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Frank can't help but be fascinated every time Matt Murdock comes into his restaurant. Watching each of the poor guy's dates is like watching a trainwreck in slow motion. Somehow, they rarely go well; but even when they do, Matt is always back again with a different date a week or two later. Frank's curious, but he's never been one to pry. Whenever Matt enters the restaurant again, Frank ignores Lisa's questioning (and eventually, knowingly smug) looks and goes to serve the table himself.
Today is one such evening. Matt arrives about an hour before close, dressed in one of his nicer suits. Frank drops by when Matt first seats himself, setting a Braille menu before him without preamble.
(So maybe Frank had them made just for Matt. Nobody has to know except him.)
"You know, I don't really need that anymore," Matt says, but he's smiling.
"What, you memorize the whole menu already?" Frank scoffs.
"Pretty much, yes. And I'm pretty sure you've noticed I order the same thing every time."
"Maybe I'm waiting for you to surprise me," Frank replies. "What can I get you to drink, Red?"
"Why do -- that was one time, Castle!"
Frank allows himself to grin, but only because Matt can't see it and Lisa is somewhere behind him. "You spilled half a bottle of Marsala on that poor guy, Red. I'm never lettin' that one go."
Matt huffs, but Frank can tell he's not actually annoyed; he just looks a little flustered. Over the past year or so of Matt's business here, the banter has just become a sort of tradition before each of the lawyer's dates.
"Just a cappuccino for now, please and thank you," Matt says.
Frank hums. Matt usually just orders water. He's probably only changing things up because Frank called him out on it.
"Comin' right up," Frank says. He doesn't bother to scribble anything into his notepad, just heads into the back. He asks Lisa to make the drink ─ in part because he hardly knows how to work the damn machine, but also because he wants to keep an eye on the door from behind the counter to see what Matt's date looks like.
It's not creepy. He's just curious. Shut up.
A minute or so later, a redhead in an expensive-looking white dress enters the restaurant. She looks around, then approaches Matt's table. Matt straightens in his seat; he must hear the click of her heels on the tile.
Frank goes to leave the check for another table, so he doesn't really get to hear much of their initial exchange. A minute or so later, he approaches the table and gives the redhead a menu and a smile (though he's been told it looks much more like a grimace). "Evening, ma'am. What can I get you to drink?"
"Just water is fine, thank you," she replies smoothly, returning his smile with a rather fake-looking one of her own.
Frank nods once. "I'll give the two of you a little more time to decide what you wanna order."
He goes back and gets the cappuccino, which Lisa's just finished making, and pours a glass of ice water.
"Want me to bring that out, Pops?" Lisa asks, smirking at him.
"I got it," Frank replies gruffly, resolutely ignoring the way she giggles as he heads back over to Matt's table.
The redhead's eyes are practically glued to her phone, Frank realizes with an unexpected spike of irritation. Does she think Matt won't notice just because he's blind? Sometimes Frank thinks Matt's got a sixth (or would that be fifth?) sense with the way he always seems to know what's going on around him.
"Cappuccino for you. On your left. Careful, it's hot." Frank sets down the mug carefully, then sets the glass of water down in front of the redhead. "And for the lady."
"Thank you," Matt murmurs, sounding strangely subdued. The redhead looks up from her phone and smiles at Frank, but it's still just as plastic as before.
"You know what you wanna order yet?" Frank asks.
"Ah, I think I'll try the pasta alla Norma this time," Matt says. He's just full of surprises today, isn't he? "With arancini, and ─ a bottle of Marsala. Whatever vintage you suggest." There's a tiny smirk on Matt's lips, and Frank just barely tamps down on the urge to smile, too. Red.
Frank scribbles it down in his notepad, though he knows he'll remember. He looks over to the redhead again. "And you, ma'am?"
"Huh?" She looks up again. "Oh! Yeah, um..." She scans her menu; Frank's almost positive she hasn't so much as looked at it this whole time. "I'll have, um, the same thing?"
"Alright." Frank can hardly refrain from calling her out for staying on her phone. "That'll just be about fifteen minutes, then."
