"If it's any consolation, I already found an upgrade to the cot."
Which means that Matt fully intended on staying here, and he knew Frank would let him. But there's always that slight chance that Frank might have said no.
As Frank moves, Matt hears the shifting of what might be a fractured rib. He reaches immediately to press a hand lightly to Frank's chest again.
"It hurts like a son of a bitch. Sit down, I'll try and help fix you up."
The mention of the cot earns a squint and then Frank is looking around, only just noticing the new piece of furniture in his own damn fallout shelter. It earns a little snort of amusement, Frank shaking his head.
"Is that a god damn futon?"
He takes a deep breath that catches when he tries to inhale too much, and he knows better than to deny Matt this. How many times have they taken care of each other and patched each other up? Matt was just here bleeding out in Frank's arms recently. Frank sighs.
"Lemme look at your bandages too," he insists, but then goes to hobble over to a chair to sit down. He sighs and groans at the same time from the pain blooming all over his body. "Assholes got me in the back a few times with a fucking shotgun. Probably caused a lot of bruising."
Matt's always considered Frank somewhat invincible. He doesn't know anyone not super-powered that can go in like a one-man-army and come out on the other side the way Frank does, but something about this makes Matt properly realize for the first time that he can truly lose Frank at any moment.
He's no stranger to where Frank keeps his medical gear, especially now that he's had a couple of days to familiarize himself with everything properly. He cracks an instant ice-pack so Frank can try to ease any immediate aches, then starts finding what he might need to fix him up.
"We found out what Foggy was on to. Red Hook has no legal jurisdiction."
Frank definitely acts like he's invincible when he's out doing his thing and sometimes it's very irrational and extreme. He likes to think he's more tactical than the shit he pulled with the fanboy clown club, but it all became so personal, he lost sight of reason. Maybe part of him wanted to get captured.
Man, he feels like shit though.
Eyes stay on Matt and watch him gather supplies, Frank working on slowly peeling off his shirt. It gets stuck in places where blood dried and he groans as he shucks the ruined thing to the floor, looking down at the damage. Mostly bruising, a couple reopened wounds, but it could've been a lot worse.
"Yeah?" He lets out a puff of air, shaking his head. "Fucking figures. Piece of shit found a loophole for his bullshit, didn't he?"
Foggy, Matt means. Sure, it was Foggy's case, but they didn't keep a lot from each other when it came to what they were working on. Maybe it's just like Foggy said, he didn't want to give Matt any more reasons than he needed to go do something stupid.
Speculating doesn't do much now.
"Show me where you need some help. New stitches or just a patch up?"
Frank can probably do this himself. Matt needs the busy work, though. He's not used to being caged up like this, not having the freedom to go outside in the daylight or live his life. He has nothing here to keep him occupied beyond Frank's gym equipment and the radio, and the devil finds work for idle hands.
"Maybe he was trying to protect you from it," he offers, not knowing for certain of course, but Frank knows Foggy was a good guy. "He knew what you're like."
It's spoken more affectionate than accusatory though, especially right now. Normally Frank would insist he can take care of himself but Matt is here and willing, and he's trying to push him away less and less. Matt has already lost so much.
"Think my shoulder opened back up, could use new stitches. Got one on my face too." A sigh. "Don't want it to scar."
"Good thing I can't see you or your busted up face might scare me away."
Unlikely, honestly. Matt's got the impression Frank's a good looking guy, and being so rough around the edges somehow makes him attractive. But he can't let Frank know that.
There's a slight smile as he takes care of Frank's shoulder, and he's delicate when it comes to the one on Frank's face. When everything's all patched up, Matt sits next to Frank so he can circle his arms around him and hold him close. Neither of them are really what Matt would classify as the hugging type (even if they're prone to softness with each other), but he knows he this for himself more than anything else. There's something comforting about Frank being here, solid and steady, when everything else in Matt's world is pretty much gone.
The joking earns some tired snorts and Frank behaves like a good boy while Matt takes care of the rest, closing his eyes and trusting his blind boyfriend to stitch him up better than he could do himself. What a world they live in.
