Work Text:
On the Ropes
“ Hands up, Frank! Hands up!”
Everything after those words was a bit hazy. He barely remembered the blistering right hook that caught him in the jaw or falling to the mat. His vision was still swimming as he heard the count down pass by and the match was called. Letting himself flop back to the mat beneath him, he spat out his mouth guard while Gazzera’s glove was raised.
“Told you to put your hands up,” Bobby said, helping Frank sit up and holding up a hand. “Look at me, kid.”
Frank swatted his trainer’s hands away. “Fuck this shit!”
Bobby snorted. “Seems to me you already did.”
The walk back to the locker room was a somber one. It was the third fight in a row Frank had lost. The former heavy weight contender had his ass handed to him by three inferior fighters—one of which who shouldn’t have even made the god damn circuit. No one had to tell Frank that his career was more than likely done for. Bobby didn’t even try to give him his usual pep-talk and there was none of the banter or good-natured ribbing that usually followed a fight to lighten the mood. Once his cuts had been stitched and his gloves cut off, he was left alone in the locker room. He already knew that he was going to have to find a new crew if he wanted to continue on. Frank had nearly made the decision to call it quits as a fighter when knock on the door came. As if he thought his night couldn’t get any worse, Jack Murdock was standing in the doorway.
Murdock had been Frank’s old man’s best friend for a lot of years back in the day. They’d always been rivals back then, but somehow any vehemence they had got left in the rope ring. Years ago there had been debates all over on who would be the one of them to make it big—the Irish boy from Hell’s Kitchen or the Italian kid from Queens. In the end, Jack had come up with a title he didn’t deserve, while Mario sank deeper and deeper with the thugs Jack had introduced him to. Murdock was off winning titles. Mario was barely scraping by with third tier fights and the occasional “odd job” from “friends.” Nearly twenty years later, he could still see the look on his dad’s face as Murdock was named the heavy weight champ. That was when Mario went from minor low life to complete drunken mess. The basket of roses the size of a bus that he’d sent to the funeral couldn’t make up for what Murdock did to his old man.
Frank dropped his bag to the bench and began cleaning out his shit. “There a reason you decided to come by?”
“I had originally intended to congratulate you on a win, but you sure let that plan go to shit,” Jack replied dryly. He came in uninvited and took a seat.
Unlike his Dad, Jack had aged well. He could easily pass for a good ten years younger than he was and still carried himself like a fighter. Frank didn’t even try not to resent him for the expensive suit he was wearing. He may have brought himself up from the Kitchen’s floor, but everyone knew that he hadn’t done it all by himself.
“Sorry to disappoint,” Frank grumbled.
“You had an opening as wide as a fucking city block in the third round and could’ve taken him right then. There a reason why you didn’t?” the older man asked quietly. Unlike Bobby, there wasn’t any censure in his voice. It almost even sounded like the bastard gave a damn.
“Maybe I’m not as good of a boxer as you were.” Frank gave Jack his best glare and tried for a long minute to make him squirm unsuccessfully. “Look thanks for stopping by, but I got shit to do...”
“Don’t give me that shit. Your old man was one of the best fighters I ever saw, and you’ve got more natural skill than he ever did. Question is why aren’t you using it?” Once again, it sounded too much like he gave a shit, and that only made Frank’s blood boil.
“Yeah, well how come you were the champ and he was just some bum then? Huh? If he was so fucking talented how come he didn’t end up with million dollar fights on HBO and Sports Illustrated covers?” Frank taunted. They both knew why.
The serene look on Jack’s face faded away, leaving him looking old suddenly. His blue eyes didn’t flinch when he spoke: “Because I took dirty money. Because I convinced him to take a dive for me.” He smiled sadly when Frank didn’t contradict any of it. “Figured you knew.”
“I was a kid, Murdock, but I wasn’t stupid.” Frank sank down on the bench a few feet away. “What? Is this the part where you tell me how bad you felt, and I’m supposed to tell you it’s all right?”
Jack let out a hollow laugh. “Fuck, no. You’re a Castle, through and through. Mario never forgave me for that shit, and he was the one I fucked over. I’m not asking for your forgiveness.”
“So then why are you here?”
Pulling a card from his jacket pocket, the older man handed it to Frank. “You need a trainer.”
“Do I?” Frank couldn’t help the incredulous snort that came out of him. “Did I ask you to train me?”
