Work Text:
“So,” Leo said, expectantly. “What are you and Matt planning to do for Valentine’s?”
The comment didn’t even get a raised eyebrow from Frank, though he did glance at her from over the rim of his mug. They were sitting in Leo’s favorite coffee shop since it was Frank’s turn to pick her up from school. (Frank had somehow got roped into being part of the after-school pick-up schedule. Matt had been merciless in Frank’s full-fledged adoption by the Lieberman family, not at all realizing that he was part of the package too.)
“No plans,” Frank said after a moment. “It’s not like Daredevil takes a night off, except to go to midnight mass on Christmas and New Year’s. Even then, he just ends his patrol early.”
Leo looked aghast. “Well, that’s not acceptable.” She leaned across their small table. “You have to do something.”
“Is that some sort of rule?”
“Yes! An unwritten rule,” Leo added. “But definitely a rule. I’m not saying you have to do anything traditional. I don’t even know if Matt would like flowers or chocolates or any of that kind of stuff.”
“Most flowers make him sneeze.”
“Right. So . . . do something non-traditional.”
“Like deliver Wilson Fisk’s heart on a plate?”
“Frank!” Leo said, appalled. But she also couldn’t stop herself from laughing. “Daredevil doesn’t believe in killing people, remember?”
“Might make an exception for Fisk,” Frank muttered, so quietly that Leo wouldn’t hear.
“But since we’re brainstorming,” Leo was saying. “It’s a start.”
“We’re brainstorming, are we?”
“Yeah, we’re brainstorming. What do you and Matt like to do?”
Frank should probably have been disturbed that he was speaking to a teenager about his love life with his vigilante partner, but since Leo was one of the very few people in the world who knew about Matt’s secret identity (and had figured it out on her own), as well as Frank’s bloody past, it made a strange kind of sense. It’s not like he and Matt lived ordinary lives to begin with.
“So,” Leo said a little impatiently, when Frank didn’t answer. “What do you and Matt like to do?”
Well, now that they were brainstorming . . .
Valentine’s Day passed like any other day. In fact, the week passed by like any other week. Frank thought of his pep talk with Leo and brought up the subject of Valentine’s once. He tried to make it seem like a casual topic during one of his morning’s to prepare breakfast. Of course, Matt saw (or heard) right through him.
“So,” Frank said, cracking an egg over the frying pan. “Valentine’s is on Friday.”
Matt was at the breakfast table, going over his notes for that morning’s trial. “Sooo . . .” he repeated, purposefully drawing out the word. “Do you want to do something?”
Frank paused, letting the egg fry in the pan. He seriously considered the question, knowing that Matt could probably hear the gears grinding in his brain. “I don’t know,” he said finally, and it was the truth. “Do you normally celebrate Valentine’s?”
“Sure,” Matt said easily. “If the person that I’m seeing wants to celebrate it. Most women do, actually.” He paused. “That wasn’t meant to be a sexist comment in any way,” he added. “Just a statement based on experience.”
“A lot of experience?” Frank teased.
“Don’t you start,” Matt said, probably rolling his eyes behind the dark glasses. “I get enough of that from Foggy.”
“Nelson’s your best friend,” Frank pointed out, placing the fried egg on a plate before cracking open another one. “He would know.”
“Now you’re just evading.” It was Matt’s turn to tease. “Did you celebrate Valentine’s with Maria?”
“’Course I did, Matt. She was my wife.”
The answer gave them both pause. It highlighted how rarely Frank called Matt by his first name, even when they were out in public. Matt was ‘Red’ nearly all the time; the rest of the time he was ‘Murdock.’ Frank’s response seemed to make up Matt’s mind.
“Let’s do something then.”
“We don’t have to,” Frank said, so quickly that it came out sounding like a defense mechanism (even if he’d been the one to bring up the subject). “I mean, you don’t need one special day to show someone that you lo– care for them.”
Frank could feel his ears burning. Neither one of them had used the ‘L’ word yet. It seemed too soon somehow, even if Frank was certain of his feelings. Red, on the other hand? He was skittish, might run for the hills.