Matt sits beside him and aims for a hug without a word, and Frank doesn't hesitate to lean into him and return it. It doesn't matter how much pain he's in - he broke out of that damn prison in agony, he can hug his partner. An arm comes around his shoulders and Frank pulls Matt into him, tipping his head to press his mouth to his head.
"Hey," he says softly. The only person he's ever soft with anymore, and only when they're alone like this.
Matt sits in the embrace for a good, long moment, his face pressed into Frank's neck. When he draws back, it's with a long inhale, because he's already cried in front of Frank recently and he doesn't need to do it again.
Even if he knows Frank won't judge him for it.
Still, he knows there's a lingering wetness in the corners of his eyes, and a tightness to his mouth that comes with trying to school one's emotions.
"I knew you'd come help me," he says, trying to push past the emotional moment. He even wipes at his eyes with his palm as he clears his throat. "I can't believe you made me walk all the way home instead of coming to save me from the hospital."
A lot fucking happened. Frank gets it. He's feeling run down and exhausted and he isn't even the one who's been fighting for more than just his own skin. Matt has lost so much in such a short amount of time. Tears don't bother Frank, especially not at this point in their relationship. They don't have to say the words to know what they are, and he's not kidding himself about it anymore.
Bruised face or not, he still leans into Matt and presses lips to his forehead and near one of his eyes, dampness be damned.
"Is that why you left me to save my own ass from jail?" he teases right back, a smile in his voice, because he isn't actually mad about it. "If I knew you were there I'd have come in a heartbeat. Then again, New York wouldn't have been graced with your ass out all night, so... Did them a favor."
"Don't worry about me. I put myself there," he insists, not wanting Matt to fret when he's dealing with a different kind of pain. Frank can handle bruises and broken bones, but seeing someone he loves this upset hurts more than anything. "Wanted to see what it was like on the inside."
This softness doesn't usually last but he'll give it for as long as Matt needs it. A quiet after the storm, and before the inevitable next one.
"We'll figure it out. Stay here with me." As if there was any other option. "I don't have a fancy shower or kitchen but it's safe here."
"Your bed was pretty nice," he repeats with actual regret, because that was definitely one of the perks of crashing at Matt's place. Frank took advantage a couple times before everything went to hell. "But yeah, it didn't feel like you."
Frank snorts: "How long d'you think before one of us cracks?"
Which is just Matt deflecting from the question, because he doesn't really know how well the two of them will cope being confined to the same space for more than twelve hours at a time. There's a very real fear he has of ruining the one, constant thing he has going in his life (Frank).
"I thought about a real bed, but that seemed a lot harder to sneak in down here and there's not exactly a lot of room for a California King."
It's one thing to spend a night together but another to be living together, even temporarily. The world out there is out to get them even more so than usual too, and being wanted men doesn't allow for much freedom. Frank is used to it, he's lived like this for years, but Matt had a whole life outside of his vigilantism - a life he tried to live full-time for the past year. The only reason this relationship works is because they get some distance between them, so this will be... interesting.
"I give it a week," he says with a smirk, regarding the futon but... also his own question, honestly. "But with how fucked up I feel, maybe a few days onto that."
His hand moves across Matt's shoulders and he moves to stand, hobbling over to his shelf of goodies to grab more painkillers. "Don't mind taking you up on the offer to rest though."
"I must be losing my touch," he says, giving Frank a bit of support to help him stand. "There used to be a time where it didn't matter how shitty we were feeling."
At least that thought makes Matt laugh a bit. They're not as young as they used to be, and this lifestyle's taken it's toll on both of them. They are, however, both still as stupid as they used to be. Neither of them can argue that.
Frank chuckles because Matt isn't completely wrong. Look at them now, hobbling along from injuries they once would've brushed aside for the sake of not sitting still. It's still hard to sit still but Frank knows when to fight his battles and when to take it easy... especially after his ass was handed to him.
"If you're in the mood right now, there's no helping you, Sunshine." He downs some water too, turning back to Matt and grabbing for his good arm, fingers sliding warm around his bicep to pull him in.
