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He shouldn’t have come. Frank had wanted him to come; he hadn’t outright said it and Matt could have ignored it but Matt had been curious.
It had started out well. Frank’s dress blues were made of fabric that he didn’t usually wear, and Matt enjoyed the new textures. He spent some time with the decorations too: the medals were very cold against his fingers and they clinked when he played with them. It amused him and Frank let him have at it, standing at parade rest in the bedroom with the door closed so Penny wouldn’t come and shed on him. It was lucky Danny had agreed to house and rehome any and all abandoned kittens Matt ever found, because new cat hair sources around would have made one Marine lose his cool pretty quickly.
Frank was very particular about cat hair on his uniform, and he refused to sit down anywhere in the apartment between putting on the dress blues and leaving. He was already making an effort in letting Matt touch it and risk messing it up, so Matt didn’t tease him (too much). He’d have liked to feel Frank’s gloves on him too but that was apparently another big no-no, and Matt didn’t insist.
That had been the pleasant part of the day; that and when Frank gave a put-upon sigh, redid Matt’s tie, and pushed him against a wall to kiss him. Frank pinned Matt’s wrists so he wouldn’t mess up the dress blues, and Matt didn’t feel quite presentable once Frank was done. But it had certainly been pleasant.
Then, he finally met Curt when he came to pick them up. They shook hands, Curt’s girlfriend Sandra cooed at Penny, and soon enough they were on the road.
“How did you two meet?” Sandra asked. “Curt only talked about you, Frank. And I don’t think you were a Marine, right? What with being, um.”
That was when it started going south. “Blind? Because I’m blind?”
“Well, yes.”
“I was his lawyer once,” he said. “It only went downhill from there.”
Curt huffed, amused. “That’s how things tend to go with Frank.”
“Hey, I’m great.”
“You do clean up well; you look great at least. Oh, Matt, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean…”
Oh, so Sandra was one of those people. Matt tried not to grit his teeth, and plastered what he hoped looked like a halfway polite smile on his face. “I’m sure Curt looks great too.”
“At least someone has faith in me,” Curt said. “Thanks, man.”
“He’s blind; he can’t tell if you look like an asshole.”
Matt’s smile sharpened. “That’s what faith is, Frank. Blind.”
The girlfriend made a choking sound from behind the wheel, and Matt braced himself for the longest 30-minute drive ever.
Once they got to the church, it didn’t get any better.
There were those who couldn’t believe he could be a lawyer, those who thought he was of course only working ADA cases, two people who simply ignored him, and Bob’s grandmother who told Frank he was very brave to care for someone with special needs.
Special needs.
He probably creased Frank’s uniform at the elbow with how hard he was squeezing so he didn’t react like he wanted to. He wasn’t in court or wearing the mask right now; he was the blind attorney boyfriend with the white cane and red glasses. He had to be nice, and he hated it.
Thankfully the service started soon after, and even if it wasn’t a Catholic wedding the ritual helped calm him. He listened to the words, listened to Frank’s steady heartbeat, let the words wash over him. When they got to the vows, Frank’s breath caught; he didn’t move a fraction of an inch but Matt took his hand anyway, glove or no glove. There, under the fabric, he could feel Frank’s wedding ring. He never wore it, said he’d lost it once when wearing it around his neck and that he’d been lucky it had been returned. He rarely spoke of Maria or his kids, but they had to be on his mind now. Frank didn’t take his hand away, and they stayed like that until the end of the service.
Once everyone was shuttled off to the reception, they stayed together. It was held at the gun range since it was large enough to accommodate everyone and Bob owned it. It smelled like metal and gunpowder and oil, but since most people here were former soldiers or at least sharpshooters it probably didn’t bother anyone. Even Bob’s wife had been in the service.
There were a few speeches, and Matt drank a little more than was reasonable just so he was buzzed enough to stop paying attention to what people were saying: the platitudes about the beautiful bride’s gown, the beautiful weather, the beautiful floral arrangements… He couldn't see any of it, could he? He could hear the layers of fabric scraping against each other, feel the heat of the sun, smell the too many flowers everywhere. And on top of that, there was all the other guests’ colognes and perfumes and sweat, the jingling jewelry and the crowd all around him and… thank God for Frank’s calm presence. When everything got too much he rubbed his fingertips on Frank’s sleeve, he focused on the air flowing in his lungs, on the shower gel they shared and whose smell wasn’t entirely covered by the dry-cleaning chemicals still lingering in Frank’s dress blues.
Matt was so busy doing his best to shut down the outside world that he missed the attackers.
The shouting and screaming yanked him back into the present and he threw himself over the first person in front of him, someone who worked with Frank at the range.
“He’s got a gun!”