“Nope. When you figure out if you want to go back into the ring to win, you give me a call. Otherwise, if you decide to hang it up; I’m always looking for washed up fighters to give my guys a workout. Either way, you’re gonna do what you’re gonna do.” Jack gave him a half-cocked grin and shrugged on his way out the door
Frank crumpled the card up and tossed it in his bag.
For the next week, he barely left his apartment. He lived off of take out and hot pockets. His agent didn’t call and neither did anyone else, but that was no surprise. The only people he talked to were his ex-wife and his kids. Thankfully, they were at Disney with their new stepfather and not there to see him self destructing. He didn’t want to admit that his life was falling to shit.
It had all started two years earlier when Maria figured out he was fucking other people on the road. She didn’t hesitate to follow through with her promise to leave him if she ever found out he was screwing around. The divorce hurt. It would be a lie to say that he still loved Maria like he should, but losing the life they had built together stung worse than anything he could imagine. Then his father succumbed to liver failure. But none of that had been the true coup-de-gras: That had come when his kids stopped wanting to come over on the weekends. He realized somewhere along the line that he had become such a morose piece of shit that even his own damn kids didn’t want to be around him. At first, all of it had lit a fire under him and pushed him on in the ring further than he’d ever thought he’d go. Now, that fire had started to burn down, and he was staring at his own fucking ashes.
It took almost a month for Frank to really decide what to do next. His bank account was looking a lot thinner than he’d like. He’d even been late on his child support payment for the first time. The worst part was that Maria hadn’t even been pissed at him for it. She was fucking scared for him. Hell, her and her damn boy scout husband had even offered to loan him a little money until his next fight came up. He thanked her for the thought, but whatever pride he had left wouldn’t let that day come to pass.
So with no other options, he’d ended up on Jack’s proverbial door step in Hell’s Kitchen. Years ago, Fogwell’s gym had been run by the Kitchen Irish and Roscoe Sweeney. His dad had “trained” there with Jack under the watchful eye of the man known on the streets as “the Fixer.” As a kid, Frank had even hung out there occasionally when his dad couldn’t find a sitter. He could remember playing with Jack’s scrawny little brat son who was a few years younger than him back then. But then things changed. Frank was about thirteen when his dad pretty much banned him from setting foot in the place. They both knew he’d gotten too old to be completely oblivious to exactly what went down there. And then a year later Mario took a dive on national television—blowing his one big shot and cementing “Battlin’” Jack Murdock’s legacy. Frank felt a cold shiver run down him as he opened the familiar door.
On the surface, things hadn’t changed too much. The fucking Irish flag still hung on the wall. It still smelled like sweat and talcum powder. But the current of the place felt different. The fighters working out weren’t just scrubs and soon-to-be goons for the Irish, and the trainers working with them weren’t little more than has-beens who didn’t give a damn. Right away Frank spotted Jack in the ring correcting a young Latino boy’s stance. The kid couldn’t have been anymore than sixteen and it was unlikely he was some kind of prodigy, but Jack was giving him every ounce of his attention. It was actually the kid who noticed Frank first. With a tilt of his head, Jack sent his pupil off to work on the light bag on the other side of the room.
“I was beginning to think I’d been wrong about you,” Jack said smugly.
Frank rolled his eyes. “You gonna train me or not?”
The older man’s grin widened. “Fuck, I’m not training your ass. Your old man and I butted heads like two fucking rams. I’m too old to go through that shit with his spittin’ image half my damn age.”
“You drug me out here for nothin’?”
“Nah, I’m not that much of a dick,” Jack said with a laugh. He turned to a slender black man who was working with another student. “Reggie, get your ass up here and meet your new kid.”
Reggie was wiry and moved more like a dancer than a boxer as he made his way over. Frank guessed he was maybe in his fifties, but it was hard to say. The look he gave Frank was the same one that he’d been given untold times in the industry: Reggie was sizing him up from the soles of his shoes to the top of his buzzed black hair. After a moment of appraisal, he seemed to think Frank passed the test and offered his hand.
“Jack said you were worth comin’ all the way up here for,” he said with a slow drawl and a lazy smile that revealed a missing front tooth.
“I don’t know about all that,” Frank murmured. He didn’t like the idea of Jack finding and paying for a trainer for him. Having Jack waste his time was one thing..
Reggie’s grin didn’t falter. “I do. Watched your tapes, and Jack was right. You’re too damn good to be as sloppy as you are.”
“That what you callin’ it?”
“Call it like I see it,” the trainer said with a laconic shrug. He crossed his arms over his chest and raised a brow. “So what is it... Drug problem? Drinkin’ problem? Pussy problem?”
Frank shook his head. “Just got a little tired.”
