"I don't think you have anything to be sorry about."
Matt gets it. He understands guilt and regret in their line of work. He'd be feeling the same way if their roles were reversed, but he also knows Frank would be telling him the same thing.
He'll take the out for what it is, grateful, because yeah... Frank would do the same for him. Still, relying on others for help has never been easy for Frank, especially someone close to him he cares about.
"Yeah, a little," he says gruffly, knowing he should. "Maybe after you stitch me up, so I don't puke it back up again."
Whether or not he's serious is questionable, and yet...
Matt's not willing to take that risk, even if it might be just a joke. He gets the supplies along with some antiseptic, and carefully peels away the tape and bandaging he put on the night before.
"What the hell happened last night, anyway?"
Matt figures he'll make conversation to vaguely distract Frank from how bad this is going to be. It's good to have the information anyway. Some gauze gets soaked in the antiseptic and Matt presses it to the wound for a moment before he starts wiping the area to clean it up. Well. Clean it up as much as he can without seeing it.
Better to get this over with than wait for an infection, because then it'll really suck. He's too exhausted to offer to help, putting all his trust in Matt's hands in this moment, as he prepares himself mentally for the pain.
He bites his cheek and clenches his fists up in the bedding as Matt cleans the wound, the sting from that alone excruciating, but he puts up with it. The conversation will help but he needs a moment to not feel so loopy before responding.
"I found one of their dealers," he explains, his voice low and strained, taking deep breaths. "Wasn't planning on a full ambush. I was going to confront the guy, but there was a deal going on. It's like they were expecting me. I was expecting maybe five assholes at the most, but it's like half the goon squad was in that shithole."
He bites his tongue against saying he should've been there. If he was there, he'd have known how many were in there. But he knows it'll fall on deaf ears. Frank will probably say it's better Matt wasn't there, and neither of them have the energy for an argument right now.
"So we have to take them by surprise."
Easier said than done, maybe, but Matt might be willing to let himself go a little bit when they run in with the Irish again.
"Make 'em think they won, I guess." He grits his teeth again, not liking the idea entirely, but what choice does he have in this state? Of course he will push himself too hard and ignore what hurts for the sake of getting shit done, but he won't be at full capacity for at least a couple days. His own fault for underestimating the new Irish assholes, but he'll have to just deal with it.
Frank sucks in another deep breath and then lets it out with a harsh sound, like he's hyping himself up for how much this is going to suck.
"Now or never," he answers, wishing he had a drink or something first, but not a good idea on an empty stomach and pills in his system.
"You're too good at this," he continues just to talk and ignore the stinging pain. "You make cleaner stitches than I've seen from marines."
Matt feels carefully along the wound. He can only imagine what it must actually look like, but he'll be glad once it's closed up.
"I used to fix up my dad after fights. Got used to steady hands and how to do it to make the least ugly scar."
There's a flicker of a smile on his face, even though he knows this is shitty for Frank. This is their lives, though. No urgent care clinics, no hospitals, which means they have to make due with what they have and that doesn't include anything to numb the pain.
"Once you get your energy back you can clean up and we can redress it."
It's not a pretty sight for certain, a deep gash that'll probably scar ugly, but what else is new? Both of them are accustomed to ugly scars, even if Frank thinks Matt makes his own look pretty by default. Asshole.
The mention of his dad perks Frank's ears though and he takes that to heart, even as he's currently being stabbed without any numbing. Matt doesn't talk about his family much, though Frank knows snippets from over the years. "Didn't think you'd ever use that skill for a bastard like me instead, I bet."
He hisses through teeth at a particularly difficult stab, tearing his hand into the bedding, but he doesn't move otherwise, in control despite the pain.
"You- You need to clean up too," he responds after a moment, voice strained again. "I'm- fuck- all over you."
"Normally I like when you say that. Maybe just not under these circumstances."
He lets a cheeky smirk cross his face, and he leans in to press a grateful and firm kiss to Frank's lips. Matt can only imagine what he must look like, but he's sure it's not anywhere near how bad Frank probably looks right now.
"I'll take care of it before I go."
