"Sometimes you drive me fucking crazy," he says in half a breath, hands running down his face, forgetting about the dried blood. It's fine.
All Matt had to do was not jump in front of the bullet and this city would probably be better for it. At least part of the problem would've been handled anyway. Dex never misses, right? The shot would've been a clean kill and even Frank can't fault a serial killer for wanting to put that piece of shit in the ground. He's glad it wasn't Matt taking the shot, but it doesn't mean he had to stop it from happening.
Frank takes a deep breath to calm the rage, hands on his hips as he drops his head. "You're not going anywhere until you're healed. Don't even think about it."
"You asshole," he practically growls, so frustrated with him, even though he's also worried. It's a whiplash of emotions. As if Matt doesn't know Frank would be worried about him beyond any morality concerns here.
"Clearly you do," he insists, in no mood for his bratty behavior now. "If it was up to you you'd leave right now and run right into the arms of Fisk's goon squad."
Matt knows Frank's genuinely concerned for his well-being. He just can't help but go on the defensive, and if Frank's going to bitch about Matt's moral code, well, Matt's going to poke the bear.
"So we're just gonna sit here and let Bullseye take them out for us? Never took you as the sort to let someone else do your dirty work for you."
Logically, Matt knows he's in no shape to take on anyone, let alone a task force. But he also knows time is ticking down and he's losing whatever buffer he has to get to his apartment before they do.
"If I'm staying, you have to do something for me. And you have to trust that I'll stay if you do it."
Matt is pressing, trying to push, and Frank knows it. It's annoying but just what they do to each other when times are tense and they're feeling frustrated by each other or whatever situation they're in. Even so, Frank can't help but fall for it every time, even knowingly.
"That's not what I said," he responds almost immediately. "I'm not asking you to sit on your ass and wait around, I'm just saying rest for at least one fucking day." You got shot, Matthew.
Frank looks up at him from where he's standing like a pissy partner, squinting at the ask. "Yeah? What's that?"
Matt huffs out a frustrated breath, at least half a dozen bitchy retorts on his tongue that he keeps to himself. He needs Frank to do him a favour, being more of an asshole isn't going to make that easier.
"Fisk knows where I live. If his cops haven't been there already, then they'll be there before the night's done. I need you to get my suit."
He can't risk them waiting it out and being there when he goes back, and he sure as hell can't let them find his hidden closet.
It's a reasonable request and it keeps Frank calm for the time being. Matt's right that it wouldn't be a good look if they found direct evidence of Daredevil there and could use it against him. Even if Fisk knows the truth, what good is it if he can't prove anything, right?
Frank nods to himself, agreeing without question: "Okay. I can grab it. Where is it?"
He's already moving to change his clothes and wash up to get the literal blood off his hands.
Matt exhales. He's not sure why he thought Frank would say no, but he's glad that Frank continues to never let him done.
"In my bedroom, there's a hidden door." Matt rubs a hand over his face. "Get the red one, the rest ... I don't know. Do what you have to do, don't think too hard about it."
Matt can eat the cost of them if they have to get ditched in dumpsters along the way or thrown into the river.
Of course there's a hidden door, though the thing that surprises Frank the most is hearing he has more than one suit. Since when? Did he know this? Maybe some part of his fancy new rich life. Then again, Matt wouldn't commission suits when he was allegedly retired right? So many questions.
"Christ, how many do you have?" he asks while finding an old duffel bag to take with him. Without hesitation, Frank goes to his gun locker too to grab a piece, because there's no way in hell he's heading to a potential hot zone without one, whether Matt likes it or not. "Weapons in the same place?"
At the very least, that gets something almost like a laugh out of Matt.
"Five," he admits. He's not surprised Frank's not too aware of it. Matt hasn't even used a couple of them, but he'd rather have them than not. "They have different functions, different uses. But this isn't the time to take them for a test run."
Welp... he grabs another bag for good measure, because if he's moving five full suits and weapons to boot, he's going to need more space.
"You've been busy," is his only comment as he moves back over to the cot and grabs his phone, his keys, lingering a moment. Matt made a promise but he hopes he'll uphold his end of the bargain here.
"You're really not going anywhere," he says rather than asks, wanting to trust Matt with this.