The silence coming from Matt’s end was thoughtful. “While I agree,” he said slowly, “that you don’t need a special day to show someone that you care for them, it’s not a bad idea. Sometimes people get too busy. They get consumed by other parts of their lives. They forget. They take the people around them for granted. Valentine’s can be commercial, even exploitative in some cases, but that doesn’t make it wrong or bad. I don’t mind doing something, if you don’t. And if you don’t want to celebrate it, that’s fine too.”
Frank exhaled loudly. He’d overcooked the second egg, and with Matt’s super senses, he probably knew that too. Frank served himself the overcooked egg. Matt was a snob when it came to eggs. They were his specialty.
“Why do I feel like you just lawyer-ed me?” Frank grumbled. He was done with the eggs. Next came the Hungarian sausages.
“Because I presented a reasonable argument?”
Matt stood up, put his notes in order and then went into the kitchen. He leaned against the counter where Frank was making their breakfast.
“Since you brought it up, I thought maybe you wanted to do something,” Matt said. “But it’s fine if we don’t. Either way, it’s fine.”
“Is the Devil going to take a night off?”
“For my boyfriend? Sure.” Matt grinned, and Frank recognized the deviousness in that smile. “Or I could just end patrol early. Or go on patrol after. Or you could go on patrol with me.”
“That sounds real romantic, Red,” Frank said, but he was chuckling.
“It could be,” Matt pushed. “Beating up bad guys on Valentine’s? Amazing sex afterwards? Sounds pretty good to me.”
“That’s Tuesday for us.”
It was Matt’s turn to laugh. “Fine,” he said, placing a hand on Frank’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze. “It’s your call.”
Matt was about to move away, but Frank slipped his arm around Matt’s waist, keeping him in place. “Let’s do something,” he said with finality. “But not on Friday. Let’s make it the weekend. I’ll take care of it.”
“You want to turn Valentine’s Day into Valentine’s weekend?” Matt clarified.
Frank shrugged. “If we’re gonna do something special, we might as well do something special,” he said.
Matt chuckled again. “I knew you’d be good at this,” he admitted.
“Good at what?”
“The big romantic gestures.”
Frank could feel himself flushing, his embarrassment compounded by the knowledge that Matt could read changes in temperature. “How’s that?” he managed to get out.
“Because you’re traditional,” Matt said simply. “And polite, and considerate, and a gentleman.” He leaned forward and dropped a kiss on Frank’s cheek. “And I’m just a lucky guy.”
“You’re more than just a lucky guy, Red,” Frank said softly.
“Well . . .” Matt tilted his head to the right, still trapped by Frank’s embrace. “Still a lucky guy,” he said, before Frank leaned in and kissed him.
Unless he was completely zonked out, Matt always woke when Frank did. He was a light sleeper. Most of the time he feigned sleep. He didn’t want Frank to feel bad for waking him up; that was never Frank’s intention. To his credit, Frank moved softy for a big man. It wasn’t Frank’s fault that Matt’s senses were so sensitive. Frank, of course, knew how Matt’s senses worked, knew that Matt was just pretending for his sake. It was a cute charade they both maintained.
But on Saturday morning, neither of them bothered with the charade. Matt was too curious to find out what Frank had planned, and Frank had a tempered buzz of anticipation about him. So, as Matt sat up in bed, Frank came into the room with some plastic bags.
“I got us some gear,” Frank stated.
“Gear?” Matt repeated, his interest piquing.
“Yeah, we’re gonna be spending the morning outdoors, so we need to dress properly,” Frank replied. “Wear thermals,” he added. Then Frank began rummaging through the bags. “I got a couple pairs of pants for you to try. They’re all your size, but fit is important. Also got over pants, in case you want to try those later.” More rummaging. “Here’s the jacket. It’s got a good winter liner – removable – so you can also use the jacket during the summer. There’s an over jacket as well, which I recommend. Layers galore, Red. Coupled with the thermals, you should be okay. Got gloves too. Couple of options. And boots. Only got one pair of those, but I’m confident they’ll fit. Everything’s waterproof, except the gloves. Gloves can get heavy when they’re wet, and they take a long time to dry. Tried finding a pair with a waterproof layer bonded to the outside but the shops were all out of stock.”
Matt ran his hands over the different items of clothing as Frank laid each piece on the bed. The pants were the most revealing item. It was made of a strengthened material, with reinforced areas around the lower leg and the seat. The knee area was covered with specific protectors. There was also mesh for proper ventilation. The waist area had a Velcro system to ensure a proper fit. The pants gave Matt a pretty good idea of what Frank had in mind, but he asked anyway.