And he doesn't intend to go anywhere any time soon, not until he's sure Frank's in the clear.
God damn it, he really ran face-first into that one, yet it's so unexpected it pulls a laugh out of him. Ow that hurts though, and Frank groans in between chuckles, letting out a low sound of frustration amidst the amusement.
"Don't- ugh- Don't make me laugh, asshole."
More deep, ragged breaths, but he's getting calmer and calmer as the pain numbs him in a different way, getting used to the sting, something familiar.
"Gonna need your help getting in there anyway," he says after a minute, regarding the shower. "May as well stay."
He feels bad making Frank laugh, but not too bad. The last few hours haven't been all that great, and Matt needs to lighten it up.
"Eat something first."
Matt gives Frank another small kiss before he goes to look through the cans and pouches of what Frank has. He finds something that smells like canned tuna, which will at least give Frank some much needed protein.
"Try this. And remind me to bring you some vegetables some day."
Frank's "kitchen" is a sad state of organized rations more than tools for a proper meal, but he's always been this way. Right now, he'll eat just about anything Matt picks out, and tuna is something easy and nourishing at least. He manages to eat most of it and gets some more water in him, so that's at least something. His diet definitely needs more of a variety.
Slowly, he drags himself to haul legs over the side of the bed, just to change positions and sit more upright. Pain blooms from his side and leg but it isn't as bad as before, the pills starting to gradually kick in. Half his clothes are ripped or hanging off of him, and he tosses his bloodied vest to the floor to deal with later. The entire bed needs to be stripped and changed, soaked in his blood.
"Thanks, Red." He looks up and over to him, once again wondering how the fuck they got here. "Might be slow for a couple days. Try not to have too much fun without me."
Matt's reckless, but he's not about to rush into anything alone now that he knows how Frank ended up. He can at least gain some information for them in the mean time, come back to Frank, figure out a plan.
"There must be something bigger than illegal weapon dealing. They wouldn't invest that much man-power if it weren't something worth the effort and money."
His wheels are turning but he tries not to get ahead of himself. The intel will keep him busy for at least a couple of days and he can stay out of trouble until then.
"Drugs, maybe. Or some other cargo." Something more precious. There's a tightness to his voice at the thought, tense, and a lingering frustration that he can't get back out there right way the way he wants.
He reaches for a table near the bed to lean onto, trying to stand on his own without asking for help, because he's a stubborn asshole. Getting onto his feet after so much blood loss is a trip though, leaving him dizzy, and he groans as he staggers and grabs the edge with both hands so he doesn't fall.
Matt's at his side quickly, giving Frank something more solid than a table to lean on.
"The last thing I need is you slicing open your head because you passed out."
But he's not going to force Frank back into bed, because he knows better. Frank's just going to have to put up with the fact that Matt's not letting him walk anywhere without him.
It's expected and Frank is honestly grateful that Matt is here, but he can't keep revealing as much or else he'll start feeling frayed at the edges. It's bad enough Matt found him half dead at all. Still, Frank understands when he's a little in over his head and winds up leaning into the other heavily.
"Just... need to take a leak. And to wash some of this blood off," he sighs. "I'll be fine once I get there."
Just, you know, he's very unstable right now. Begrudgingly, he puts an arm around Matt for support, not prideful enough in the moment to deny the help.
At this point, they shouldn't try to keep their dignity around each other as much as they do. They've both seen each other at their lowest, not to mention everything else they've gotten up to together over the years. But Matt gets it. He'd be the same if he were in Frank's shoes, because they're both as stubborn as anyone can get.
"Sure."
He keeps his voice light, amused, and hauling Frank to the bathroom is a lot easier than hauling him through side-streets in the middle of the night.
"Want me to give you some privacy?"
Privacy of course means that Matt will be hovering right outside the door, but he's willing to give Frank at least a false sense of not being helicoptered.
Only these two idiots could get themselves entangled in an intimate relationship for years and yet still pretend like it isn't happening when convenient. Truly, a miracle they're even still on speaking terms.