He collects their menus and retreats to the kitchen. Honestly, it's rare that he ever even leaves the back; he lets Lisa and Lieberman take care of the serving. Frank isn't a people person. But, well.
It's Matt. Lisa has to learn how to run the kitchen someday, anyway. Why not today, right?
The people sitting at one of the only two other occupied tables leave, and Frank goes to clean up. The table is conveniently close to where Matt and his date are seated, so Frank takes the opportunity to eavesdrop. Though moments ago it'd seemed as though Matt was the one who was trying his hardest to carry their conversation, now his date seemed to be monopolizing it. She is, as far as Frank can discern, complaining about the incompetency of her coworkers.
Rolling his eyes, Frank returns to the kitchen and sets the dirty dishes in the sink. "How're we coming on the pasta alla Norma?" he asks Lisa, washing his hands and drying them.
"'Bout eight minutes, Pops. Hey, you know what might stop Mr. Murdock from going on all of those terrible dates with terrible people?"
Frank stops, turning to look at his daughter with a single raised eyebrow. Lisa smiles innocently. He's not fooled.
"You should ask him out."
Frank rolls his eyes and silently turns to peruse their wine selection. His daughter is just like him, sometimes; blunt and straight to the point. No beating around the bush.
"No, seriously!" Lisa insists. "He's cute, he's nice, you totally have a crush on him─"
"I do not," Frank denies, and it's only after he's already spoken that he realizes he sounds like a sulky adolescent. "Lisa, I hardly know the man. And I'm too busy for all of that ─" He waves a hand vaguely. "Dating bullshit, anyway. Got my hands full, between the restaurant, you, and your brother."
Lisa sighs, stirring the pasta sauce and checking the deep fryer. "He deserves better, Dad. You know how nice he is. And it'd take an idiot not to notice how much you two flirt every time he comes in here..."
"We don't ─ alright, I'm walking away now," Frank scowls, taking the wine tray and making a hasty exit from the kitchen. Lisa's giggles follow him out the door.
"2006 Marsala for you," he says, setting a glass before the redhead ─ who's back on her phone again ─ and another before Matt. "On your right ─ oh, careful ─" Frank catches Matt's hand just before he knocks the glass over. Clearing his throat, Frank guides it to the stem of the glass and then quickly lets go.
Funny ─ not once has he seen Matt accidentally knock something over before. The Marsala incident was intentional, Frank's almost certain, but Matt would never confirm or deny it.
Frank uncorks the bottle and fills each of their glasses, then sets the bottle near the centerpiece. "Bottle's to your right, in the middle," he says for Matt's benefit. "Food should just be another couple of minutes." The redhead still doesn't look up from her phone. Frank grits his teeth and turns on his heel to leave the bill with the last customers of the evening (save, of course, Matt and his date).
He overhears a few more snippets of conversation. The few times the woman actually does try to talk about something, it's with an astounding lack of tact and (hopefully subconscious) show of ableism that makes Frank physically cringe once or twice.
Frank's coming out of the kitchen with their meals when he hears the redhead say something that's just about the last straw.
"Man, the decor in this place is tacky. I mean, it's not your fault for picking a shitty place, I guess. You can't see." She actually has the gall to laugh. "But, like... The decor is totally not authentic. I bet the food isn't, either. What was this wine called? Marsala? Is that even Italian?"
For fuck's sake. She has to know Frank can hear her. She just doesn't care. She's exactly the type of rich, spoilt, entitled person that Frank absolutely loathes. He clears his throat as he sets their plates before them, and Matt turns his toward Frank with a slight grimace.
Frank takes a deep breath. Let it go. Let it go, let it go, let it...
"I miei genitori erano dalla Sicilia, cagna stupida," he says curtly, refilling their glasses. Matt clears his throat loudly to cover up a laugh. Frank wonders if he speaks Italian, or if he just knows enough of the root words to get the gist of what Frank is saying.
"Um... Huh?" The redhead looks up at him. There's that smile again.