He'd be offended, but he can't blame Frank for asking. It's absolutely something Matt would do, send Frank away and then leave. It doesn't even matter if he's shirtless or without a suit. Frank's got clothes that fit him, protective vests and gear.
But, no, Matt's going to try and keep this promise.
"I'll be here. Unless I hear on one of your radios that the police are on to you."
He adds the last part with a smile, hoping to ease Frank's mind.
"Alright," he confirms, strapping his gun to the inside of his coat and gathering the bags. Frank lingers by Matt, feeling a bit calmer now, and he drops the bags to bend down and press a kiss to the top of his head. "I'll be back in a couple hours."
It's all he says before leaving for Matt's apartment. He's as cautious as he can be considering the heat and eyes that are probably on this place, waiting a bit for it to get dark first. Instead of going through the front door though, Frank uses the fire escapes he's familiar with by now, using the roof access to enter the apartment. It's suspiciously quiet but he'll take that as a good sign, moving around room to room as he scopes out the place. Matt is probably correct this place will be raided soon though and it's a shame, knowing he worked hard for it.
He finds the secret room with all the suits and just... stares for a while. Jesus Christ, Matt. He didn't realize he'd gathered up such a large collection of suits (and he makes a mental note of that black one, honestly), but Frank stays true to his word and stuffs all of them into both bags. It's fucking heavy but he isn't going to drop these off in the dump like it's no big deal. He'll make the effort to take them all back with him.
One more pit stop through the rest of the place in case there's anything else he should grab, and Frank notices Foggy's memorial card sitting in a bowl on Matt's dresser. He doesn't hesitate to grab that too.
He doesn't think anyone's following him, sending Matt a quick message as he's leaving: coming back. all's clear.
Just like that, as usual, they go from ready to punch each other in the throat to something calm and understanding. Matt listens to Frank's footsteps until they're too far away, then he sucks in a long and deep breath. He gets up to move around, splashing some water on his face and then drinking down a chalky, shelf-stable protein drink followed by a glass of water.
He settles back on the cot to close his eyes, choosing some sort of meditation over sleep. The static on the radios, the communications between various officers, the occasional blip of his own name as they keep a search out for him. Even though he knows it's probably fine, he's glad for the message from Frank when it comes through.
It doesn't sound like there's a lot of activity in the area. Should be a clear shot back.
There, confirmation of message received and, more importantly, confirmation he kept his word and didn't leave.
By the time Frank comes back, Matt's helped himself to a shirt and ditched the dress pants, and he's switched one of the radios to play the nightly news broadcast.
Paranoia is still a good tool to utilize in this situation so Frank doesn't blame Matt for wanting to get this kind of evidence away. Hopefully he didn't forget something else that could be used against him, but Matt has been doing this so long, he probably always had an escape plan in mind.
Frank returns with two heavy bags and a pizza. What a guy - he didn't even need to be asked for the food. He's breathing hard as he dumps the bags on the floor and sets the pie down on a table, leaning forward a bit to catch his breath.
"Why the fuck is your shit so heavy?" he complains, but that's including weapons and helmets too. "I didn't know you had a different color for every mood, Red."
There's a warmth that fills Matt for a moment. Not only because Frank decided that, despite the situation, he should grab something to eat that isn't something canned. But because he hears two bags hit the floor and he understands immediately.
"I told you I only needed one," he says, the gratefulness and fondness unmistakable in his voice. He does know how heavy it can get, though. He's used to wearing one nightly, and the materials are a balance of sturdy enough to protect him while still allowing flexibility. All of them together, plus the rest of his gear?
Matt walks over, finding the bags and then feeling for the zipper on one of them so he can reach inside and feel around. It's more than just grabbing everything, it's knowing Frank did it to keep any incriminating evidence out of Matt's home. Frank might bitch about Matt wearing a mask, but he gets it.
"Yeah, well... I didn't want them to get into anyone else's hands," he admits, though of course he also didn't want Matt to feel sad about his hard work ending up in some landfill. Fuck it. He isn't as sentimental about his own gear but he hopes Matt would've done the same for him (though it's questionable with his hatred for guns).