“Pussy problem,” Reggie murmured. “Been there a time or twelve. All three of my ex-wives will tell you all about, if you ask. Fuck, those three even sit together in church on Sunday’s now. Can you believe that shit?”
Despite himself, Frank laughed. “I’m good with just one ex-wife.”
“Then it’s time we wake your ass back up and get to work.”
Frank soon found out that Reggie wasn’t nearly as laid back as his Southern accent would lead you to believe. The man had trained several big names and didn’t have a problem pushing Frank nearly to his breaking point. He seemed to instinctively know when to drive in hard under his student’s skin and when to back off. Much to his chagrin, Frank found himself becoming a better fighter under Reggie’s watch and Jack’s roof than he’d thought he could be. Frank had always been more of a bruiser who relied on his strength and endurance more than speed, but Reggie wouldn’t let him rest on that. He had Frank working with the pads and the speed bag day in and day out. He lost a bit of his usual bulk along the way, but was surprised by how little that bothered him. Now, that he had the speed, Reggie told him, they would eventually put some weight back on him with leaner muscle before they got him a fight. But just when would that eventually happen?
Jack had told him from day one that he wouldn’t see a fight until both he and Reggie thought he was ready. Frank already had grudgingly started cashing the checks that Jack cut him. He was once again even with both Maria and the great state of New York and even had a little extra padding in his account. Still, Frank was getting restless. Three months after he’d shown up to Fogwell’s he made the decision to press Jack to get him a fight. He was on his way to the office when he spotted a new face in the gym.
Frank actually heard the clicking sound of his cane before he saw the man. He’d been somewhat shocked to see a blind man making his way easily across the gym, but it didn’t appear that anyone else was. All over the room people stopped what they were doing to say hello and shake his hand. Curious, Frank tapped one of the youth fighters on his shoulder and hooked his chin over towards the stranger.
Jose spit out his mouth piece and grinned. “That’s Matt—you know, Jack’s son,” he answered like it should be obvious, only it wasn’t. He shoved his mouth piece back in and went right back to watching the other boys sparring before Frank could ask anymore questions.
Frank remembered Matt Murdock as a kid, and he hadn’t been blind back then. He summoned up the memory of the skinny, little know-it-all punk kid that Matt had been years ago. They’d played with Frank’s Gameboy back then, and he could remember being pissed that Matt always beat his best score at Tetris. True, they’d never been friends, but Frank didn’t remember hearing anything about Matt going blind. He was so busy staring at Matt that he didn’t think about where he must be going. When Matt made it to the office, Frank swore a little under his breath knowing that he’d missed his chance to push for a fight.
Rather than turn around and go home, he decided to squeeze in an extra workout. Reggie seemingly appeared out of thin air a while later as Frank worked at the heavy bag trying to blow off steam.
“Saw you slink in here when I was working with the kids,” Reggie said, taking a seat in one of the folding chairs. It didn’t surprise him that his trainer was at the gym even on one of their light days. Both Jack and Reggie took on groups of under privileged kids from the neighborhood and gave them free lessons to keep them off the streets. He looked tired, but that didn’t stop Reggie’s dark eyes from seeing straight through him. “Thinking about asking for a fight?”
“Maybe,” Frank admitted as he struck the bag. He hated how easily the older man read him.
Reggie nodded. “Don’t bother. I already told him you’re ready. Jack’s just makin’ sure he gets you something good to come back with.”
Frank grabbed the bag mid swing and turned to his trainer. “You did?”
“I did.” Scratching at his patchy, gray beard, the trainer grinned. “Won a hundred bucks off Jack. He bet that you’d be in there cussing at him about it before you were ready, but I knew better.”
“Glad I could help,” the fighter grumbled as he pulled up a chair beside Reggie. “Any idea when it’ll actually happen?”
“Soon. Don’t expect anything miraculous. The industry isn’t what she was, but Jack knows how to play the game after all these years. He’ll make sure you’re not wasting your time or his money. Might as well go home though, because he’s gonna be out all day with his boy. Matt’s movin’ back to New York, I hear,” Reggie explained.
“I used to play with Matt when we were kids here,” Frank said thoughtfully. “I didn’t know he lost his sight. Do you know how?”
Reggie winced as if just thinking about it hurt. “He was about nine or ten when it happened. I heard he pushed some idiot out of the way of an oncoming truck and lost his eyes for it… Kid fought back and made it out strong, but it messed Jack up somethin’ good. If I remember right, it happened not too long before your old man lost that fight to him.”