“Frank, what are we doing?”
“It’s a surprise,” Frank said, his voice indicating that he knew that Matt already knew. “C’mon Red, get outta bed. Day’s wasting.”
Matt dutifully did as he was told while Frank prepared breakfast. He had a wide array of high-quality thermals. Vigilante crime fighting during winter was no joke. He chose one of the thinner sets that fit perfectly with the red suit. He layered up as Frank had instructed, but not so much that he lost mobility and then put on Frank’s gear minus the winter jacket. Maybe Matt should’ve been disturbed that Frank knew his body so well. Everything fit. As in, everything.
It was Frank’s turn to change while Matt ate. Matt was still enjoying his coffee, when Frank came out of the bedroom, bags evidently packed.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Can I get the coffee to go?” Matt teased.
“Already put coffee in the thermos,” Frank replied.
Matt chuckled, tossing the last of his dregs into the sink and quickly rinsing his mug. “I like the tactical side of you,” he commented, as Frank ushered them out the door.
Frank loaded his van and then they were off. The drive was short and when they got to their destination, Matt knew that his guess had been right. At first, he was a little surprised, but the more he thought about it, the less surprised he was. Frank was always teasing him about driving. Motorbike riding somehow seemed to be the next logical step. Although Frank didn’t tell him to, Matt put his foldable cane in one of Frank’s bags. Now was not the time to let people know he was blind.
They didn’t enter the front of the shop as Matt had expected, but went around the side, which led to a garage at the back. There were a handful of men in the garage and one of them stood up and approached them.
“Hey, Pete,” the man greeted them, shaking hands with Frank. “Right on time. You must be Matt,” he said, turning to Matt and offering his hand.
“Matt, this is Gary,” Frank said, making the formal introductions. “He owns the shop and the garage. We’ll be renting our bikes from him for the weekend.”
“Got exactly what you wanted,” Gary told them, leading the way. “They’re beauties, Pete.”
Matt followed the other two men into a fenced off area of the garage, away from the other mechanics.
“Matt, is this your first time riding a motorbike?” Gary asked him.
“No, it’s not actually,” Matt answered. “But it’s been awhile.”
“It’s not?” Frank said to him quietly, unable to hide his surprise.
“Well, it’s not something we’ve talked about before, is it, Pete?”
Frank chuckled. Matt could hear the warmth in the sound. “No, I’sppose not,” he admitted. “And here I was giving you grief about driving.”
“Winter bike riding would not have been on my list of Valentine’s surprises,” Matt admitted. “But I like this idea. A lot. We should do this again when the weather gets warmer. A bike ride out of the city? That sounds nice.”
Frank was so relieved and so happy, he thought he might burst. “And here I thought I’d have to convince you to break the law,” he said quietly.
Matt shook his head. “Not for this,” he replied.
“You sure you’re not going to freeze out there?” Frank asked, his voice laced with concern. “I got you one of those half helms, so it wouldn’t affect your radar sense. I prefer the full helmets myself. Both helmets have extra lining, but . . .” he trailed off. “Also got you a modified balaclava.”
“It’s not sexy,” Matt admitted. “But I think I’d rather go with an old-fashioned wool scarf to keep in the heat.”
“Got you one of those, too,” Frank said.
“Of course, you did,” Matt replied, grinning. “Let’s go check out the bikes.”
“So, here,” Gary was saying, when Matt and Frank caught up to him. “We have the Honda Shadow Aero 750 and the Yamaha V-Star 650 Classic.”
“The V-Star’s red,” Frank murmured.
“I guess that’s mine then,” Matt grinned.
Gary was also grinning as he turned the keys over to Frank. “They’ve both got full tanks of gas,” he told them. “The Honda Shadow’s been modified for your luggage like you asked. Tested the balance with the specs you gave. You boys need anything else?”
“We’re good,” Frank said. “Thanks Gary. I owe you a solid.”
“No problem, Pete. You boys have a good weekend. Where you headed anyway?”
“Upstate,” Frank answered.
“You’re in luck,” Gary said. “No snow expected this weekend, but the roads will still be slick.”
“We’ll be careful,” Matt assured him.
Gary shook hands with both of them again, wished them luck a second time, and then left them alone.
