"I don't just mean now." Matt's helped him with more than just last night, he's stuck by him for years even as Frank's given him every reason not to. They're companions in a way neither of them want to express, and maybe this is as close as Frank can get right now, but he knows deep down he doesn't deserve it. Matt still has a chance out there, but Frank is doomed to die being The Punisher.
Maybe the blood loss is really getting to his head.
He doesn't argue more though, still feeling a pounding in his head, and he hears Matt's tone clearly. If he was in better shape he'd fight back. Instead, he brushes his fingers back through Matt's hair again and sighs, turning back around to the water to grab some actual soap to lather up with.
Matt waits for Frank to lather up, since Frank needs it a little more than him. He's glad to scrub off the last of the reminders of the night before, though, and once he's rinsed he gets the towel for Frank to use first.
Note to self: vegetables and extra towels.
"You smell better," he jokes. "Your heart's sounding better, too. Not working as hard as it was last night."
He gradually will feel more human as he gets better, but right now he's also physically too exhausted to put up a fight for much. Damn it. It's frustrating, but at least he's on the mend.
He towels off haphazardly, careful around the stitches, his breathing tightening and growing more strained with movement, but at least he's keeping in control. Frank realizes how limited his resources are for Matt in the moment too, never having prepared for guests in this place. Extra towels would benefit them both. He never expected even Matt to stay over when they usually utilize Matt's more appropriate apartment for that sort of thing.
"I'm surprised you touched me at all with all the blood on me," he comments, carefully walking back to his sink so he can brush his teeth, get the tuna and copper taste out of his mouth.
He towels off as he makes his way to find Frank's clothes. At least he doesn't have to worry about matching, getting the impression everything Frank owns is black. The cargo pants and long-sleeved shirts remind him of the days he was The Man In The Mask, before Daredevil was really a thing. It almost makes him chuckle. Almost.
Matt helps himself to a set of clothes, not complaining about the soft worn-in fabrics or the strong scent of Frank coming off them. If he was sentimental, he might think it feels like a hug or something ridiculous like that.
Hey, Matt looks good in black, and even more so in Frank's clothes. There's always a spike of approval in Frank whenever he sees Matt wearing his, an extra flood of arousal or affection that the bastard can probably sniff out somehow, but Frank's long since stopped minding. Just part of being... whatever he is with Matt Murdock.
He goes to grab some clean pants of his own, the cot and sheets a mess, but he'll deal with that later. Frank hobbles to the open first aid kit again instead, grabbing a new clean bandage himself.
"Yeah, for a blind guy." He teases affectionately. "If you saw my ugly mug you'd be running in the other direction."
"I have it on good authority that people think you're very good looking."
Matt hears how people react to seeing Frank. There's a difference in the way the heart picks up when it's from fear or excitement or attraction, and people usually have a mix of it when Frank's around.
"Do you want to keep fishing for compliments?" he teases right back.
"Uh-huh. We both know you just like me for my winning personality." He speaks while twisting his body carefully to put on a new bandage himself, wanting to handle something on his own so he doesn't feel so damn useless. Not that he hasn't appreciated all of Matt's help, obviously. There's a lot he wouldn't have managed himself before bleeding out.
Once secure, Frank looks back up to Matt, a new wave of warmth settling in his chest.
"You should have met me a year sooner than you did."
But, seeing as Frank seems to like him in black, Matt decides to keep that in mind. Maybe he can add a couple black suits to his closet to off-set the navy-blues and charcoals.
He gathers up his blood-stained clothes, taking the phone out of his pocket and setting it aside before the clothes get dumped in the trash.
Seeing Matt dump his clothes makes Frank wonder how many outfits he's ruined over the years just like that. Wearing black tends to make clean up easier, anyway.
"You pull it off," he agrees. "Never thought about changing it up?"
Not that it would matter to Matt obviously, but still. The Avengers seem to change their pajamas every other time Frank sees them, but they've probably got that A-list superhero money or something.
He hobbles over to his kitchen area in search of more food, feeling hungrier now that the pain meds are fully working and he's no longer as woozy.
Nothing beats the classic, though. It's what the people know, and Matt's not really about branding himself but he is about making his presence known to criminals.
"Maybe I should get a logo. I can't let you get all the graffiti."
It's amusing to imagine Matt getting his red pajamas custom made somewhere just to be different, but he's been doing the vigilante thing long enough for it to be reasonable, he guesses. At least if he wants more armor, an improvement to the costume. Frank sometimes wishes he'd just bulletproof the entire thing.
He grabs a protein bar from a shelf and chuckles on an exhale, only sounding half amused, half bitter: "Sometimes I regret giving 'em something to use."
"But you gave people something that gives them hope, too."
Which isn't something Matt ever thought he'd say about The Punisher at the start of all this. He liked Frank even back then, but he also viewed Frank as dangerous, unstable, and a threat. But Frank does more for the people of the city than he'll ever admit. Matt doesn't have to agree with Frank's methods to understand the impact he can have on those who choose to look for it.
"Face it, Frank. You're a street hero, just like Daredevil."