“I’ll get you, Bob!” one guy shouted. “Everybody else, leave or you’ll get it too!”
People running, screaming, falling, panicking; broken glass and falling chairs and a few shots to the ceiling. It smelled like spilled alcohol and fear now.
“Shit! They’re getting to the armory, they – fuck, they got a key!”
“The hell?” Frank said to Matt’s right. He stood up. “Rich, what are you doing here?”
“Get back down!” Matt hissed. Frank ignored him, of course. Shit. And Matt couldn’t fight alongside him, not if he wanted to keep his other identity a secret. He folded his cane and crawled away from the people trying to get outside, hoping they didn’t realize he was going towards the action. Rich wasn’t alone; he’d brought buddies with him and now they’d raided the weapons storage room, they were all well-armed.
But Frank’s dress uniform didn’t include a bulletproof vest or a gun.
Matt felt for a knife on the table above him and found one. It had a rounded tip and would probably find a ripe banana challenging; it would be useless for throwing. There was a short burst of fire then a cut-off shout and Frank was dropping next to him, mysteriously acquired gun in hand.
“Former employees with a grudge,” he said. “Civilians all evacuated; now it’s just us soldiers and that bunch of losers.”
Not a lot of soldiers who could actually fight though; many were too drunk. “Where did you get that gun?”
“There’s one less loser.” Frank cut Matt off before he could ask. “Not dead.”
“Good.”
“How many of them can you hear?”
Matt frowned. The alcohol in his bloodstream was making his focus shakier and less reliable, but… “Five, I think. Not counting the one you’ve knocked out.”
“Fine. You stay here, we’ll go pick them out.”
“How? They have weapons and ammo in the storeroom; you don’t. And there are only three of you left here; the others are either too sloshed or keeping the people outside as calm as possible.”
“We’ll find a way. They want to go after Bob; they won’t stay in there. They just went in to load up.”
“Or I could go talk to them.”
“What?”
But Matt was already standing and unfolding his cane. The attackers would probably be too surprised to shoot an obviously harmless guy, while Frank and the others who were in uniform (albeit dress uniforms) would be killed on sight – and they knew it, whatever Frank said.
Once he’d taken a few careful steps away from Frank Matt tugged on his jacket, checked his tie was centered, and tapped his way to the room they were in. These people were committing a crime, yes, but they’d need a lawyer. A defense attorney, there to point out that while their actions went against the law, they were ready to see the errors of their ways and work on the issues that had led them there. Right?
“Hi,” he said once he was standing in front of the door. “My name’s Matt Murdock and I’m a lawyer. Please don’t shoot me?”
“The fuck are you doing?” Frank hissed. “You’re not wearing a vest either!”
Other voices behind him were going, The blind guy? or, Frank’s lawyer boyfriend? Matt ignored them.
“Thank you,” he went on. “At this point, before you harm anyone, I would like to point out a few things that might help your case in the long run, from my experience in the legal system. May I come in?”
Murdock was a goddamn idiot with a death wish, and if he didn’t die Frank was going to kill Red himself. What was he doing, standing here prim as you please in front of armed motherfuckers, spouting law bullshit at them?
And fuck, it worked. They let him in.
“I don’t know why I ever thought he wouldn't be as crazy as you,” Curt said from behind him.
“Thought you were at the back patching people up.”
“Not much patching up to do, just some people who cut their hands falling on broken glass or twisted their ankle running on high heels.” He held out a gun. “Take mine.”
“I got one. Keep it.”
“I don’t want to fight, Frank.”
“Do I look like I do?”
Curt didn’t answer. “What’s he doing inside?”
“Fuck if I know.”
“Does he realize they’re armed?”
“Oh yes, he knows.”
“Anything you’re not telling me?”
“Yes.” Frank sighed. “You may need your medkit. He does get injured a lot.”
“He’s a blind lawyer, man. What does he do, walk out in traffic?” Frank didn’t answer. “Is he a blind lawyer?”
“Yeah.”
“Do I want to know what else he is?”
“No.”
Finally, after a few tense minutes where they didn’t hear much from the weapons storage room apart from people talking, shit happened. Because of course it did. A yell, a couple gunshots, the sounds of a brief fight, and finally the attackers walked out. Rich and another guy, both bleeding from a few places, were held at gunpoint by the others, and right behind them Murdock appeared. He was shrugging his jacket back on as he got out and he then proceeded to lean artfully on the nearest wall with one of his fucking shit-eating grins. Frank seethed.
“Idiot.”
“Has he just… talked them into selling their buddies?”
The other vets in the room hurried to the wannabe wedding-crashers and pinned them to the ground, while Frank went to check where Murdock was bleeding from. He was smiling too much not to be wounded. He looked like he’d had fun, the little shit.
“Red.”