"Can you even do that?" he can't help but ask, still leaning onto Matt as he half hops into the bathroom and then plants a hand on the wall instead to steady himself. The arm around Matt squeezes in thanks. There's a split second of hesitation before he lets go to take care of business, getting a flash of himself in the mirror in the meantime. Christ, he looks like absolute hell, the dried blood caked over parts of him like a second skin. A shower is desperately needed.
"C'mere," he calls out once done, his ripped pants hanging low off his hips, leaned up against the sink. It's probably a good thing Matt can't "see" him. "You need a shower too. And I need help. Let's just get it over with."
He can imagine, based on all the dried blood he can feel on his skin. And he decides not to make any sort of quip about it, because Frank's right. They both need the shower and Frank probably shouldn't be trying to stand alone when it's a slipping hazard.
Matt starts to unbutton his shirt and get out of his own clothes, first. It's like when you go on a plane and you help yourself before helping others, and he figures Frank can at least handle his pants and underthings on his own. The shirt he might need a hand with.
"Do you, uh, mind if I borrow something to wear when I leave?"
The fact that Matt isn't bothered by the caked-on blood on his own body is telling. Frank wonders if he's just able to tune it out at will or if he worried him that much. Either way, they'll both feel better without it.
Frank manages to kick off his boots and the rest of his bottoms, the pants completely ruined, but it's for the best. The shirt is definitely going to be more of a problem and he sighs, knowing he won't be able to lift it off easily. They manage somehow together, barely containing his pained groans, and part of him wonders if he should've just fucking ripped it off.
"Yeah, no problem," he says while turning on the shower, the water already turning pink from the blood on his hand alone as he sticks it in. "Do you have work today?" Is he here helping make sure Frank doesn't slip and die instead?
He snorts a bit at the question, stepping into the shower and trying not to sigh in relief as the blood starts to wash away. He gives Frank a hand to step inside, moving them so Frank gets the majority of the spray.
"I'm sort of my own boss," he says. And, sure, technically he should go to the office, but Foggy and Karen can manage right now and they'll know he's not there for a decent reason. Hopefully. He's going to get an earful when he says he was making sure Frank didn't die. "Even if I did have to work, this is a bigger priority."
The spray hitting his skin for the first time is almost too much, his whole body tense, but he rolls his shoulders to relax and let it do its job. The wounds sting when the water hits them but Frank turns to get his head wet, then back around toward Matt. He's quick to reach for him just because, hands heavy as they rest on Matt's hips.
Hearing he's a priority shouldn't please him so much but, hey, contrary to popular belief, Frank is still human and has feelings. It's kind of nice.
"Guess it's nice to know someone out there doesn't want me to die," he says while tipping his head back against the water again, closing his eyes as he enjoys the warmth along his shoulders and back.
Matt keeps his tone light, but the reality is that he wouldn't know what to do if Frank died. He doesn't want to think about it. There's no reason to think about it, anyway, not when Frank is decidedly alive.
"Haven't shaken you off yet. Like an annoying thorn in my side." But one he clearly wants there... or else he would've taken care of it a long time ago. Definitely wouldn't be standing naked in a shower with him otherwise.
Blood is slowly but surely washing away and Frank leans into the wall on his good side, while his arm comes up to brush through Matt's wet hair, helping more of the dried blood there wash away. It's also a good excuse to touch him of course, not that he's ever needed excuses.
"Like shit," he admits with a sigh. "But a lot better than last night."
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Matt gets it. He understands guilt and regret in their line of work. He'd be feeling the same way if their roles were reversed, but he also knows Frank would be telling him the same thing.
"Do you think you can stomach eating something?"
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"Yeah, a little," he says gruffly, knowing he should. "Maybe after you stitch me up, so I don't puke it back up again."
Whether or not he's serious is questionable, and yet...
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Matt's not willing to take that risk, even if it might be just a joke. He gets the supplies along with some antiseptic, and carefully peels away the tape and bandaging he put on the night before.
"What the hell happened last night, anyway?"
