to mumble something out but it comes out in another series of coughs instead, Frank groaning at the way it makes his ribs rattle. A heavy hand flops over to the side of his vest to unstrap it, breathing harder as the pressure lifts from his chest. There's a lot of blood on his side.
"Red..." He manages to slur out, trying to sit up even though he really shouldn't be.
He listens to Frank working on his vest, listens to the wetness in Frank's cough and voice. He shrugs out of his jacket and kneels in front of Frank, feeling through the kit. All he can smell is blood. He can taste it in the air, metallic on the tip of his tongue as he talks. His hands get covered with it as he helps move the vest aside.
"I need you to try and hold this here for me."
Matt pushes up Frank's shirt and presses his jacket against the heavy bleeding before guiding Frank's hand to it. Once he feels like he can let go, he finds a roll of bandage tape, as well as the heavy bandage pads. He goes as quickly as he can so he can replace his jacket with the pad and the tape, trying to make the wrapping tight enough to mimic a tourniquet effect. He figures once the bleeding becomes contained and stopped, then he can go in with stitches or staples or whatever Frank has in here.
Matt can't deny it felt good to put on the suit again. He can pretend that it was a hard choice for him to make, but the truth is, he knew he just needed a reason. Maybe Frank made him comes to terms with that, but knowing Angela needed him ... It was all Matt needed. And it had been easy to fall back into it. Too easy, since he almost let himself get carried away before remembering what brought him down to the old subway lines in the first place.
Now Angela is safe and Matt knows there's no going back. The Devil's back for good. In the quiet of his apartment, he lets the guilt war with the part of him that enjoyed it. Is it so bad, knowing that he saved a life, that now he can save more lives to come? Or did he wait too long, letting sixty other people die? If he never gave up the suit, would Muse has ever gotten this far?
He sighs under the spray of water from his shower. His muscles ache, partly from the fight and partly from being used that way for the first time in a year. There's something familiar and comforting in the dull pain. Maybe he can admit that he missed that, too, and the smell of blood and sweat being rinsed down the drain. He's so lost in his thoughts that he almost misses the sound of someone else in the apartment. The steps and heartbeat are unmistakable, but Matt doesn't turn off the shower or move to go meet Frank.
Let Frank find him like this. If Matt knows Frank - and he does - he knows how this is going to play out, and he can't deny the way the idea reignites the adrenaline that was just starting to ease away.
News spread quickly of a Daredevil sighting through police radio and, naturally, Frank keeps one running almost constantly in his bunker. The chatter is helpful information but also a way for him to keep tabs on other heroes, on people like Matt, though lately he hasn't needed to. Color him surprised when the opposite pops up late in the evening hours while he's halfway through cleaning a rifle. That son of a bitch didn't even tell him it was coming.
There's a strange sense of pride in him over it all, or maybe it's more like relief, like one big fucking finally. Given their recent reunion, he doesn't feel as strange slipping into Matt's new place then, no pretext needed, no bagels or some shit to be given as a peace offering. Frank knows he'll be here and he wants to see him.
The sound of the shower hits him and Frank waits a moment to see if Matt will react, knowing the guy already knows he's here. When he doesn't, he takes it as an open invitation to join him, stripping off his clothes on the way there. By the time he makes it to Matt's fancy-ass new bathroom with the fancy-ass glass doors in the shower, he can see the evidence of the night on Matt's skin.
Still no reaction, which is even more of an invitation. Frank lingers in the doorway a moment to admire him from afar, before wordlessly stepping in behind him. It's steamy and warm in here already, and his eyes fall down to the giant bruise on Matt's back almost immediately as he presses up against him. One hand slides over his waist, the other right up against the damn bruising, pressing into it knowingly as lips caress over his shoulder in a stark contrast of gentleness.
"Finally," is all he says, tongue sneaking out to lick over some of the water racing down Matt's skin.