Being called a hero from someone like Matt will never cease to feel strange to Frank, because he never started his mission to be looked up to by anyone, even people who find safety with him around. He isn't sure how to handle it and he'll probably never use the H-word on himself, but hearing it from Matt is especially significant.
"Big words, coming from you," he says quietly, not joking this time. He leans against his counter with a hiss of breath before digging into his bar. "I don't want to be a hero."
"You should rest." Matt's not the one coming off a near-death experience. "I'll help you change them, then maybe we can both get a bit of sleep."
The cot's not the biggest, but Matt's sure he can tuck himself in there against Frank's non-injured side. He sits up so he can eat some of the protein bar, but also so he can move and peel off the sheets.
Alright, Frank can't argue against that when his stitches are literally fresh and aching, and he still feels like he was run over by a truck. It's just his stubborn nature to keep pushing onward anyway. If Matt wasn't here, he'd be at this computer already looking at next steps for tomorrow.
He comes over to help grab some new sheets and pillowcases. The cot isn't made for two grown people but it wouldn't be the first time they've both stuffed themselves onto it. He can't help but still feel like Matt's doing too much looking after him, but that's just because Frank hasn't allowed himself to be taken care of in ages.
"Maybe I should get a real bed," he muses once the sheets are changed and he can sit again, sighing heavily. "Though that'll encourage you to sleep over more, huh?"
"You make it sound like that's the worst thing that could happen."
Matt finishes the protein bar, ignoring the bland, chalky taste in favour of just eating something. He sits beside Frank, bumping their shoulders together.
He knows, because he feels it, too. They've both been at this for a long time. It's an endless grind and neither of them can really give it, because he knows neither of them would know what to do with themselves.
"And I don't care if you don't have fancy sheets."
The fact that Frank would even think to get something like fancy sheets to accommodate Matt is telling, and he doesn't know what to do with that information anymore. He can't ignore how much he thinks about the other man all the time anymore, or how much he's fucking glad he's staying, even though he shouldn't. God, he's so fucked. They both are.
"That's a first," he murmurs quietly, leaning more heavily into him. "You hate my scratchy sheets."
He presses a smile to Frank's neck before giving it a light kiss. And then his phone starts to go off, announcing Foggy's calling, and Matt exhales a sigh. He doesn't want to answer it, but he knows he should, and either way having the voice repeating Foggy over and over is grating in the moment.
How weird that this is about as normal as it gets for guys like them, it's almost sweet. Frank is ready to lean into it when Matt's phone goes off, Foggy's name ringing out like a reminder that they shouldn't be doing this to begin with.
"Yeah, go for it."
He won't stop Matt from grabbing it of course, taking the chance once Matt's up to stretch out against the clean sheets. It feels a lot better now, and even though Frank isn't wearing a shirt, he's not shivering the way he was before.
He tucks the arm on his good side under his head, eyes following Matt across the room. Matt's friends are probably worried about him and he has to wonder if they're used to this yet.
Matt answers the phone, the conversation short. He won't be at the office today, something came up, he swears he's fine, Foggy should call him if he finds anything about the pawn shops and other stores being forced into bankruptcy. He doesn't mention Frank, because that's a conversation that probably doesn't need to happen.
"No rest for the wicked," he says, once he hangs up. "I don't think he believes me that I'm fine."
The corner of Matt's mouth quirks up, because Foggy has every reason not to believe him, but it's always amusing to Matt when he's wrong. It doesn't happen often, so he likes to soak it in a bit.
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Matt firmly believes that. If anything, he wonders if he's done enough for Frank, and if somehow doing more would keep them from situations like this.
"I know you'd stick around if I was the one bleeding out and barely able to stand, so don't give me that bullshit."
It's said fondly, but firmly, his tone saying he's not open for discussion right now.
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Maybe the blood loss is really getting to his head.
He doesn't argue more though, still feeling a pounding in his head, and he hears Matt's tone clearly. If he was in better shape he'd fight back. Instead, he brushes his fingers back through Matt's hair again and sighs, turning back around to the water to grab some actual soap to lather up with.
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Note to self: vegetables and extra towels.
"You smell better," he jokes. "Your heart's sounding better, too. Not working as hard as it was last night."
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He towels off haphazardly, careful around the stitches, his breathing tightening and growing more strained with movement, but at least he's keeping in control. Frank realizes how limited his resources are for Matt in the moment too, never having prepared for guests in this place. Extra towels would benefit them both. He never expected even Matt to stay over when they usually utilize Matt's more appropriate apartment for that sort of thing.
"I'm surprised you touched me at all with all the blood on me," he comments, carefully walking back to his sink so he can brush his teeth, get the tuna and copper taste out of his mouth.
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He towels off as he makes his way to find Frank's clothes. At least he doesn't have to worry about matching, getting the impression everything Frank owns is black. The cargo pants and long-sleeved shirts remind him of the days he was The Man In The Mask, before Daredevil was really a thing. It almost makes him chuckle. Almost.