"Tomorrow, we'll see what we can do to get you... stuff."
Matt slides his arms around Frank. He offers a vaguely amused smile, letting his fingers softly creep along Frank's back so he can subtly assess the damage.
He gets what Matt is doing, likely worrying even more, but Frank can't blame him. His back is pretty fucked up, even though he can push through it and pretend he isn't feeling it.
"You're always welcome to wear my clothes," he says with a possessive little grip of Matt's hips. "But I figured you'd want something that didn't smell like me too now and then. Even if you look great in black."
Boy, if Frank likes how Matt looks in black, does Matt have a nice surprise in store for him. It turns out, it's incredibly helpful to be in the good books of people who specialize in superhero costumes.
For now, though, nuzzles into Frank's neck.
"I like the way you smell." Matt presses a kiss to the scar there before lifting his head back up, giving Frank's hip a pat. "Don't worry. I'm taking care of it. Do I have to knock you out or are you going to go lie down?"
Frank squints a bit when Matt says he's taking care of it, but he's so tired... he'll deal with it tomorrow. He hauled ass here after enduring everything, not daring sleep in that damn cage, and pain is still throbbing all over. Being home here with Matt feels like the first time he's been able to relax since before this mess all started.
He hums at the kiss to his scar, inhaling sharply, but yeah- he should rest. Hands squeeze Matt one more time before he steps back to start kicking his boots off, not bothering with his pants as he hobbles to the futon.
"Just a few hours," he confirms, shaking his head at the fact that there's an actual bed in his place now, but... it's admittedly nice. They don't have to huddle up on a tiny cot the way they have been. Frank sits down and the futon creaks, making him laugh under his breath.
"Yeah, this thing isn't gonna make it." But he's lying back soon after, an obnoxiously loud groan escaping him as he does and throws an arm over his eyes.
Matt does feel a little bit pleased to get even a small reaction from Frank, but he'd rather Frank recover. He snorts when Frank gets cozy.
"Shut up."
Even if he's right. The futon's days are numbered.
Before Frank can fall asleep, Matt checks the time. A few hours until Fisk's imposed curfew takes effect means Matt just has to occupy himself for a short time. He keeps the news on the radio, so quiet it's unlikely Frank will even hear it, and he settles in to try and meditate. Once he knows it's creeping up on eight o'clock, he moves around as quietly as possible, opting for street clothes instead of the suit. After all, the task force is going to be looking for the flashes of red.
And, if everything goes well, Frank will stay passed out through the night and won't even know Matt was up to anything at all.
Frank's body is so worn down he falls asleep with little issue, though having a decent place to spread out now probably helps. He always sleeps better with Matt beside him but it's probably for the best they aren't pushing it right now, especially with the state his body's in. Frank will insist he's fine by the time he wakes up like the stubborn asshole he is but... for now, he'll rest.
And rest. And rest. Apparently, he needed more of it than he thought.
He sleeps through Matt leaving which he'll be pissed about later, or at least worried about. Matt shouldn't be going out there with Fisk and his army on his ass, damn it. Frank is none the wiser as he snoozes though, spread out on his back, one arm laid out across the bed.
He does feel guilty as he slips out. It's dangerous for anyone out there past curfew, let alone him and without the protective armor of his suit. But he needs to keep tabs on what's going on. It figures that Frank's escape has the force on edge. That, along with hunting for Poindexter, means they're pretty distracted from everything else.
When Matt returns, Frank's still passed out and Matt's still full of restless energy. He crawls on to the futon next to Frank, draping a blanket over both of them. But it's a fairly sleepless night for Matt, the wheels of his mind spinning too much to relax.
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Which means that Matt fully intended on staying here, and he knew Frank would let him. But there's always that slight chance that Frank might have said no.
As Frank moves, Matt hears the shifting of what might be a fractured rib. He reaches immediately to press a hand lightly to Frank's chest again.
"It hurts like a son of a bitch. Sit down, I'll try and help fix you up."
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"Is that a god damn futon?"