There's a momentary rush of cool air that hits Matt as Frank opens the shower door to join him. He exhales, releasing the anticipation that built up, then immediately sucks in another breath once Frank is pressed against him. He doesn't bother to mask the low groan in his throat as Frank aggravates the bruising skin.
"Yeah."
It's a simple response for a simple greeting. Matt tilts his head to the side to give Frank's tongue access to as much skin as possible, reaching his hand up to push his fingers through Frank's hair.
The heel of his palm digs in when he gets that reaction, knowing Matt likes it, maybe missed it, and Frank can't judge him for it here and now. His hand slips around to Matt's front though as he palms over his stomach and chest, holding him close.
"Had to," he replies before licking up the side of Matt's neck instead, his teeth and lips finding his pulse where he leaves a biting mark. "Wanted you."
Which he can admit to when it's just them, because if they didn't somehow get turned on by the other's antics one way or another, they just wouldn't make sense. The thought of Matt going out there after finally giving in is enough to drive him wild.
"Just wish I saw it," he continues, hand wandering lower as his knuckles brush down his navel and below.
His head turns to try and catch Frank in some sort of kiss. He tugs at Frank's hair as Frank's hand slips lower, encouraging him to keep going but enjoying the delayed gratification just as much.
The sound of Frank's blood rushing gets Matt just as excited as the feeling of Frank's teeth and his rough fingers. Not that he needs super senses to know Frank's just as aroused as him. He parts his lips, tongue slipping out to lick some of the shower spray off of them, inviting the other man into another kiss.
Their mouths meet and Frank leans into the kiss from this angle, enjoying the ease with which they found each other like this, and how much Matt clearly doesn't mind. If he knows Murdock - and he does - the guy is more or less always down for sex, especially after a hard fight.
"Is that what you want?" he asks lowly as his nails scratch down along Matt's stomach, fingers finally finding the base of his cock. He takes him into his hand slowly, stroking him with an even, firm touch, lips catching against Matt's again almost teasingly. "Need me to give you more bruises, huh?"
Matt is having a hard time focusing. He can feel the blood seeping into his shirt, his jacket, dripping down the side of his chest. He hear, vaguely, people running and shouting, but his own heartbeat is drowning it out. It almost makes him laugh. A ballroom full of people and no one seems to care about the man bleeding out in the middle of it, more concerned for their own safety and wellbeing than a stranger's. Save yourself, let the EMT through after and hope the poor sucker is still alive. It's not the first time Matt's been tempted to finally let it all go, but he can't die as the man who saved Fisk's life. That's not his legacy.
The room clears out and Matt takes the small window of opportunity he has. He can hear the voices mingling outside, frantic phone calls, maybe those are sirens coming up the road. He rallies himself, saying he's had worse, he's survived worse, but he feels the world shifting around him. He doesn't really know how he gets out of the room. Maybe he vaguely remembers a window, glass on the ground underneath it and cold pavement. Maybe that's some hallucination he's invented. He knows he avoided the cops and paramedics because he remembers their voices looking for him, following a blood trail that ended with them finding his suit jacket.
The last thing he knows before his body decides to finally give out is a hallway and a door, and himself barely managing to say the name Frank before he collapses to the floor.
A quiet night in is a little less unusual for Frank these days, especially as he's gotten into this mess with his copycats, and the ties to the police don't exactly make it easy for him to figure out what to do. It's been weighing on his mind, not to mention everything else Matt's been working on, the shit with Muse and Fisk still in power, and his stupid fucking task force. It's inevitable some new shit would hit the fan the moment one asshole was put down for good.
The police radio goes haywire in an instant with some commotion downtown, and right away Frank is on edge. Shots fired. Some fancy ass gala. Fisk... Hadn't Matt mentioned something about a gala the other day?
Mild panic sets in and he's this close to grabbing some gear and heading out blindly when one of his camera alarms go off. He's bursting out into the hall just in time to see Matt collapse, blood staining his white shirt, and Frank gets tunnel vision.