“Damn,” Frank swore, hanging his head. He now had a good feeling he knew why his dad had agreed to take a dive for that fight.
True to Reggie’s prediction, Jack lined up a fight for the end of October against a Puerto Rican from Harlem. The kid was young and only starting to make a name for himself. His record was only mediocre, but then again so was Frank’s currently. The money on the contract wouldn’t make him rich, but it was better than living off of Jack’s dime. Frank would be lying if he said he wasn’t looking forward to a payday.
A few weeks before the fight, Frank saw Matt again for the second time. He was coming back from lunch with Jack that day. From the corner of his eye, Frank couldn’t stop his gaze from following Matt across the room. It annoyed Frank that he couldn’t help but admit that Matt had grown up to be good looking—bordering on fucking hot, if he were truly honest. He caught the blind man smiling at something his father said, and Frank felt his crotch tighten against his will. Gritting his teeth, he went right back to skipping rope and pretended not to notice the pair of them making their way over.
“Hey, Frank, stop for a minute and come over here,” Jack called to him.
Though it annoyed him to be interrupted, Frank did as he was told. He wrapped a towel around his neck and wiped off his sweaty palms.
“You remember my boy, Matt, right?” Jack said with a proud grin.
“I do,” Frank agreed. “How’s it goin’?”
Matt smiled and offered his hand a bit off the mark. “Good enough. I was surprised when Dad said you’ve been working out here. Weren’t you dead set on joining the Marines when we were kids?”
“Plans change,” Frank said, taking the offered hand. Though Matt’s fingers were soft, his grip was stronger than he’d expected. “If I remember right, you wanted to be an astronaut.”
“Touche,” Matt admitted with a chuckle.
Beside them, Jack checked his watch and grimaced. “I’ve got a couple of calls to make from the office, Matty.”
“Go,” Matt urged him. “I’m not going to get lost on my way out.”
“Smart ass,” Jack muttered as he turned away. From the corner of his eye, he gave Frank a strange look, but didn’t say anything else.
“So...” Frank began trying to figure out what to say. It wasn’t like he could just blurt out something along the lines of ‘Sorry you went blind’ or ‘You’re a lot better looking than I thought you’d be.’
“Would you want to go grab a coffee?” Matt asked suddenly and then shrugged sheepishly. “I’m not back to work yet after the move, and it’s pretty damn boring sitting around in my apartment all day.”
Frank nodded without thinking. “Sounds good,” he amended. “Mind givin’ me a few minutes to clean up.”
“Take your time.”
In the locker room, Frank stared at his reflection. “What the fuck are you doing?” he demanded, but the face looking back at him didn’t seem to have a good answer either. He took a quick shower—keeping the water cold to remind himself a thing or two—and tossed on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt with the Fogwell’s logo on the back.
They walked to a run down diner a couple of blocks away, and it seemed both men had a hard time thinking of anything to say at first. More than twenty years had passed since they’d seen each other last. Their lives had obviously taken drastically different directions, and judging by expensive clothes Matt wore, he had taken a more lucrative path than Frank had.
“This is really awkward,” Matt admitted, cupping the mug that had just been dropped off in front of him. “I guess I really don’t know where to start…Thanks, I guess.”
“For what?” Frank needled before taking a sip of his own coffee.
Matt sighed heavily. “For agreeing to train at the gym. I think it means a lot to Dad—especially now.”
“Especially now?” Frank frowned and leaned forward. “You’re not making any sense, Red.”
“I was hoping you’d forgotten the nickname,” Matt said with a small smile. “But I guess that doesn’t really matter much.”
“It doesn’t,” Frank agreed. “What’s going on with Jack?”
Since coming to Fogwell’s Frank had noticed that Jack was in the gym less and less. These days he only worked with kids as part of his outreach project despite the fact that he could easily be raking in the dough training actual fighters. At first, he’d written it off as Jack just wanting to retire, but then he’d started noticing that even those classes seemed to be tapering off. In his gut, he already knew what Matt was going to tell him.
“Dad has cancer—chronic lymphocytic leukemia, actually. They thought they had it beaten a few years back, but it’s in his liver this time. He’s not taking treatment for it,” Matt explained sadly. “This type of cancer moves slow, but it’s probably not going to be a very long time before...”
“Fuck. I’m sorry.” Frank shook his head. “I suspected...”
“Reggie’s going to be running Fogwell’s starting after your fight, so it was going to have to come out to the gym one way or another.”
“That why you moved back to New York?”