“Your half helm,” Frank said, producing the helmet from one of his bags.
Matt accepted it, running his hand over the surface. He paused, feeling the two decals that had been attached to the helmet. “Frank,” he said, matter-of-factly. “There are horns on this.”
“How else would I get to call you ‘Hornhead’?” Frank asked in return.
Matt laughed outright. “Are the horns red?” he asked, curiously.
“Thought about paintin’ them,” Frank admitted. “No, they’re black. The whole helmet’s black.”
“Pity.”
Frank saw the moment that Matt’s fingers ran over the discreet microphone in the helmet.
“It’s been fitted with Bluetooth,” Frank explained. “Up to four intercom connections if there were other riders.”
“Useful for road navigation as well,” Matt added.
“Here,” Frank said, passing Matt a wristband. “Bluetooth controls, in case you don’t want to use the ones in the helmet. Might be easier.”
Matt smiled to himself. Frank thought of everything. He strapped the wristband on, placing it underneath the winter jacket.
“Let’s try out the bikes, yeah?” Frank suggested. He walked over to the Yamaha V-Star, Matt following. “I thought I was going to have to give you a crash course in motorcycle riding, but I guess I don’t.” He patted the seat. “Hop on.”
“Wait,” Matt said.
Frank wasn’t surprised when Matt began running his hands over the bike. In fact, he should’ve expected it. It was one thing for Matt’s radar sense to map out the bike in front of him; it was entirely a different thing to ‘see’ the bike through touch. He waited patiently as Matt went over the machine. It was almost pornographic watching Matt appreciate his ride. Luckily, the area they were in was secluded so it was out of sight of the other people in the garage. It would’ve looked strange to others to see Matt going over the bike so carefully.
“Does she pass muster?” Frank asked, when Matt was done.
“She’s gorgeous,” Matt replied. “But I haven’t ridden anything above 500.”
“650 doesn’t make much difference,” Frank brushed off. “You’ll be fine. Just follow my lead. I’ll take care of all the stoplights and road signs.” He paused. “You want to try the balaclava?”
“Let’s see it,” Matt suggested.
Frank handed the balaclava over. Matt felt the material, immediately noticing the small modifications Frank had made in the ear area. He pulled it over his head to see how it would fit. Not bad, he thought. He zipped up his winter jacket, securing the end of the balaclava underneath. He strapped the half helmet on. It had a dropdown sun shield that didn’t block Matt’s radar sense. For others, the disadvantage of the Vega half helmet was that it didn’t offer much in the way of protection for the ears. In Matt’s case, that was a huge advantage. His hearing was unimpeded. Coupled with the adjustable sun shield, both details ensured that his radar sense would function normally.
“My ears might freeze off,” Matt joked. “But this will work.”
Frank was not amused. “I was worried about that,” he admitted. “I have a full baclava as well. And we can also borrow a full helmet from Gary. If the weather’s too much, just back ride with me.”
Matt shook his head. He pulled down the balaclava at his mouth so his voice wouldn’t be muffled. “No way,” he said. “Not after you went through all this trouble. Besides, it’s not that cold, Frank. The worst of winter has passed. And you checked the weather forecast this weekend, right? It’s doable. You know it is. The balaclava gives enough protection, even with the modifications. I can hear and sense enough to map my surroundings.”
Matt could tell that Frank was being swayed.
“You’re doing your lawyer stuff again,” Frank muttered. He shook his head, but Matt knew that it wasn’t a refusal. As if to prove Matt’s point, Frank said, “One more thing. Cold weather means cold tires. Even though riding increases the heat in the tire, even a short stop will cool the tires down and reduce traction.”
“How do we combat that?” Matt asked.
“Accelerate and decelerate for a bit,” Frank answered. “Don’t bother with the swaying like NASCAR drivers. It doesn’t bring significant heat.”
“Got it. Anything else?”
“Gary mentioned that the roads will be slick, even without any extra snow. Avoid bodies of water. Don’t want to get caught aquaplaning. Avoid painted lines if you can, and manhole covers. They get real slick in wet weather.”
“It’s really sexy when you give instructions like this,” Matt commented.
Frank shook his head at the jibe and went over to his Honda Shadow. Unlike the blood red of Matt’s Yamaha V-Star, the Honda Shadow was a sleek black with chrome detailing. He’d asked Gary to fit the Honda for soft luggage. Frank didn’t want Matt worrying about details like that.