"Hey!" He's at Matt in an instant, crouching down to get him in his arms, patting his face to try and get his attention. "Hey, Red, Red, wake up. You hear me?"
He sucks in a shaky breath, clutching at Frank's sleeve. He's going to be fine, Frank is going to make sure he's fine, he trusts Frank more than any doctor in any hospital.
"Poindexter," Matt says at last, managing to gasp out the word. It's the best explanation he can muster right now. "Bullseye."
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. That's a lot of blood. While he's patched Matt up and vice versa many times over the years, this somehow feels worse, feels... personal. Especially when Matt says that name.
He has to temper his anger though for now, biting past it as he lifts Matt up in his arms to carry him inside. Frank's immediately getting to work as he puts him down on the cot and then goes to grab a kit. He kneels at Matt's side and rips open the shirt to get to the wound, grimacing.
"You should've gone to the hospital," he grits out as he imagines Matt crossing town on his own just to come here. "God damn it, Red."
He should have gone to a hospital. He should have. A reasonable part of Matt knows that, but his recklessness and paranoia was always going to win out. If he went to the hospital, he would have been nothing more than a publicity stunt. And accidents happen at hospitals. Matt can hear the headline. 'Former Fisk foe dies due to complications after taking bullet for NYC mayor.'
"I had to...Come here."
He'll explain after. Frank will hate him but he'll understand.
His eyes start to flutter closed and he forces himself back into consciousness, trying to focus on Frank's breathing and his racing heartbeat.
Matt talking is good, it means he's conscious, even though the more words that come out of his mouth, the angrier Frank feels. Not at him of course (not yet) but this whole fucked up situation. Fisk is a force beyond what either of them can control yet Frank wishes every day he'd killed him while he had the chance.
Bullseye too. He's next on Frank's list. He isn't even going to ask how that asshole is out of prison. Shouldn't be breathing the same air as either of them.
The bullet is still inside of Matt and he can tell, no exit wound on the other side. It's going to hurt but he has to pull it out, and Frank knows it's best to get over with. He wipes away as much blood as he can before grabbing forceps, sterilizing them haphazardly, and trying to keep calm. He is anything but fucking calm.
After a moment he quickly removes his belt and holds it up to Matt's mouth.
"Bite down on this. This is gonna hurt but you've got this. You've been through worse," he reassures while holding Matt's other shoulder down so he doesn't move too much. Going digging in for a bullet is never fun but Frank has done it plenty of times at least, so he'll get it out.
The moment he does, he's starting to put pressure down onto the open wound with some gauze, eyes darting to Matt's face worriedly.
It's not exactly Matt's finest moment. He didn't expect one action, fueled entirely by morality and not by any logic, would spiral into this. Maybe he shouldn't blame himself. Maybe it's all Poindexter, but if he'd let Fisk get shot ...
If he thinks about it too much, he knows he'll never crawl out of the spiral. There are other things to focus on, like throwing together a plan, throwing together a group of people that can help him. At least he has a few he can call on already. Jessica and Luke might be a harder sell than Danny, but he knows they'll come around. He's heard already of vigilantes being rounded up and going missing, which means his recruitment pool and time is dwindling.
And then there's Frank. Frank will bitch about it, but he'll help, the two of them are too involved in it now. But Frank's gone MIA and Matt's sole comfort in it is that he hasn't heard anything saying Frank's dead. It doesn't stop Matt from trying to look for him when he can. During the day, Matt stays at Frank's. It's partially in case Frank comes back, but mostly it's because Matt has nowhere else to go. Sure, Josie or Kirsten might open their doors to him, but that's not safe. Frank's bunker is secure. And Frank might not like it, but with some smart thinking and Karen's help, at least Matt was able to get a futon in there. He loves Frank, but his body doesn't love the thought of the two of them on one cot.
He's got the radio on, the news playing quietly in the background as he tries to kill some time by snooping through Frank's things. Matt pauses when he hears footsteps, going on high alert for a moment until the familiar gait and even more familiar heartbeat hit his ears. There's a rush of relief through him and then a spike of concern for what condition Frank might be in. He puts his hands on his hips, waiting for the door to open.