Frank hears the gratitude though and he accepts it. He runs a hand back through his hair as he catches his breath and then shakes his head. "No. Makes me suspicious though, it was almost too quiet. Maybe I got there just in time."
There's a rustling in his pocket and then he's approaching Matt from behind, holding out the card he picked up too. "I also thought you'd want this."
"Chasing down Dex and keeping the Fisks under high security detail might be their priority right now," Matt muses.
He's taking inventory of what's in the bags when he hears Frank moving. Reaching out, Matt's fingers graze the card, then the braille printed across it, and he feels his lip tremble for just a moment. There's a wash of emotion not just from the memorial card, but also that Frank took the time to grab it. That means more to Matt than any of the gear.
"Frank..."
His voice trails off. Matt's never been good at saying thank you. Even now, he's not sure that those words do any justice to the gratefulness he feels in the moment, so he lets his fingers brush against Frank's before he takes the card from him completely.
"He liked to complain about you, but I know he liked you."
They may be rough around the edges sometimes but Frank likes to think he knows Matt more than just what he needs physically. He listens. He hears his pain. The way he's been grieving for Foggy this past year has been difficult but faith means a lot to Matt... and it didn't take a genius to realize why he kept this.
Frank hears the gratitude and he nods to himself, not needing more than that. He gets it.
"Is that right?" there's an amused smile in his voice, wondering how true that is. "Pretty sure every time he caught me at your place, he wanted to strangle me a little." Not that Foggy ever would have. He was a good person, not a violent bone in his body as far as Frank knew.
"That's because you're a bad influence on me." Foggy's words, not Matt's. Matt doesn't need anyone to encourage him more than he does himself. "But he knew you wouldn't let anything happen to me. Or Karen, or him."
He feels the raised lettering of the card again, then lets a smile slip on to his face.
"All this and you still found time to grab a pizza. If I didn't know better, Mr. Castle, I'd think you like me."
Frank wonders if Matt realizes how freely he's talking about Foggy right now without hesitance, and it's kind of nice. It's good. Even Frank has to let out a little laugh at being called a bad influence.
"Little did he know you were always the worse influence," he teases, because Matt has definitely encouraged this... relationship over the years, more than Frank did at first. He was happy to hide away from it.
Look at them now.
He lets out a little psh at the liking comment, moving toward the pizza to grab a slice. He's starving too and he hasn't eaten "real" food in ages. "Something like that. Don't expect a Valentine's Day card or anything though."
Frank's eyes keep falling to the bandage but it's as good as it's gonna get in his bunker. He'll just have to make sure they check on it every once in a while, and he's sure Matt will tell him if he smells anything off like an infection.
"Good question," he says with a sigh, mirroring Matt's body language as he eats and thinks. At least he's safe here with Frank.
"You can't hide forever. Fisk's gonna wonder what happened to you. Your co-workers too, right?" He grumbles at the thought because if it was up to Frank he'd just keep Matt safe with him and deal with the rest later, but knowing Matt, that's not going to happen. "Bullseye... he's probably getting hunted too. Maybe we could lure him in somewhere, corner him ourselves. Offer an out."
"No, I think the firm will be all right. There's no personal history there with Kirsten or the associates."
Thank God for that, at least. At worst, the firm will take a hit from whatever Fisk does to take down Matt's name, but he trusts them to come out fine on the other side. He nods a bit as Frank goes on, because, yeah, Bullseye's something else entirely. Matt's not really sure where he stands on that part.
There's a reality that's starting to sink in for Matt. There's no way Fisk isn't going to release his identity. There will be video to back it up, too, and there's no way Matt can reasonably say it's a case of mistaken identity. It's going to cause an upheaval in his life, one way or another.
"Do you think we can make a trip to Jersey City tomorrow? I need to speak to my financial advisor."
The question comes out of nowhere but there is probably so much on Matt's mind, the stress clear, not only because of his physical wound. Frank still wishes he'd sit down and rest but he won't push it when Matt is a stubborn son of a bitch anyway. He's his own man, no matter how overprotective Frank is.
"Yeah, sure..." He squints a bit, curious: "I'm surprised you've got one in Jersey."
