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Frank Castle didn’t “do” dates. What he did, apparently, was scale your apartment building and break in through your window as easily as bypassing an unlocked door. Catholics.
Matt leapt from the couch the second he heard Frank approach the living room, footsteps on his floorboards cutting through the haze of sleep. He’d managed all of two hours before Frank’s trespassing had jolted him awake. After a particularly rough and exhausting night, he’d disregarded the consequences of being found by Foggy or Karen half naked on his couch with the Daredevil uniform laying in tatters on the floor beside him. In some ways, he was lucky it had been Frank who’d stumbled upon him.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Matt demanded, a little breathless from being caught off-guard, but standing his ground. Even if the standing was being done in his underwear.
Despite the façade of apathy Frank usually wore, Matt picked up on the amusement in Frank’s voice when he spoke. “Just in the neighbourhood,” He said. “Nice Hello Kitty bandaids, Choir Boy.”
Matt was lost somewhere between a sigh and growl of irritation as he tried to resist the urge to rip the bandaids off his face and torso. That’d teach him to ask Foggy to run some errands for him when his friend was pissed at him.
There was a sudden sound that cut through Matt’s thoughts, a sound that someone without his keen ears might have missed. Frank fumbling on the door frame slightly, before steadying himself. The other man’s heartrate sped for a moment and Matt could feel the vibrations in the air caused by Frank’s minute trembling.
Matt frowned, “You’re hurt.”
Matt heard Frank shuffle forward, breathing shallow, until they were a few centimetres apart in the dark room. “Just a scratch.”
The bravado was gone and Frank was collapsing against him. Matt felt warm liquid trickle over his fingers and he pressed his hand against the wound, hoping Frank’s injuries stopped at extremity bleeding and not internal.
Matt had to half carry, half drag Frank to the couch before he started undressing him in the blackness of the apartment, the only light the harsh glow of the huge billboard that was erected outside his window. “We’ve been here before.” Frank muttered weakly and there was a note of heartache in his voice. They had been here before but it hadn’t exactly been the healthiest relationship in the world. Then again, neither had he and Elektra, and the short-lived others that had come before her and Frank. Only Claire had been a respite from the violence and the hate-fucking, and look how that had turned out.
Once Frank’s jacket and shirt were gone, Matt tried to build up a picture of Frank’s injuries. He traced his hand along the battered flesh and Frank shivered, occasionally grunting whenever Matt hit a fresh cut. There only seemed to be one gunshot wound but Frank was peppered with other, shallower cuts across his torso and chest. Matt’s hand snaked up to Frank’s face and he found a similar story. Too small to be caused by knives so, shrapnel maybe?
“Oh, Frank…” Matt breathed in disappointment. Frank had no sense of self-preservation, no regard for who would miss him if one day he was just gone – slaughtered by one of the gangsters he preyed upon. It really pissed Matt off.
He tried not to think about the prospect of Frank dying, even if it was a genuine concern that ate at the back of his mind whenever he heard whispers of Punisher activity in Hell’s Kitchen. “Lie down.” Matt said and cradled his head until it was resting against the couch.
“I don’t need you to hold my hand, Murdock.” That was Frank, always determined to hide vulnerability.
“Too bad,” Matt disappeared into the kitchen to retrieve ingredients for a makeshift tourniquet and stitches. He readied a stool in front of the couch. “Shouldn’t have broken into my apartment in the first place.”
“You want me gone, just say the words.”
Matt didn’t reply, knowing if he did, even if it was just to be cruel for the sake of cruelty, Frank would try to stagger out of Matt’s apartment to preserve his pride. Matt sat down on the stool and continued to examine Frank’s injuries the best he could.
The good news was that the bullet didn’t appear to have penetrated Frank’s body, just grazed it. That would make Matt’s job a lot easier considering now he wouldn't have to dig around for a missing bullet in a man notorious for his aggression and quick-temper. Matt may have loved Frank once but he didn’t trust Frank enough not to hurt him, even if it was accidental. After all, Frank had hurt him before - sometimes in the most spectacular ways - but often their fights had been less than savoury.
Matt felt around for the wound, hands shaking a little with inexperience. He had stitched himself up a million times, having picked the skills up from Claire, but Frank was a different beast and it was infinitely harder when he couldn’t see his patient.
Frank wrapped his huge hand around Matt’s wrist and Matt wondered absently how he’d found comfort in that sandpaper skin. “I’ll be your eyes.” Frank whispered and with the gruff voice, Matt remembered those periods between twilight and daybreak, with Frank’s lips pressed against his ear and his chest and his thighs. Those nights with Matt’s hands wrapped around his neck or his arms wrapped around Frank’s waist. It was a haze of brokenness now, somewhere between regret and yearning and it made Matt want to throw the man in front of him off a cliff and race to the bottom after him all at once.
With Frank’s guidance, Matt managed a somewhat decent job of cleaning and suturing the wounds. Frank put up a minimal struggle, which was unusual for Frank Castle, who sought to challenge Matt on everything he did, no matter how trivial. When he was finished, Frank’s fingers lingered on his hand for a moment, tracing patterns with his thumb on the inside of Matt’s wrist. “Thank you.” Frank’s voice was low, barely audible. Frank had always struggled with gratitude.
Matt untwined his hand from Frank’s grip and reached for the carton of Hello Kitty bandaids, pulling a few out and sticking four of them over the cuts on Frank’s face. An involuntary laugh slipped from Frank’s lips and Matt could feel the muscles beneath his fingers pull up into a small grin. Matt couldn’t help return it with fond affection, “I always liked it when you smiled.”
Frank leaned in closer to Matt. “You can’t see me smile.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
Matt was acutely aware of the close proximity, acutely aware his fingers were lingering on Frank’s lips and Frank’s heartrate was speeding up. Couldn’t help that he bent to meet Frank in the darkness, even though the other man was injured and this would put unnecessary stress on him. He could have helped the kiss, though. Didn’t want to, though. Wanted to feel Frank’s still-trembling hands pressed against his back, wanted the soft lips skimming his own, wanted to stroke that face full of faded scars and micro-fractures.
Frank caught Matt’s wrists and yanked Matt out of the kiss. It was hard not to feel crushed. “You cut me out of your life for a reason, Murdock, now you wanna kiss and make-up?” He sounded angry, bitter even, and Matt mirrored his emotions with frustration. It was so typical of Frank to switch from tender to antagonistic without a moment’s notice.
“I didn’t cut you out, darling, you did a pretty good job of that yourself.” There was a biting edge to Matt’s tone and Frank’s grip around his wrists tightened.
This is why they were so bad together. So quick to hurt each other or jump ship when things got too serious. And yet.
Frank pulled Matt closer to him, non-too gently.
And yet.
Frank kissed him. It wasn’t a sweet kiss, like the one before, this was lip-biting and blood-spilling. Matt jerked away, breathless, and resisting the urge to slap Frank. And he would have, had Frank not still been healing from his injuries.
Matt came to flump down beside him on the couch, Frank leaning into him slightly. “You’re a piece of shit.” Matt remarked, not entirely meaning it.
“Yeah. But you just kissed this piece of shit, so what does that make you?”
“A moron, now shut up and rest.” Frank did and somewhere between Matt falling asleep on his shoulder and noon, Frank stole out of the apartment, leaving Matt alone again with nothing but a stained couch and a heavy heart for company.