“I dunno whether you’re crazy or brave,” Frank commented, putting on his own balaclava, followed by his full helmet.
“I think I’m the Man Without Fear,” Matt quipped.
“You’re corny, is what you are,” Frank replied, but he was trying not to laugh.
Matt activated his Bluetooth headset, hearing the chime as it synced up with Frank’s. He readjusted his balaclava, teasing Frank by saying, “Are you going to give me audio descriptions during our ride?”
“What do you think?” Frank shot back, but there was humor in his voice.
“How about we go once around the block and see how this works?” Matt suggested.
“Good idea,” Frank agreed, dropping his visor. “Follow me.”
The short test drive around the block was successful, and soon the two of them were on their way, with another quick wave of thanks and farewell to Gary. Matt didn’t know what their destination was and he didn’t ask. He liked the feeling of anticipation, the excitement of a surprise. Frank’s idea of winter bike riding was already above and beyond anything Matt would have thought of; he didn’t think their destination would be a disappointment.
They cruised out of the city without much conversation. As always, New York City was alive and the familiar, endless sounds created a clear roadmap of buildings and pedestrians for Matt. Mostly, he focused on Frank, who rode in front of him and to the left. It was good practice for when they’d be on freer roads and highways.
“How you doin’ back there?” Frank said to him once, the speaker in Matt’s helmet so strong and clear that Frank might’ve as well been beside him. He adjusted the volume, taking it down a notch.
“Good, Frank,” Matt answered. “Everything’s good.”
“Not freezing?”
“Not yet.”
They took the I-87 from the RFK bridge and Matt remembered that Frank had told Gary that they were headed ‘upstate.’ Upstate had variable definitions, and it would be interesting to see which direction Frank eventually chose. Matt pulled up beside Frank once they were on the interstate. There were fewer vehicles and the highway was smooth, but not slick. They were cruising at a good speed.
“The I-87 goes all the way up to Montreal,” Matt said thoughtfully.
Frank’s voice came over the speaker. “That would be a helluva road trip,” he said.
“We could do it sometime,” Matt suggested. “Though negotiating border patrol as a blind man on a bike would be tricky.”
“Plenty of places to go around the ole U-S-of-A, Red,” Frank replied. “No need to go messing with border patrol.”
“And how about this weekend?” Matt asked. “I imagine you have an itinerary.”
“We’ll make a stop for lunch,” Frank told him. “There’s a deli I want you to check out, and we’ll bring some food up with us.”
“Bring some food with us,” Matt repeated. “So, we’re staying somewhere where we have to fend for ourselves.”
“A friend of mine’s got a cabin in the woods.”
“A cabin in the woods? Isn’t that the title of a horror movie?”
“You’re a ball of laughs, Red.”
Matt enjoyed the rest of the ride. Once they got off the interstate, Frank began his audio descriptions. He described the scenery, the houses they passed, any interesting buildings and landmarks. He talked about the color of the sky and the clouds. Matt loved listening to the sound of Frank’s voice. It was soothing. And to hear Frank speaking directly to him was almost a turn on. The descriptions were even more special because Frank wasn’t a big talker. If Frank liked to tease him about driving, Matt liked to tease Frank about doing professional audio descriptions.
“You’d make a lot of blind people happy,” Matt would say.
Frank would always laugh it off. “Yeah, I wouldn’t be any good at that. And my voice? It’s not the kind people want to hear describing a movie to them.”
“Well, I know for a fact that you’re wrong.”
And Frank would blush at Matt’s certainty, and Matt would smirk at Frank’s embarrassment. Sometimes they could be such an old married couple.
The stopover Frank had planned turned out to be the town of Poughkeepsie, and the deli Frank had in mind was the well known Rosticceria Rossi & Sons.
“Authentic Italian,” Frank said with relish, as they fell in line. “They’re closed on Sundays,” he added.
“Is it always this crowded?” Matt asked.
“Pretty much,” Frank replied, snagging one of the menus and rattling off the sandwiches, salads and pastas for Matt’s benefit.
“What do you recommend?”
“Can’t go wrong with anything here.”