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All Matt had to do was not jump in front of the bullet and this city would probably be better for it. At least part of the problem would've been handled anyway. Dex never misses, right? The shot would've been a clean kill and even Frank can't fault a serial killer for wanting to put that piece of shit in the ground. He's glad it wasn't Matt taking the shot, but it doesn't mean he had to stop it from happening.
Frank takes a deep breath to calm the rage, hands on his hips as he drops his head. "You're not going anywhere until you're healed. Don't even think about it."
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Matt's smile is wry and humourless.
"I don't need a babysitter, Frank."
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"Clearly you do," he insists, in no mood for his bratty behavior now. "If it was up to you you'd leave right now and run right into the arms of Fisk's goon squad."
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"So we're just gonna sit here and let Bullseye take them out for us? Never took you as the sort to let someone else do your dirty work for you."
Logically, Matt knows he's in no shape to take on anyone, let alone a task force. But he also knows time is ticking down and he's losing whatever buffer he has to get to his apartment before they do.
"If I'm staying, you have to do something for me. And you have to trust that I'll stay if you do it."
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"That's not what I said," he responds almost immediately. "I'm not asking you to sit on your ass and wait around, I'm just saying rest for at least one fucking day." You got shot, Matthew.
Frank looks up at him from where he's standing like a pissy partner, squinting at the ask. "Yeah? What's that?"
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"Fisk knows where I live. If his cops haven't been there already, then they'll be there before the night's done. I need you to get my suit."
He can't risk them waiting it out and being there when he goes back, and he sure as hell can't let them find his hidden closet.
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Frank nods to himself, agreeing without question: "Okay. I can grab it. Where is it?"
He's already moving to change his clothes and wash up to get the literal blood off his hands.
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"In my bedroom, there's a hidden door." Matt rubs a hand over his face. "Get the red one, the rest ... I don't know. Do what you have to do, don't think too hard about it."
Matt can eat the cost of them if they have to get ditched in dumpsters along the way or thrown into the river.
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"Christ, how many do you have?" he asks while finding an old duffel bag to take with him. Without hesitation, Frank goes to his gun locker too to grab a piece, because there's no way in hell he's heading to a potential hot zone without one, whether Matt likes it or not. "Weapons in the same place?"
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"Five," he admits. He's not surprised Frank's not too aware of it. Matt hasn't even used a couple of them, but he'd rather have them than not. "They have different functions, different uses. But this isn't the time to take them for a test run."
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"You've been busy," is his only comment as he moves back over to the cot and grabs his phone, his keys, lingering a moment. Matt made a promise but he hopes he'll uphold his end of the bargain here.
"You're really not going anywhere," he says rather than asks, wanting to trust Matt with this.
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But, no, Matt's going to try and keep this promise.
"I'll be here. Unless I hear on one of your radios that the police are on to you."
He adds the last part with a smile, hoping to ease Frank's mind.
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It's all he says before leaving for Matt's apartment. He's as cautious as he can be considering the heat and eyes that are probably on this place, waiting a bit for it to get dark first. Instead of going through the front door though, Frank uses the fire escapes he's familiar with by now, using the roof access to enter the apartment. It's suspiciously quiet but he'll take that as a good sign, moving around room to room as he scopes out the place. Matt is probably correct this place will be raided soon though and it's a shame, knowing he worked hard for it.
He finds the secret room with all the suits and just... stares for a while. Jesus Christ, Matt. He didn't realize he'd gathered up such a large collection of suits (and he makes a mental note of that black one, honestly), but Frank stays true to his word and stuffs all of them into both bags. It's fucking heavy but he isn't going to drop these off in the dump like it's no big deal. He'll make the effort to take them all back with him.
One more pit stop through the rest of the place in case there's anything else he should grab, and Frank notices Foggy's memorial card sitting in a bowl on Matt's dresser. He doesn't hesitate to grab that too.
He doesn't think anyone's following him, sending Matt a quick message as he's leaving: coming back. all's clear.
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He settles back on the cot to close his eyes, choosing some sort of meditation over sleep. The static on the radios, the communications between various officers, the occasional blip of his own name as they keep a search out for him. Even though he knows it's probably fine, he's glad for the message from Frank when it comes through.
It doesn't sound like there's a lot of activity in the area. Should be a clear shot back.