When Frank left his place to go and find some fanboys, he didn't really expect to get put in some kind of vigilante jail by the end of that mess. At best, he would kill a few of those fuckers to make an example and send a message to the rest of them, and at worst he'd probably die. Hearing them talk about Matt and Karen over radios sent him over the deep end though, and he had to do whatever he could to distract those goons with their apparent idol. It was a mess. He came out of it a mess.
He's still hobbling and feels like a walking bruise when he returns to his bunker. He'd say a day or two have passed but it's hard to tell, and he isn't surprised to see Matt here, though something like relief washes over him in knowing he's okay. Maybe his heart flutters a beat or two as well.
"Hey," he responds gruffly, sounding worse than he has in a while. There's a throbbing pain in his skull from getting his shit kicked in, but he doesn't complain, immediately coming over to Matt to look him over instead. "You okay? How's Karen?"
They meet somewhere in the middle, Matt wasting no time in feeling his way across Frank's arms, his chest, his shoulders. He doesn't need super powers to know Frank's not in great shape, and that's not just because they dove off a penthouse balcony together and smashed into a car.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Karen's fine. What the hell happened to you? I tried finding you."
His whole body hurts but he already feels better knowing Matt's here and in one piece, and the confirmation that Karen is also fine lets him breathe easier. He doesn't want Matt to fuss but at the same time part of him wants to relent and just fall into him, which is... new. He's just so fucking tired.
"Good," he says at first, a hand coming up to touch Matt's face, down his neck. Frank probably stinks of death, covered in blood that's not just his own.
"I followed a bunch of those assholes... those fanboys. I found 'em and wanted to see them for myself," he admits, knowing there's no point in lying. Matt will probably be disappointed in him. "Ended up in some fucking jail cell Fisk made special for me and a bunch of other pricks he doesn't like."
That's so stupid. Matt doesn't say it out loud, because he almost did the same thing himself, and if Karen hadn't stopped him, he'd be dead. What's important is Frank is alive. Even so, Matt squashes down the guilt rising up over the fact he wasn't there to help, or the fact he didn't insist Frank come with him and Karen.
They can unpack Fisk's custom jail cells another time.
For now, Matt doesn't care that Frank smells like old blood and sweat. He rests their foreheads together, hands on either side of Frank's face.
They both often do very stupid things alone, and it's a problem. It's a miracle they're both still alive at this point. Frank's taken so many shots to the body he isn't even sure how he makes it sometimes. Sometimes it's by pure willpower alone.
Matt worrying over him makes Frank feel bad though, and he closes his eyes as they hold the position a long while.
"Here I thought you'd swoop in and save me," he teases lowly, his hand holding the back of Matt's neck as he keeps him close. "Like a big damn hero."
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It's a weird sort of working together vibe, but at least they agree that sharing information to make the next plans is better than just going at it alone.
Matt's on his way home, ready to get out of one suit and into another after a long day at the office, when something pulls at his instincts. He turns down a different block and into an alley, following long drawn out breaths and a slow heart beat. The closer he gets, the more a dread settles into him. His pace picks up until he's nearly running, coming to the dead end of the side-street.
"Jesus Christ, Frank -" Matt crouches down, feeling along Frank's sides and chest. "Can you hear me? Can you talk?"
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The news of Daredevil and The Punisher working together to take down those two warehouses spread quickly, so it was inevitable that the Irish would up their defenses too. It's how Frank gets into trouble tonight, not expecting what was supposed to be a normal night to turn sideways. He just barely got away in one piece, dragging himself away from the industrial sector and toward home - toward Hell's Kitchen - full of bullet holes.
He's been in and out of consciousness with the blood loss and pain, unsure how long he's been like this at all. It would be a pathetic and shitty way for The Punisher to go, but a part of him is always ready for it, always wishing for it deep down inside, and maybe bleeding out in some grimy alleyway alone is what he deserves...