In the end, Matt went with the Rosemary Grilled Chicken and Frank had the Roast Beef & Gorgonzola. Frank also bought additional focaccia and ciabatta, and a healthy stack of meats including roast beef, roast turkey, baked Virginia ham, prosciutto crudo, prosciutto cotto, mortadella and Genoa salami.
“You remember there’s just two of us?” Matt said quietly, as the bag boy packed the meats. “And we’re only going to be here for the weekend?”
“We can bring home whatever we don’t use,” Frank said.
Matt felt a small flush of happiness at Frank’s use of the word ‘home.’ Frank had finally moved in with him about a month ago, but the word ‘home’ didn’t come to Frank easily. Matt could understand why.
“What’s the next stop?” Matt asked, as they strolled back to their waiting motorbikes.
“The cabin,” Frank answered. “We can be there in about an hour without any stops. We’ll head back out to I-87.”
Frank’s estimate was accurate. They made to the Catskills in fifty-six minutes and the cabin that was the end of the destination was totally not what Matt expected. In fact, he was gob smacked.
“It’s huge,” he said, climbing up the steps to the front porch.
“What?” Frank teased, carrying their luggage (Matt had the groceries from Rosticceria). “You thought it’d be a shack?”
“Maybe?” Matt hedged, waiting as Frank unlocked the front door. “I thought we might have to draw water from a well and shit in an outhouse.”
By now, Frank was laughing. They entered, Frank shutting the door behind them and then switching on the lights. Matt heard the flare of the current coming to life.
“There’s electricity,” he said, still slightly stunned.
“And central heating.”
“So, you’re not going to build a fire for us?” Matt said, having already clocked the fireplace on the left. “Where’s the romance in that?”
“Yeah, yeah, Mr. High Maintenance,” Frank grumbled. “I’ll build a fire for us.” He took the groceries from Matt and headed into the kitchen, but not before saying, “Have a look around.”
Matt liked the cabin immediately. It smelled of pine, not just from the wood but also from a fine layer of chemical pine that indicated someone had cleaned very recently. The front door opened directly to a large living area, the centerpiece of which was the sunken fireplace. There were sofas and lounge chairs. The bar was located underneath the staircase that lead to the second floor. Matt could sense that the second floor didn’t encompass the entire length of the cabin. The bedrooms, then, were only on one side, presumably above the kitchen and dining areas. He senses followed the staircase, mapping the balcony that overlooked the living area.
“I thought you were going to have a look around,” Frank said to him, returning from the kitchen.
“I’ve already mapped the area,” Matt replied. He turned in Frank’s direction. “We ‘see’ things differently,” he reminded the other man.
“Well, why don’t we have a look at the bedroom?” Frank suggested, picking up the luggage that he’d dropped on the floor and grasping Matt’s hand.
Matt followed obediently. “You haven’t been here before, have you?” he commented, halfway up the stairs.
“Nope,” Frank conceded.
“Ah,” Matt said thoughtfully.
“What’s the ‘ah’ for?”
“I’m just wondering what sort of friend would lend you a luxury cabin in the Catskills,” Matt mused. “We’re in the heart of resort country, Frank.”
Matt wasn’t able to wonder for much longer because Frank quickly located the master bedroom and they didn’t leave it for the rest of the afternoon.
It was hunger that eventually got them out of bed. Gourmet sandwiches from Rosticceria would only last so long. Matt took a warm shower, while Frank put his cooking skills to use. Whoever had cleaned the cabin for their arrival, had also stocked the pantry. Frank didn’t have to worry about both of them starving and he had a full kitchen to work with.
By the time Matt came down and perched himself at the island in the kitchen, Frank was bustling about like a contented chef.
“I think you might have missed your calling,” Matt commented. “In another life, I’m pretty sure you were a chef.”
“Nah,” Frank said, checking on the boiling vegetables. “Chefs are too snooty. Maybe an army cook.”
“Someone who can prepare Vietnamese slow-roasted pork belly and pineapple rice is not an army cook,” Matt countered.
“I dunno, Red. Some of those army cooks could go up against your highfalutin Michelin chefs and give ‘em a run for their money.”
“Lucky for me, I have my own personal army cook.”
Matt wasn’t a deadbeat in the kitchen. Eggs were his specialty, but he could prepare other things. Technically, between the two of them, he had the better nose. So, while Frank prepared a hearty stew, Matt prepared a custard for dessert. The fresh focaccia from Rosticceria went well when dipped in the stew.