"I miei genitori. Erano dalla Sicilia. Cagna stupida," Frank repeats, and smiles back, exaggerated and fake. He doesn't look up as the last two patrons exit the restaurant.
"I heard you, obviously. I'm not deaf. I just don't know what that means," the redhead laughs. "What, are you trying to impress me with a couple words in Italian, or whatever? That's not going to make your restaurant any nicer, you know."
That's when, so subtly that Frank almost thinks it's an accident, Matt nudges the bottle of wine just enough that it tips over. Red.
Red wine splashes all over the woman's white dress. She shrieks and jumps to her feet, uprighting the bottle and pushing it away.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" The redhead snaps. "I should have known better than to go on a date with a blind guy, oh my god ─"
"Out." Frank says. He doesn't shout, but his voice is loud; his tone is firm and leaves no room for argument.
"Me?" the redhead asks incredulously. "He's the one who just ─"
Lisa has come to watch from the doorway, but all of the other customers have filtered out, so it doesn't really matter that he's making a scene now.
Frank's tone is acidic, blazing with anger, and yet somehow still measured and calm. "First you ignore him, because you think him being blind means he's stupid enough not to realize you've been on your phone the whole goddamn time. Then you make ableist comments, you're demeaning and generally rude, and I say nothing." The redhead seems rooted to the spot as Frank continues.
"You insult my restaurant, which my family founded when they came here from Sicily ─ which is in Italy, in case you didn't know, you fucking moron ─ and you know what?" Frank opens his hands wide. "I would've overlooked all of that unless Matt wanted me to step in. But that last part? No. Absolutely fucking not. I already thought you were dumber than a box of goddamn rocks, but if you seriously find Matt's disability so inconvenient for you that you overlook the rest of him, you don't deserve to be anywhere within ten feet of him. Which you won't be, as of right now, because you're leaving. Go. Out. Now."
"But..."
Frank turns his head and looks at Lisa, who stomps across the restaurant with the same stormy look in her blue eyes that Frank is certain he has. Lisa grabs the woman's purse and shoves it into her arms, then grabs her by the upper arm firmly (though not hard enough to hurt.) "Come on, you heard him! Get the hell outta here!" Lisa marches the woman out the door and at least two storefronts down. When she comes back, she goes straight back to the kitchen, giving her father a significant look as she passes by.
Frank's breathing has calmed down by then, and he turns to look at Matt.
"Matt, I'm so ─"
Matt holds up a hand. Frank cuts off, nervous. "You didn't have to do that," he says softly.
"The hell I didn't," Frank scoffs. "How long were you gonna let her walk all over you, huh? Why do you always let them walk all over you?! You're better than that, Matt!"
"Thank you." It's quiet, but it's earnest and sincere. "Thank you, Frank. It... It means a lot to me, you know. That you were willing to do that."
"I was just being a decent person," Frank mumbles, pulling the rag from his back pocket and starting to mop up the wine that spilled on the booth's vinyl seat.
"You'd be surprised at how few of those there are in Hell's Kitchen," Matt laughs. Frank huffs out something that's almost a laugh.
"Well ─ I guess your date's already ruined, but don't let that ruin your dinner, huh? It's on me, tonight." Frank pats Matt on the shoulder. When he starts to pull his hand away, Matt rests his gently on top of it. Frank stops.
"It doesn't look like the wine touched her plate," Matt says hesitantly, turning his head up toward Frank. "You close shortly, don't you?"
Frank tenses, face flooding with heat. "Yeah." He clears his throat. "Uh, yeah, I do. You want me to─?"
"Join me. If you would." Matt smiles a little, more sure of himself. "Just so we're completely clear, yes, I'm asking you on a date. No, not just because my last one was terrible."
Frank laughs and gives Matt's shoulder another squeeze. "Yeah. Alright, Red. Just gimme a few minutes to help Lisa clean up." Matt squeezes his hand once and lets go. Frank starts to walk away, and Matt calls,
"You're really never going to let the 'Red' thing go now, are you?"
"Oh, absolutely not."