Matt helps himself to a set of clothes, not complaining about the soft worn-in fabrics or the strong scent of Frank coming off them. If he was sentimental, he might think it feels like a hug or something ridiculous like that.
"I'm hurt, Frank."
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He goes to grab some clean pants of his own, the cot and sheets a mess, but he'll deal with that later. Frank hobbles to the open first aid kit again instead, grabbing a new clean bandage himself.
"Yeah, for a blind guy." He teases affectionately. "If you saw my ugly mug you'd be running in the other direction."
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Matt hears how people react to seeing Frank. There's a difference in the way the heart picks up when it's from fear or excitement or attraction, and people usually have a mix of it when Frank's around.
"Do you want to keep fishing for compliments?" he teases right back.
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Once secure, Frank looks back up to Matt, a new wave of warmth settling in his chest.
"You should wear black more often."
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"You should have met me a year sooner than you did."
But, seeing as Frank seems to like him in black, Matt decides to keep that in mind. Maybe he can add a couple black suits to his closet to off-set the navy-blues and charcoals.
He gathers up his blood-stained clothes, taking the phone out of his pocket and setting it aside before the clothes get dumped in the trash.
"But you can't tell me red isn't my color."
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"You pull it off," he agrees. "Never thought about changing it up?"
Not that it would matter to Matt obviously, but still. The Avengers seem to change their pajamas every other time Frank sees them, but they've probably got that A-list superhero money or something.
He hobbles over to his kitchen area in search of more food, feeling hungrier now that the pain meds are fully working and he's no longer as woozy.
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Nothing beats the classic, though. It's what the people know, and Matt's not really about branding himself but he is about making his presence known to criminals.
"Maybe I should get a logo. I can't let you get all the graffiti."
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He grabs a protein bar from a shelf and chuckles on an exhale, only sounding half amused, half bitter: "Sometimes I regret giving 'em something to use."
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Which isn't something Matt ever thought he'd say about The Punisher at the start of all this. He liked Frank even back then, but he also viewed Frank as dangerous, unstable, and a threat. But Frank does more for the people of the city than he'll ever admit. Matt doesn't have to agree with Frank's methods to understand the impact he can have on those who choose to look for it.
"Face it, Frank. You're a street hero, just like Daredevil."
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"Big words, coming from you," he says quietly, not joking this time. He leans against his counter with a hiss of breath before digging into his bar. "I don't want to be a hero."
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Matt lets a light smile cross his face. Frank can say what he wants, but Matt's not changing his mind.
He stretches out on the blood stained cot, exhaling a tired sigh.
"Got any of those protein bars for me?"
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He grabs a bar to toss at him next, knowing he'll catch it, before hobbling back over.
"You know that shit's covered in blood, right?" A soft scoff. "I can change the sheets. You should sleep. Were you on the floor all night?"
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"You should rest." Matt's not the one coming off a near-death experience. "I'll help you change them, then maybe we can both get a bit of sleep."
The cot's not the biggest, but Matt's sure he can tuck himself in there against Frank's non-injured side. He sits up so he can eat some of the protein bar, but also so he can move and peel off the sheets.
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He comes over to help grab some new sheets and pillowcases. The cot isn't made for two grown people but it wouldn't be the first time they've both stuffed themselves onto it. He can't help but still feel like Matt's doing too much looking after him, but that's just because Frank hasn't allowed himself to be taken care of in ages.
"Maybe I should get a real bed," he muses once the sheets are changed and he can sit again, sighing heavily. "Though that'll encourage you to sleep over more, huh?"
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Matt finishes the protein bar, ignoring the bland, chalky taste in favour of just eating something. He sits beside Frank, bumping their shoulders together.
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The warmth of Matt's body is welcome and he leans into it naturally, ignoring the throbbing in his side.
"I'm tired, Red," he says after a moment, closing his eyes. He doesn't just mean because of last night, of course, but that's nothing new.
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He knows, because he feels it, too. They've both been at this for a long time. It's an endless grind and neither of them can really give it, because he knows neither of them would know what to do with themselves.
"And I don't care if you don't have fancy sheets."
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"That's a first," he murmurs quietly, leaning more heavily into him. "You hate my scratchy sheets."
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He presses a smile to Frank's neck before giving it a light kiss. And then his phone starts to go off, announcing Foggy's calling, and Matt exhales a sigh. He doesn't want to answer it, but he knows he should, and either way having the voice repeating Foggy over and over is grating in the moment.
"Give me a second to get that."
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"Yeah, go for it."
He won't stop Matt from grabbing it of course, taking the chance once Matt's up to stretch out against the clean sheets. It feels a lot better now, and even though Frank isn't wearing a shirt, he's not shivering the way he was before.
He tucks the arm on his good side under his head, eyes following Matt across the room. Matt's friends are probably worried about him and he has to wonder if they're used to this yet.
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"No rest for the wicked," he says, once he hangs up. "I don't think he believes me that I'm fine."
The corner of Matt's mouth quirks up, because Foggy has every reason not to believe him, but it's always amusing to Matt when he's wrong. It doesn't happen often, so he likes to soak it in a bit.
"Sorry." For the interruption, he means.
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