Frank opened a bottle of wine over Matt’s protests. “Hey,” he said. “I was told that everything in the cabin is at our disposal. That includes the alcohol.”
Matt stopped protesting when he tasted the wine. Like everything else, it was perfect.
After dinner, they played board games. Matt beat Frank at each one from Cluedo to Monopoly. Frank got so fed up that they switched to card games, but that didn’t change the outcome. Matt ‘read’ his cards by running a finger over the corners to identify the suit and number.
“You sure mind readin’ ain’t part of yer superpowers?” Frank groused.
“You barely have any tells, Frank,” Matt assured him. “If you were playing against anyone else . . .”
“So, all those years when Nelson didn’t know about your super senses . . . did you just let ‘im win?”
“Not every time.” Matt grinned. “We should play strip poker. I’d have you naked in no time.”
“You don’t need to play a card game to get me naked, Red,” Frank said, before he went about proving his point.
The following morning, Frank took them out hiking. The winter air had a nice, crisp bite to it. Aside from the clothes Frank had packed, there was a lot of winter gear at the cabin, which Frank reminded Matt was “at their disposal.” They crunched through the snow and had their coffee overlooking one of the Catskills lakes, Frank once again describing the scenery for Matt.
“The Catskills have a scenic trail that follows the old Ulster and Delaware Railroad,” Frank mentioned, as they were enjoying their coffee. “It’s popular with bike riders and hikers.”
“If that’s your way of saying that we should come back during the summer,” Matt said. “I’m all for it.”
Back at the cabin, it was Matt’s turn to prepare breakfast. They lounged around afterwards, Frank reading to Matt from the cabin’s selection of books in the living room. Whoever owned the place liked to read. There were shelves of books to choose from. Frank went through some history before finding a book of poetry inspired by World War I. (Frank liked poetry.)
“Definitely should do audio descriptions,” Matt murmured, his head pillowed in Frank’s lap as he stretched out on one of the sofas.
After lunch (more deli food from Rosticceria, plus a salad courtesy of Matt, and the last of the custard), Matt convinced Frank to head into town.
“Let’s be tourists,” Matt suggested, to which Frank grudgingly agreed.
Matt was back to ‘playing’ blind. They left the bikes at the cabin and took the four-wheel drive that was parked in the garage. There were a bunch of things to do in the town. They checked out some of the coffee shops; took in a local music performance; visited the local market.
When Frank reminded Matt that they’d have to head back to the city soon, Matt replied:
“How about we stay another night?”
They were strolling through the market at the time, Matt’s arm through Frank’s, his white cane swinging in front of him.
“We checked out coffee shops this afternoon,” Matt went on. “Why not see what the nightlife here is like? Have a date night so you don’t need to cook?”
“Playing hooky from work?” Frank teased, even though he instantly approved of the idea. “I like it.”
“It we leave in the morning,” Matt said, somewhat seriously. “I can be in the office after lunch. Foggy and Karen can manage without me. There’s nothing on the morning docket that requires my presence. I’ll call them and let them know I’ll be there in the afternoon.”
So, Sunday night became date night in town. They wound up at New York Restaurant in the downtown area. The restaurant was homey, and very popular judging by the number of people. The crowd made the service a little slow, but the quality of the food and portions served were worth it. Frank was deeply impressed by his pork chop. Matt tried the handmade pierogi as a starter and the Bigos or Polish Hunter’s Stew.
“They specialize in Polish dishes,” Matt pointed out. “Might as well give them a shot.”
“In that case, we should try the kielbasa,” Frank said.
They ordered the kielbasa and a flatbread for good measure.
Matt was a little bummed to find out that jazz groups and musicians were booked every weekend for Sunday brunch.
“Next time,” Frank told him, realizing as soon as the words were out of his mouth that he absolutely meant them.
This thing with Matt? It was serious. He was in it for the long haul. Every time this weekend he’d jokingly suggested doing other things like riding along the Catskills scenic trail in the summer, he hadn’t really been joking. He’d meant it. He was thinking about the future, planning things for the future because a future without Matt seemed inconceivable to him. He didn’t know if Matt felt the same way. Probably not. It was too soon to feel so much, so quickly. They’d only been together . . . what? A few months? Frank had moved in a month ago? Yeah, that was too soon for most people, but not for Frank. In a twisted way, the same thing had happened with Maria. Once Matt and Frank had gotten over their stupid fighting and their differences (and it was Frank who caved more and more to Matt’s Catholic pride), Frank had known. Matt was it, and there wouldn’t be anyone else.