Matt figures he'll make conversation to vaguely distract Frank from how bad this is going to be. It's good to have the information anyway. Some gauze gets soaked in the antiseptic and Matt presses it to the wound for a moment before he starts wiping the area to clean it up. Well. Clean it up as much as he can without seeing it.
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He bites his cheek and clenches his fists up in the bedding as Matt cleans the wound, the sting from that alone excruciating, but he puts up with it. The conversation will help but he needs a moment to not feel so loopy before responding.
"I found one of their dealers," he explains, his voice low and strained, taking deep breaths. "Wasn't planning on a full ambush. I was going to confront the guy, but there was a deal going on. It's like they were expecting me. I was expecting maybe five assholes at the most, but it's like half the goon squad was in that shithole."
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"So we have to take them by surprise."
Easier said than done, maybe, but Matt might be willing to let himself go a little bit when they run in with the Irish again.
"Ready for the stitches?"
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Frank sucks in another deep breath and then lets it out with a harsh sound, like he's hyping himself up for how much this is going to suck.
"Now or never," he answers, wishing he had a drink or something first, but not a good idea on an empty stomach and pills in his system.
"You're too good at this," he continues just to talk and ignore the stinging pain. "You make cleaner stitches than I've seen from marines."
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Matt feels carefully along the wound. He can only imagine what it must actually look like, but he'll be glad once it's closed up.
"I used to fix up my dad after fights. Got used to steady hands and how to do it to make the least ugly scar."
There's a flicker of a smile on his face, even though he knows this is shitty for Frank. This is their lives, though. No urgent care clinics, no hospitals, which means they have to make due with what they have and that doesn't include anything to numb the pain.
"Once you get your energy back you can clean up and we can redress it."
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The mention of his dad perks Frank's ears though and he takes that to heart, even as he's currently being stabbed without any numbing. Matt doesn't talk about his family much, though Frank knows snippets from over the years. "Didn't think you'd ever use that skill for a bastard like me instead, I bet."
He hisses through teeth at a particularly difficult stab, tearing his hand into the bedding, but he doesn't move otherwise, in control despite the pain.
"You- You need to clean up too," he responds after a moment, voice strained again. "I'm- fuck- all over you."
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He lets a cheeky smirk cross his face, and he leans in to press a grateful and firm kiss to Frank's lips. Matt can only imagine what he must look like, but he's sure it's not anywhere near how bad Frank probably looks right now.
"I'll take care of it before I go."
And he doesn't intend to go anywhere any time soon, not until he's sure Frank's in the clear.
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"Don't- ugh- Don't make me laugh, asshole."
More deep, ragged breaths, but he's getting calmer and calmer as the pain numbs him in a different way, getting used to the sting, something familiar.
"Gonna need your help getting in there anyway," he says after a minute, regarding the shower. "May as well stay."
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"Eat something first."
Matt gives Frank another small kiss before he goes to look through the cans and pouches of what Frank has. He finds something that smells like canned tuna, which will at least give Frank some much needed protein.
"Try this. And remind me to bring you some vegetables some day."
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Slowly, he drags himself to haul legs over the side of the bed, just to change positions and sit more upright. Pain blooms from his side and leg but it isn't as bad as before, the pills starting to gradually kick in. Half his clothes are ripped or hanging off of him, and he tosses his bloodied vest to the floor to deal with later. The entire bed needs to be stripped and changed, soaked in his blood.
"Thanks, Red." He looks up and over to him, once again wondering how the fuck they got here. "Might be slow for a couple days. Try not to have too much fun without me."
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Matt's reckless, but he's not about to rush into anything alone now that he knows how Frank ended up. He can at least gain some information for them in the mean time, come back to Frank, figure out a plan.
"There must be something bigger than illegal weapon dealing. They wouldn't invest that much man-power if it weren't something worth the effort and money."
His wheels are turning but he tries not to get ahead of himself. The intel will keep him busy for at least a couple of days and he can stay out of trouble until then.
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He reaches for a table near the bed to lean onto, trying to stand on his own without asking for help, because he's a stubborn asshole. Getting onto his feet after so much blood loss is a trip though, leaving him dizzy, and he groans as he staggers and grabs the edge with both hands so he doesn't fall.