Naturally, God doesn't let him get away with it that easily.
Of course Matt finds him even when he probably wasn't looking, even when Frank wasn't hoping. His vest caught the brunt of the damage but some sliced through his side, his arms and thighs littered with more superficial wounds too. He's slumped down against the wall, eyes barely focusing up at Matt when he hears his voice. The situation is too bizarre and a strange chuckle wanders up into his chest, but even laughing feels too painful right now, so he lets out an awkward cough instead.
"Where the hell did you come from?" is his response. "Shit..."
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"Hey, hey." Matt pats Frank's cheek gently, enough to hopefully keep Frank from falling into an unconscious state. "We need to get to the other side of the building. Can you do that, Frank?"
He knows that, from there, the alleys connect and they've got a chance to get to Frank's hideout without interruption. Wasting no time, Matt starts to pull Frank up, bracing himself to support all the weight of the other man.
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"Christ..." he curses quietly, breaths staggered and unstable, his heartbeat not as strong and proud as it usually is. He's a bit of a mess. Frank is a fighter though and he's trying his best not to collapse onto Matt, pushing forward with him, though he'd certainly collapse back onto the ground if Matt wasn't keeping him up.
His head lolls dazedly to one side, eyes blurry and unfocused, and he wonders if this is even happening, or is he fucking hallucinating?
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Once the door is kicked open, Matt wastes no time. He eases Frank down and starts looking for the medical kit. He doesn't even know where to start with Frank. Find where he's bleeding the most and triage that? Shit. Maybe he should Claire...
"Stay with me, Frank."
Finally he finds the kit, glad that Frank keeps it stocked with things that are near hospital grade.
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He tries to mumble something out but it comes out in another series of coughs instead, Frank groaning at the way it makes his ribs rattle. A heavy hand flops over to the side of his vest to unstrap it, breathing harder as the pressure lifts from his chest. There's a lot of blood on his side.
"Red..." He manages to slur out, trying to sit up even though he really shouldn't be.
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He listens to Frank working on his vest, listens to the wetness in Frank's cough and voice. He shrugs out of his jacket and kneels in front of Frank, feeling through the kit. All he can smell is blood. He can taste it in the air, metallic on the tip of his tongue as he talks. His hands get covered with it as he helps move the vest aside.
"I need you to try and hold this here for me."
Matt pushes up Frank's shirt and presses his jacket against the heavy bleeding before guiding Frank's hand to it. Once he feels like he can let go, he finds a roll of bandage tape, as well as the heavy bandage pads. He goes as quickly as he can so he can replace his jacket with the pad and the tape, trying to make the wrapping tight enough to mimic a tourniquet effect. He figures once the bleeding becomes contained and stopped, then he can go in with stitches or staples or whatever Frank has in here.
"You can rest soon. I promise."
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Now Angela is safe and Matt knows there's no going back. The Devil's back for good. In the quiet of his apartment, he lets the guilt war with the part of him that enjoyed it. Is it so bad, knowing that he saved a life, that now he can save more lives to come? Or did he wait too long, letting sixty other people die? If he never gave up the suit, would Muse has ever gotten this far?
He sighs under the spray of water from his shower. His muscles ache, partly from the fight and partly from being used that way for the first time in a year. There's something familiar and comforting in the dull pain. Maybe he can admit that he missed that, too, and the smell of blood and sweat being rinsed down the drain. He's so lost in his thoughts that he almost misses the sound of someone else in the apartment. The steps and heartbeat are unmistakable, but Matt doesn't turn off the shower or move to go meet Frank.
Let Frank find him like this. If Matt knows Frank - and he does - he knows how this is going to play out, and he can't deny the way the idea reignites the adrenaline that was just starting to ease away.
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There's a strange sense of pride in him over it all, or maybe it's more like relief, like one big fucking finally. Given their recent reunion, he doesn't feel as strange slipping into Matt's new place then, no pretext needed, no bagels or some shit to be given as a peace offering. Frank knows he'll be here and he wants to see him.