They were in the mood for music after their hearty dinner, so they walked around town and got suggestions for where to hear a live band. What they found wasn’t jazz, but Matt didn’t complain. It was blues-y enough with an element of rock that Frank liked. The music suited both of them, even though Frank worried that it was too loud for Matt’s sensitive hearing.
“It’s not,” Matt assured him, dropping a kiss on Frank’s temple to make his point.
The little public displays of affection were new to Frank as well, and he found that he didn’t mind them one bit. It was easier out here, where nobody knew them. Another reason why the bike trip had been a good idea.
They listened to music, drank beer from a local brewery, and made it back to the cabin well past midnight.
“How long’s the ride back to Manhattan if we don’t make any stops?” Matt asked the next morning. He still felt mellow and relaxed from Frank’s ‘Good morning’ blowjob and the shower sex that followed afterwards.
Frank seemed pretty mellow himself. They were having breakfast at the island in the kitchen, the last of the Rosticceria meats turned into breakfast sandwiches with eggs and cheese. They hadn’t gotten up too late, but not exactly early either. There was no rush to any of their actions, so Matt’s question about the return ride was a reasonable one.
“We can get back to the city in about two hours,” Frank said.
“Even with Monday morning traffic?”
“Make it two hours and a half then, three hours tops.” Frank paused. “You could just take the day off,” he suggested.
“I’m tempted,” Matt admitted. He stirred the coffee in his mug. “Shouldn’t we clean up before we go? Change the bedsheets, maybe?”
Frank chuckled. “I’ll take out the trash,” he added. “Don’t worry about the clean-up. Someone will come in and do the job during the week.”
“Frank, I’ve been meaning to ask . . .”
“Who owns this cabin?”
“I’ve been wondering . . .”
There was a beat before Frank answered.
“Madani.”
If Matt had been drinking his coffee, he would’ve choked for sure. “NSA Special Agent Dinah Madani?” he repeated, incredulously.
“Technically, the cabin belongs to Madani’s family,” Frank corrected. “And she’s not with the NSA anymore. Jumped ship to the CIA.”
Huh.
“She called,” Frank continued, unperturbed. “Offered me a job. Said she needed someone to pull the trigger, shoot where she pointed.”
“And?” Matt said, not fully aware that he was holding his breath.
“And I turned her down. Told her that wasn’t my life anymore.”
There was a long pause as Matt let that information sink in. His relief was palpable. Then . . .
“So . . . what? You just asked if she happened to have a cabin that you could use for a weekend getaway?”
Frank laughed at the suggestion. “Not exactly,” he said.
“Then what, exactly?”
Here, Frank seemed to get a little cagey. Matt could hear the subtle change in the other man’s otherwise steady heartbeat.
“The cabin’s a trade off,” Frank finally said. “Madani agreed to let me use it for the weekend in exchange for a job.”
“I thought you just said that you turned down her job offer.”
“I did. This is . . . uh . . . more like a one-time deal.”
Matt’s expression must’ve conveyed his disbelief because Frank immediately protested.
“It’s not like that, Red. I’m not gonna pull the trigger, even for the government. It’s more . . . reconnaissance.” He paused. “If anything, this job is better suited to your skills.”
“You need me to break in somewhere and steal something?” Matt joked.
When Frank tellingly didn’t reply, Matt’s incredulity grew. “Wait a minute. Did you offer my skills to Madani?”
“Not exactly,” Frank hedged. “Just said that I might bring in a partner to help me, someone I could trust.”
“A partner, huh?” Matt repeated, feeling a pleasant warmth at Frank’s words. ‘Partner’ seemed to have a lot more meanings now, seemed to have a permanency about it.
“Yeah, a partner,” Frank agreed. “What do you say?”
“I say this was the perfect Valentine’s weekend.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, even if you basically bartered our skills in exchange for a luxury cabin.”
Frank was laughing. “You can be such a shit, Red.”
“And this is what makes you a strategist.”
Fin.