He takes a deep breath that catches when he tries to inhale too much, and he knows better than to deny Matt this. How many times have they taken care of each other and patched each other up? Matt was just here bleeding out in Frank's arms recently. Frank sighs.
"Lemme look at your bandages too," he insists, but then goes to hobble over to a chair to sit down. He sighs and groans at the same time from the pain blooming all over his body. "Assholes got me in the back a few times with a fucking shotgun. Probably caused a lot of bruising."
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Matt's always considered Frank somewhat invincible. He doesn't know anyone not super-powered that can go in like a one-man-army and come out on the other side the way Frank does, but something about this makes Matt properly realize for the first time that he can truly lose Frank at any moment.
He's no stranger to where Frank keeps his medical gear, especially now that he's had a couple of days to familiarize himself with everything properly. He cracks an instant ice-pack so Frank can try to ease any immediate aches, then starts finding what he might need to fix him up.
"We found out what Foggy was on to. Red Hook has no legal jurisdiction."
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Man, he feels like shit though.
Eyes stay on Matt and watch him gather supplies, Frank working on slowly peeling off his shirt. It gets stuck in places where blood dried and he groans as he shucks the ruined thing to the floor, looking down at the damage. Mostly bruising, a couple reopened wounds, but it could've been a lot worse.
"Yeah?" He lets out a puff of air, shaking his head. "Fucking figures. Piece of shit found a loophole for his bullshit, didn't he?"
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Foggy, Matt means. Sure, it was Foggy's case, but they didn't keep a lot from each other when it came to what they were working on. Maybe it's just like Foggy said, he didn't want to give Matt any more reasons than he needed to go do something stupid.
Speculating doesn't do much now.
"Show me where you need some help. New stitches or just a patch up?"
Frank can probably do this himself. Matt needs the busy work, though. He's not used to being caged up like this, not having the freedom to go outside in the daylight or live his life. He has nothing here to keep him occupied beyond Frank's gym equipment and the radio, and the devil finds work for idle hands.
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It's spoken more affectionate than accusatory though, especially right now. Normally Frank would insist he can take care of himself but Matt is here and willing, and he's trying to push him away less and less. Matt has already lost so much.
"Think my shoulder opened back up, could use new stitches. Got one on my face too." A sigh. "Don't want it to scar."
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Unlikely, honestly. Matt's got the impression Frank's a good looking guy, and being so rough around the edges somehow makes him attractive. But he can't let Frank know that.
There's a slight smile as he takes care of Frank's shoulder, and he's delicate when it comes to the one on Frank's face. When everything's all patched up, Matt sits next to Frank so he can circle his arms around him and hold him close. Neither of them are really what Matt would classify as the hugging type (even if they're prone to softness with each other), but he knows he this for himself more than anything else. There's something comforting about Frank being here, solid and steady, when everything else in Matt's world is pretty much gone.
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Matt sits beside him and aims for a hug without a word, and Frank doesn't hesitate to lean into him and return it. It doesn't matter how much pain he's in - he broke out of that damn prison in agony, he can hug his partner. An arm comes around his shoulders and Frank pulls Matt into him, tipping his head to press his mouth to his head.
"Hey," he says softly. The only person he's ever soft with anymore, and only when they're alone like this.
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Even if he knows Frank won't judge him for it.
Still, he knows there's a lingering wetness in the corners of his eyes, and a tightness to his mouth that comes with trying to school one's emotions.
"I knew you'd come help me," he says, trying to push past the emotional moment. He even wipes at his eyes with his palm as he clears his throat. "I can't believe you made me walk all the way home instead of coming to save me from the hospital."
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Bruised face or not, he still leans into Matt and presses lips to his forehead and near one of his eyes, dampness be damned.
"Is that why you left me to save my own ass from jail?" he teases right back, a smile in his voice, because he isn't actually mad about it. "If I knew you were there I'd have come in a heartbeat. Then again, New York wouldn't have been graced with your ass out all night, so... Did them a favor."
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He turns his head to kiss Frank's cheek, a show of mutual affection.