There, confirmation of message received and, more importantly, confirmation he kept his word and didn't leave.
By the time Frank comes back, Matt's helped himself to a shirt and ditched the dress pants, and he's switched one of the radios to play the nightly news broadcast.
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Frank returns with two heavy bags and a pizza. What a guy - he didn't even need to be asked for the food. He's breathing hard as he dumps the bags on the floor and sets the pie down on a table, leaning forward a bit to catch his breath.
"Why the fuck is your shit so heavy?" he complains, but that's including weapons and helmets too. "I didn't know you had a different color for every mood, Red."
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"I told you I only needed one," he says, the gratefulness and fondness unmistakable in his voice. He does know how heavy it can get, though. He's used to wearing one nightly, and the materials are a balance of sturdy enough to protect him while still allowing flexibility. All of them together, plus the rest of his gear?
Matt walks over, finding the bags and then feeling for the zipper on one of them so he can reach inside and feel around. It's more than just grabbing everything, it's knowing Frank did it to keep any incriminating evidence out of Matt's home. Frank might bitch about Matt wearing a mask, but he gets it.
"You didn't run into problems?"
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Frank hears the gratitude though and he accepts it. He runs a hand back through his hair as he catches his breath and then shakes his head. "No. Makes me suspicious though, it was almost too quiet. Maybe I got there just in time."
There's a rustling in his pocket and then he's approaching Matt from behind, holding out the card he picked up too. "I also thought you'd want this."
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He's taking inventory of what's in the bags when he hears Frank moving. Reaching out, Matt's fingers graze the card, then the braille printed across it, and he feels his lip tremble for just a moment. There's a wash of emotion not just from the memorial card, but also that Frank took the time to grab it. That means more to Matt than any of the gear.
"Frank..."
His voice trails off. Matt's never been good at saying thank you. Even now, he's not sure that those words do any justice to the gratefulness he feels in the moment, so he lets his fingers brush against Frank's before he takes the card from him completely.
"He liked to complain about you, but I know he liked you."
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Frank hears the gratitude and he nods to himself, not needing more than that. He gets it.
"Is that right?" there's an amused smile in his voice, wondering how true that is. "Pretty sure every time he caught me at your place, he wanted to strangle me a little." Not that Foggy ever would have. He was a good person, not a violent bone in his body as far as Frank knew.
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He feels the raised lettering of the card again, then lets a smile slip on to his face.
"All this and you still found time to grab a pizza. If I didn't know better, Mr. Castle, I'd think you like me."
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"Little did he know you were always the worse influence," he teases, because Matt has definitely encouraged this... relationship over the years, more than Frank did at first. He was happy to hide away from it.
Look at them now.
He lets out a little psh at the liking comment, moving toward the pizza to grab a slice. He's starving too and he hasn't eaten "real" food in ages. "Something like that. Don't expect a Valentine's Day card or anything though."
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Matt sets the memorial card down and gets a slice, too, leaning against the table as he eats it.
"So. What's our plan?"
Because Matt can't avoid Dex or the fall-out of this for too long.
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"Good question," he says with a sigh, mirroring Matt's body language as he eats and thinks. At least he's safe here with Frank.
"You can't hide forever. Fisk's gonna wonder what happened to you. Your co-workers too, right?" He grumbles at the thought because if it was up to Frank he'd just keep Matt safe with him and deal with the rest later, but knowing Matt, that's not going to happen. "Bullseye... he's probably getting hunted too. Maybe we could lure him in somewhere, corner him ourselves. Offer an out."
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Thank God for that, at least. At worst, the firm will take a hit from whatever Fisk does to take down Matt's name, but he trusts them to come out fine on the other side. He nods a bit as Frank goes on, because, yeah, Bullseye's something else entirely. Matt's not really sure where he stands on that part.
There's a reality that's starting to sink in for Matt. There's no way Fisk isn't going to release his identity. There will be video to back it up, too, and there's no way Matt can reasonably say it's a case of mistaken identity. It's going to cause an upheaval in his life, one way or another.
"Do you think we can make a trip to Jersey City tomorrow? I need to speak to my financial advisor."
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"Yeah, sure..." He squints a bit, curious: "I'm surprised you've got one in Jersey."
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