“Hey, Frank.”
“Where?”
“Where what?”
“Red.” Frank yanked the cane from his hand and steadied Murdock when he wobbled. “You need a wall and your cane to keep your balance. Where?”
“I’m fine… ow!” Frank waited. “It’s nothing, I swear. One of them had a hidden blade on his wrist. I didn’t pay attention; it’s on me.”
And also in you, Frank thought. Hidden by Murdock’s jacket, there was a big red stain on his formerly pristine white shirt. “He got you in the gut.”
“Nah, just above the hip; nothing too bad.” He jerked the jacket closed again and wrapped his fingers around his cane’s handle.
“Let’s get you to Curt; he’s good at sewing back together assholes like you.”
“No.” Red dug his heels in and refused to let himself be led away to a fucking medic like he was supposed to.
“No?”
“How am I supposed to explain…” He lifted a hand from his cane and waved it around. “…everything?”
“You’re a stupid lawyer who went to confront violent and armed attackers while there were trained military around. No one would be surprised you got shanked.”
“Hey.” Red pouted a little. “I’m a little drunk, my reflexes aren’t what they should be.”
“You should have stayed behind.”
Sirens outside announced the cops were coming in and taking control of the situation. There wasn’t anything else to control now but it made them feel better, Frank supposed.
“I’m going to have to make a deposition; at the very least there’s going to be questions. If they see me bleeding, there’s going to be too many of them. I can’t.”
“Your shirt is soaked. They’re not blind, Murdock.”
“Maybe it’s not mine?”
Frank took a deep breath. Now was not the time to yell at or strangle anyone, not in full view of the NYPD. “What about what they’ll say?”
“No one likes to admit they got bested by a blind guy. And I accidentally hit the light switch first anyway; they don’t know for sure it was me.”
Another, deeper, breath. “Can you not talk to the cops today?”
Red hummed. “Maybe. I am traumatized by my experience and need to recoup?” If that was what it took, Frank was all for it. “Nah.” Goddammit. “Better do it now, get it over with. If I close my jacket, can you see the blood?”
Frank looked down. “Not yet, but you’re still bleeding. It’s gonna show pretty soon.”
“Aw, shit.”
“I heard someone say ‘blood’,” Curt said as he joined them.
“No,” Murdock said right as Frank replied, “Yeah.”
“Right. So, which is it?”
“He’s bleeding but doesn’t want the cops to see it.”
Curt sighed. “Where should I start? They’re calming down the crowd and leaving the military for last, but they’ll be coming for you pretty soon. How did you get injured, if I may ask?” Curt looked like he didn’t really want to know the answer but felt that he should.
“Violent armed men, harmless blind lawyer?”
“Harmless my ass. So I’m supposed to keep your blood inside as discreetly as possible, so you can bullshit the good officers of the NYPD?”
“Pretty much.” Red grinned; at least there was no blood, cut, or bruise on his face today. Shame about the suit, though. He’d looked good in it, before he started bleeding all over it.
“I’m not going to like what I see, am I?” Curt righted a chair and pushed Red into it. “I’ll get my stitch-up-the-assholes kit. I’ll try to buy you a few more minutes, tell them I want to make sure you’re fine, maybe that you need a little time to process.”
Murdock frowned. “I don’t need…”
“It’s a lie, Red. You’ve heard of those, right?” Curt left them and Frank remained standing by the chair. They were lucky most people were too drunk, shocked, or focused on their own folks to look too closely at them. “You should have left us deal with it.”
“I’m not sorry I went in.”
Frank sighed. No surprises there. “Could have turned ugly.”
“But I’m still here, right? Hey,” he added as he leaned his head against Frank’s side. “I’m sorry about your dress blues.”
“Sorry for what?”
“They got ruined.”
“Not your fault.”
“You were so careful with your uniform. I bet your gloves are all dirty now.”
Frank had torn them off as soon as shit had started to hit the fan. He preferred to fight with his bare hands, feel the blood hot and sticky on his skin when he killed so he remembered what it was exactly that he was doing. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does. You’re so proud of it.”
“I don’t give a fuck, okay? I’d rather…” Better the dress blues than something, someone else. He couldn't bring himself to say it out loud. “Your suit’s ruined too.”
“Yeah.”
“Your mom will be pissed.” She’d worked on it so it fit Red just right. He’d looked really good in it too, and she’d seen Frank ogling Red during the fittings.
“Hm.” Shit, he was losing – no, falling asleep. Nothing more. Right?
“Red?”
“Tired. Drunk.” And bleeding.
“Hey, I’m back. They got medics back there, but I said I knew you and that you’d be more comfortable with someone familiar.”
“Mm, fine.”