"Sorry. You've been caged up and I'm being selfish. You should eat something. Get some rest."
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This softness doesn't usually last but he'll give it for as long as Matt needs it. A quiet after the storm, and before the inevitable next one.
"We'll figure it out. Stay here with me." As if there was any other option. "I don't have a fancy shower or kitchen but it's safe here."
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And that had really been the entire point of it. Get out of Hell's Kitchen. Neatly tuck away anything that resembled life before Foggy died.
"Never thought you and I would end up living together."
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Frank snorts: "How long d'you think before one of us cracks?"
And why does he already know it'll be Matt first?
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Which is just Matt deflecting from the question, because he doesn't really know how well the two of them will cope being confined to the same space for more than twelve hours at a time. There's a very real fear he has of ruining the one, constant thing he has going in his life (Frank).
"I thought about a real bed, but that seemed a lot harder to sneak in down here and there's not exactly a lot of room for a California King."
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"I give it a week," he says with a smirk, regarding the futon but... also his own question, honestly. "But with how fucked up I feel, maybe a few days onto that."
His hand moves across Matt's shoulders and he moves to stand, hobbling over to his shelf of goodies to grab more painkillers. "Don't mind taking you up on the offer to rest though."
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At least that thought makes Matt laugh a bit. They're not as young as they used to be, and this lifestyle's taken it's toll on both of them. They are, however, both still as stupid as they used to be. Neither of them can argue that.
"Rest. I'll keep myself quiet."
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"If you're in the mood right now, there's no helping you, Sunshine." He downs some water too, turning back to Matt and grabbing for his good arm, fingers sliding warm around his bicep to pull him in.
"Tomorrow, we'll see what we can do to get you... stuff."
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Matt slides his arms around Frank. He offers a vaguely amused smile, letting his fingers softly creep along Frank's back so he can subtly assess the damage.
"Here I thought I'd just borrow your stuff."
He's teasing. Mostly.
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"You're always welcome to wear my clothes," he says with a possessive little grip of Matt's hips. "But I figured you'd want something that didn't smell like me too now and then. Even if you look great in black."
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For now, though, nuzzles into Frank's neck.
"I like the way you smell." Matt presses a kiss to the scar there before lifting his head back up, giving Frank's hip a pat. "Don't worry. I'm taking care of it. Do I have to knock you out or are you going to go lie down?"
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He hums at the kiss to his scar, inhaling sharply, but yeah- he should rest. Hands squeeze Matt one more time before he steps back to start kicking his boots off, not bothering with his pants as he hobbles to the futon.
"Just a few hours," he confirms, shaking his head at the fact that there's an actual bed in his place now, but... it's admittedly nice. They don't have to huddle up on a tiny cot the way they have been. Frank sits down and the futon creaks, making him laugh under his breath.
"Yeah, this thing isn't gonna make it." But he's lying back soon after, an obnoxiously loud groan escaping him as he does and throws an arm over his eyes.
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"Shut up."
Even if he's right. The futon's days are numbered.
Before Frank can fall asleep, Matt checks the time. A few hours until Fisk's imposed curfew takes effect means Matt just has to occupy himself for a short time. He keeps the news on the radio, so quiet it's unlikely Frank will even hear it, and he settles in to try and meditate. Once he knows it's creeping up on eight o'clock, he moves around as quietly as possible, opting for street clothes instead of the suit. After all, the task force is going to be looking for the flashes of red.
And, if everything goes well, Frank will stay passed out through the night and won't even know Matt was up to anything at all.
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And rest. And rest. Apparently, he needed more of it than he thought.
He sleeps through Matt leaving which he'll be pissed about later, or at least worried about. Matt shouldn't be going out there with Fisk and his army on his ass, damn it. Frank is none the wiser as he snoozes though, spread out on his back, one arm laid out across the bed.
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When Matt returns, Frank's still passed out and Matt's still full of restless energy. He crawls on to the futon next to Frank, draping a blanket over both of them. But it's a fairly sleepless night for Matt, the wheels of his mind spinning too much to relax.
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