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Matt's at his side quickly, giving Frank something more solid than a table to lean on.
"The last thing I need is you slicing open your head because you passed out."
But he's not going to force Frank back into bed, because he knows better. Frank's just going to have to put up with the fact that Matt's not letting him walk anywhere without him.
"What do you need?"
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"Just... need to take a leak. And to wash some of this blood off," he sighs. "I'll be fine once I get there."
Just, you know, he's very unstable right now. Begrudgingly, he puts an arm around Matt for support, not prideful enough in the moment to deny the help.
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"Sure."
He keeps his voice light, amused, and hauling Frank to the bathroom is a lot easier than hauling him through side-streets in the middle of the night.
"Want me to give you some privacy?"
Privacy of course means that Matt will be hovering right outside the door, but he's willing to give Frank at least a false sense of not being helicoptered.
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"Can you even do that?" he can't help but ask, still leaning onto Matt as he half hops into the bathroom and then plants a hand on the wall instead to steady himself. The arm around Matt squeezes in thanks. There's a split second of hesitation before he lets go to take care of business, getting a flash of himself in the mirror in the meantime. Christ, he looks like absolute hell, the dried blood caked over parts of him like a second skin. A shower is desperately needed.
"C'mere," he calls out once done, his ripped pants hanging low off his hips, leaned up against the sink. It's probably a good thing Matt can't "see" him. "You need a shower too. And I need help. Let's just get it over with."
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He can imagine, based on all the dried blood he can feel on his skin. And he decides not to make any sort of quip about it, because Frank's right. They both need the shower and Frank probably shouldn't be trying to stand alone when it's a slipping hazard.
Matt starts to unbutton his shirt and get out of his own clothes, first. It's like when you go on a plane and you help yourself before helping others, and he figures Frank can at least handle his pants and underthings on his own. The shirt he might need a hand with.
"Do you, uh, mind if I borrow something to wear when I leave?"
A perk of being roughly the same size.
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The fact that Matt isn't bothered by the caked-on blood on his own body is telling. Frank wonders if he's just able to tune it out at will or if he worried him that much. Either way, they'll both feel better without it.
Frank manages to kick off his boots and the rest of his bottoms, the pants completely ruined, but it's for the best. The shirt is definitely going to be more of a problem and he sighs, knowing he won't be able to lift it off easily. They manage somehow together, barely containing his pained groans, and part of him wonders if he should've just fucking ripped it off.
"Yeah, no problem," he says while turning on the shower, the water already turning pink from the blood on his hand alone as he sticks it in. "Do you have work today?" Is he here helping make sure Frank doesn't slip and die instead?
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He snorts a bit at the question, stepping into the shower and trying not to sigh in relief as the blood starts to wash away. He gives Frank a hand to step inside, moving them so Frank gets the majority of the spray.
"I'm sort of my own boss," he says. And, sure, technically he should go to the office, but Foggy and Karen can manage right now and they'll know he's not there for a decent reason. Hopefully. He's going to get an earful when he says he was making sure Frank didn't die. "Even if I did have to work, this is a bigger priority."
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Hearing he's a priority shouldn't please him so much but, hey, contrary to popular belief, Frank is still human and has feelings. It's kind of nice.
"Guess it's nice to know someone out there doesn't want me to die," he says while tipping his head back against the water again, closing his eyes as he enjoys the warmth along his shoulders and back.
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Matt keeps his tone light, but the reality is that he wouldn't know what to do if Frank died. He doesn't want to think about it. There's no reason to think about it, anyway, not when Frank is decidedly alive.
"How are you feeling?"
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Blood is slowly but surely washing away and Frank leans into the wall on his good side, while his arm comes up to brush through Matt's wet hair, helping more of the dried blood there wash away. It's also a good excuse to touch him of course, not that he's ever needed excuses.
"Like shit," he admits with a sigh. "But a lot better than last night."
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"You're a tough son of a bitch, Frank. I'm almost jealous."
As if Matt hasn't rallied from death's door before, either.
"I'll stay as long as you want me to, you know. No questions asked."
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