The sound of the shower hits him and Frank waits a moment to see if Matt will react, knowing the guy already knows he's here. When he doesn't, he takes it as an open invitation to join him, stripping off his clothes on the way there. By the time he makes it to Matt's fancy-ass new bathroom with the fancy-ass glass doors in the shower, he can see the evidence of the night on Matt's skin.
Still no reaction, which is even more of an invitation. Frank lingers in the doorway a moment to admire him from afar, before wordlessly stepping in behind him. It's steamy and warm in here already, and his eyes fall down to the giant bruise on Matt's back almost immediately as he presses up against him. One hand slides over his waist, the other right up against the damn bruising, pressing into it knowingly as lips caress over his shoulder in a stark contrast of gentleness.
"Finally," is all he says, tongue sneaking out to lick over some of the water racing down Matt's skin.
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"Yeah."
It's a simple response for a simple greeting. Matt tilts his head to the side to give Frank's tongue access to as much skin as possible, reaching his hand up to push his fingers through Frank's hair.
"I should've known you'd come."
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"Had to," he replies before licking up the side of Matt's neck instead, his teeth and lips finding his pulse where he leaves a biting mark. "Wanted you."
Which he can admit to when it's just them, because if they didn't somehow get turned on by the other's antics one way or another, they just wouldn't make sense. The thought of Matt going out there after finally giving in is enough to drive him wild.
"Just wish I saw it," he continues, hand wandering lower as his knuckles brush down his navel and below.
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His head turns to try and catch Frank in some sort of kiss. He tugs at Frank's hair as Frank's hand slips lower, encouraging him to keep going but enjoying the delayed gratification just as much.
The sound of Frank's blood rushing gets Matt just as excited as the feeling of Frank's teeth and his rough fingers. Not that he needs super senses to know Frank's just as aroused as him. He parts his lips, tongue slipping out to lick some of the shower spray off of them, inviting the other man into another kiss.
"You gonna rough me up, Frank?"
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"Is that what you want?" he asks lowly as his nails scratch down along Matt's stomach, fingers finally finding the base of his cock. He takes him into his hand slowly, stroking him with an even, firm touch, lips catching against Matt's again almost teasingly. "Need me to give you more bruises, huh?"
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The room clears out and Matt takes the small window of opportunity he has. He can hear the voices mingling outside, frantic phone calls, maybe those are sirens coming up the road. He rallies himself, saying he's had worse, he's survived worse, but he feels the world shifting around him. He doesn't really know how he gets out of the room. Maybe he vaguely remembers a window, glass on the ground underneath it and cold pavement. Maybe that's some hallucination he's invented. He knows he avoided the cops and paramedics because he remembers their voices looking for him, following a blood trail that ended with them finding his suit jacket.
The last thing he knows before his body decides to finally give out is a hallway and a door, and himself barely managing to say the name Frank before he collapses to the floor.
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The police radio goes haywire in an instant with some commotion downtown, and right away Frank is on edge. Shots fired. Some fancy ass gala. Fisk... Hadn't Matt mentioned something about a gala the other day?
Mild panic sets in and he's this close to grabbing some gear and heading out blindly when one of his camera alarms go off. He's bursting out into the hall just in time to see Matt collapse, blood staining his white shirt, and Frank gets tunnel vision.
"Hey!" He's at Matt in an instant, crouching down to get him in his arms, patting his face to try and get his attention. "Hey, Red, Red, wake up. You hear me?"
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"Poindexter," Matt says at last, managing to gasp out the word. It's the best explanation he can muster right now. "Bullseye."
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He has to temper his anger though for now, biting past it as he lifts Matt up in his arms to carry him inside. Frank's immediately getting to work as he puts him down on the cot and then goes to grab a kit. He kneels at Matt's side and rips open the shirt to get to the wound, grimacing.