Curt smiled; he didn’t seem worried at the drowsiness. He pushed the fabric away and sucked in a breath at the cut, but he went to work straight away. Frank did his best to hide what he was doing from anyone who’d look their way, to hide the cleaning wipes and the couple stitches and the gauze. Curt was quick, and after a few minutes he was buttoning Matt’s jacket over the worst of it.
“There,” he said. “It’ll hold for now.”
“Thanks.” Murdock looked a bit more alert now. “How are the bride and groom? And your girlfriend?”
“Bob’s pissed a guy he fired for being a dick decided to crash his wedding, but he and Jen are saying that’s why their wedding will stay in the annals.”
“They’re not wrong. And nobody got hurt.” Frank cleared his throat. “Not too hurt? It was fun. It’s just a bit of excitement, you know?”
“You love it too much,” Frank told Red. “The excitement.”
“So do you,” Curt replied. “As for Sandra… she found it a bit too extreme, I think. She’s taking an Uber back home.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Hey, don’t sweat it. Frank here tends to fuck with my love life, but I really don’t think we’d have lasted much longer.”
“That’s a shame,” Red said.
“It is what it is.” Curt packed everything back into his kit and closed it right as an officer joined them. “I let him drag me into his shit, you know?”
“Mr. Murdock?”
“Officer Decker?”
“That’s me, yeah! How you always recognize us all I’ll never know, Mr. Murdock.”
“I’ve learned to rely on your voices.” Show-off, Frank thought. And a liar. “How’s your baby girl?”
“She’s fine, thanks for asking. I wasn’t expecting you here.”
“Surprise?”
“Sure is.” The officer – Decker – eyed Frank and Curt. “I assume you’re two of the Army people who were invited to the wedding?”
“Yeah. Bob’s a friend,” Curt said.
“Someone said they saw you go in, Mr. Murdock. The perps we’ve arrested declared you… talked to them?”
“That’s what I do, Officer. I talk. Lawyers, you know our kind, right?”
“I sure do,” Decker replied. He got a notepad out and started scribbling as, cocky grin in place, Red proceeded to tell yet another tall tale to cover his ass while not admitting to anything.
Murdock was way too good at bullshitting, and he enjoyed every minute of it, too.
Curt drove them back home afterwards. Red was mostly asleep against Frank’s side; he’d taken his glasses off and was holding them loosely in his hand. He looked peaceful. Happy.
“Looks like you’re making a comfy bed, Frank.”
“The cat likes Red better.” Not that he was jealous.
Curt smirked. “Uh huh. Hey, you ever use his name?”
“Sometimes.” Frank smirked back.
“Fine, I don’t want to know.” After navigating a dense patch of traffic, Curt changed topics. “How you manage to always end up in the middle of trouble I really don’t know.”
“I’m not looking for it.” Frank saw Curt’s eyebrows rise in the rear-view mirror. “Not this time.”
“Yeah.” Curt’s eyes met his in the mirror. “How’s the daredevil boyfriend with no common sense?”
Frank couldn't help it. He felt his eyes widen a little in surprise, then saw Curt’s face do some serious gymnastics.
“No. I mean, I know you’ve been seen around with him, but I didn't think – really? He’s – Fuck me.”
Red stirred against Frank’s chest. “S’wrong?” he slurred.
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“Heart changed.” He patted Frank’s medals clumsily.
“Holy shit,” Curt whispered. “Holy fucking shit.”
“Frank?”
“Yeah.” He rubbed his cheek just a little in Red’s stupid hair and glared at the back of Curt’s head. “We’re not home yet.”
“Kay.” Red settled back against Frank with a sigh.
It was quiet in the car for a while. Curt drove and Frank looked at the buildings passing by outside of the car, his thoughts drifting along with them.
“I won’t tell anyone,” Curt finally said.
“I know.”
Curt paused before continuing. “So. Looks like you're in deep.”
Frank grunted. What was he supposed to answer?
“I bet he drives you up the wall sometimes, uh?”
“Yeah. Often.”
Just like Maria, and Curt saw it too. “You got a type, Castle.”
“Guess I do,” Frank said looking down at Red. His lips were parted and he looked like a dork; with his jacket off the bloodstain seemed huge on the white fabric of his shirt. He didn’t need to hide it anymore and and the wound wasn’t that bad, but Penny would still be extra-clingy tonight. And Red would make the puppy eyes so she could sleep with them, and Frank would cave in. “Yeah, guess I do.”
Curt’s eyes crinkled in the mirror. “Hell of a wedding, right? But I’m happy for you. And,” he added more quietly, “Maria would be, too.”
Frank felt for the ring on his finger, checked he hadn’t lost it. He hadn’t thought there would be anything to look forward to, after; but it turned out there was. He'd take it, and he wouldn't let go.