"You should've gone to the hospital," he grits out as he imagines Matt crossing town on his own just to come here. "God damn it, Red."
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"I had to...Come here."
He'll explain after. Frank will hate him but he'll understand.
His eyes start to flutter closed and he forces himself back into consciousness, trying to focus on Frank's breathing and his racing heartbeat.
"Fisk's blackmailing people. Vigilantes."
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Bullseye too. He's next on Frank's list. He isn't even going to ask how that asshole is out of prison. Shouldn't be breathing the same air as either of them.
The bullet is still inside of Matt and he can tell, no exit wound on the other side. It's going to hurt but he has to pull it out, and Frank knows it's best to get over with. He wipes away as much blood as he can before grabbing forceps, sterilizing them haphazardly, and trying to keep calm. He is anything but fucking calm.
After a moment he quickly removes his belt and holds it up to Matt's mouth.
"Bite down on this. This is gonna hurt but you've got this. You've been through worse," he reassures while holding Matt's other shoulder down so he doesn't move too much. Going digging in for a bullet is never fun but Frank has done it plenty of times at least, so he'll get it out.
The moment he does, he's starting to put pressure down onto the open wound with some gauze, eyes darting to Matt's face worriedly.
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If he thinks about it too much, he knows he'll never crawl out of the spiral. There are other things to focus on, like throwing together a plan, throwing together a group of people that can help him. At least he has a few he can call on already. Jessica and Luke might be a harder sell than Danny, but he knows they'll come around. He's heard already of vigilantes being rounded up and going missing, which means his recruitment pool and time is dwindling.
And then there's Frank. Frank will bitch about it, but he'll help, the two of them are too involved in it now. But Frank's gone MIA and Matt's sole comfort in it is that he hasn't heard anything saying Frank's dead. It doesn't stop Matt from trying to look for him when he can. During the day, Matt stays at Frank's. It's partially in case Frank comes back, but mostly it's because Matt has nowhere else to go. Sure, Josie or Kirsten might open their doors to him, but that's not safe. Frank's bunker is secure. And Frank might not like it, but with some smart thinking and Karen's help, at least Matt was able to get a futon in there. He loves Frank, but his body doesn't love the thought of the two of them on one cot.
He's got the radio on, the news playing quietly in the background as he tries to kill some time by snooping through Frank's things. Matt pauses when he hears footsteps, going on high alert for a moment until the familiar gait and even more familiar heartbeat hit his ears. There's a rush of relief through him and then a spike of concern for what condition Frank might be in. He puts his hands on his hips, waiting for the door to open.
"Hi, Frank."
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He's still hobbling and feels like a walking bruise when he returns to his bunker. He'd say a day or two have passed but it's hard to tell, and he isn't surprised to see Matt here, though something like relief washes over him in knowing he's okay. Maybe his heart flutters a beat or two as well.
"Hey," he responds gruffly, sounding worse than he has in a while. There's a throbbing pain in his skull from getting his shit kicked in, but he doesn't complain, immediately coming over to Matt to look him over instead. "You okay? How's Karen?"
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"Yeah, I'm fine. Karen's fine. What the hell happened to you? I tried finding you."
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"Good," he says at first, a hand coming up to touch Matt's face, down his neck. Frank probably stinks of death, covered in blood that's not just his own.
"I followed a bunch of those assholes... those fanboys. I found 'em and wanted to see them for myself," he admits, knowing there's no point in lying. Matt will probably be disappointed in him. "Ended up in some fucking jail cell Fisk made special for me and a bunch of other pricks he doesn't like."
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They can unpack Fisk's custom jail cells another time.
For now, Matt doesn't care that Frank smells like old blood and sweat. He rests their foreheads together, hands on either side of Frank's face.
"You can't scare me like that, Frank."
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Matt worrying over him makes Frank feel bad though, and he closes his eyes as they hold the position a long while.
"Here I thought you'd swoop in and save me," he teases lowly, his hand holding the back of Matt's neck as he keeps him close. "Like a big damn hero."
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