Matt shrugged. “Mostly. I had a few things to clean up in San Francisco, but there wasn’t really much for me there anyway. My fiance and I called it quits around the same time Dad found out. It was time to come home.”
“Damn. I guess when life hits, it hits pretty fucking hard. My old man died two years ago, and I know how much that it sucks.” Frank hadn’t intended on sharing any of his life story, but he guessed it wouldn’t hurt.
Letting out a dark chuckle, Matt reached into his pocket. “I don’t suppose anyone will notice or care,” he said pulling out a slender flask. He poured a heavy amount into his cup before offering it to Frank.
“I wondered about the sudden visit from your old man,” Frank murmured as he screwed the cap back on.
“It wasn’t a sudden as you think,” Matt admitted. “Dad kept trying to make amends with Mario before he died. And then after… I think it took him a long time to come to terms with the fact that he failed your dad. He used to go to all of your fights. Did you know that?”
Like a jack ass, Frank shook his head again. “I didn’t.”
“He probably won’t ever say it, but he will never forgive himself for asking Mario to throw that fight. He was so far into my medical bills and trying to make sure that I was okay that I don’t think he ever really thought about what it would do to Mario—or you,” Matt’s voice trailed of softly.
“Nobody put a gun to my old man’s head.” Frank took a long drink of his coffee and stared into the cup. He didn’t think he could look at Matt right now. “Funny thing is that I don’t think Dad ever truly blamed Jack, you know? He wanted to. But if it came down to it, he woulda asked the same thing if it had happened to me, and the more I know about your old man, the more I think he woulda taken a dive too. Dad didn’t think about what he was losing that night until after. That was when the bitterness hit him. He wasted his time telling himself that it was Jack’s fault for everything, telling me the same thing. Well, I’m done with it. Your old man’s still an asshole, but I don’t blame him for what happened.”
“I’m glad,” Matt murmured with a slow nod.
“I don’t blame you, either.”
Matt didn’t say anything to that, but the tension in his features eased up. It didn’t take a genius to recognize guilt when it was right in front of him.
After that day in the coffee shop, Frank saw more and more of Matt at Fogwell’s and less of Jack. When Jack did make an appearance, he looked tired. The loose gym clothes couldn’t hide the fact that the man was starting to lose muscle, and there was always look of pain hiding in his blue eyes. It reminded him of his own father. The coincidence that the disease was eating at the very same organ that his Dad drank to death hadn’t escaped Frank’s notice. But the biggest difference he saw between Jack and his Dad was that, while his Dad had just laid down and died, Jack seemed to be still making use of what time he had left. He smiled more and laughed louder than a dying man probably should. Every now and again though, Frank would catch Jack giving him strange looks when Matt was around. All in all though, it seemed that Jack had mostly made his peace with things—something that Frank’s Dad never did.
The end came suddenly. Frank got a call about a week before the fight was scheduled from Reggie. Jack had gone peacefully in his sleep, and Matt had found him when he’d missed their breakfast time. The grief that crept up in Frank’s throat when he heard the news was surprising.
“Anything I can do?” he asked when he finally managed to clear it.
“Matt and I are going to the funeral home later today to get the arrangements together. I’ll give him your number,” Reggie replied.
When Frank hung up the phone, he wasn’t shocked to feel tears on his cheeks. He wiped at them with his sleeve, and dialed Maria.
“Everything okay?” she asked almost instantly. Even after the divorce, she knew that tone in his voice well enough to just know.
“Jack Murdock died last night,” he told her with a heavy sigh. “Makes me think of my old man. The kids remember him as some bitter, old asshole, and I don’t want to be that to them anymore, Maria.”
“You not just some bitter, old asshole, Frank. Your their father, and they love you—even when you are a bit grumpy sometimes,” she said. He could practically hear that sweet smile of hers in her voice. “Lisa has a dance recital tonight. If your not training, why don’t you come? I know she’d love to see you in the crowd.”
“How come this is the first I’m hearing of it?” he grumbled.
“Because we all know how insane your schedule is. And I think the kids sometimes feel like they are taking you away from what you would rather be doing. Lisa told me she didn’t want to make you miss practice,” she explained.
“I’m their dad, Maria. I should be there for shit like this.”
“So come! Be there for this, Frank. Hell, go out to dinner with us afterward. If you want them to think better of you, let them know they’re a priority.”
Frank bit his lip and shook his head. “I’m sorry shit didn’t work out between us.”
Maria chuckled on the other end. “I’m not. I got two great kids out of my first marriage and a husband who loves me and my vagina out of the second. I’m one lucky woman.”
“If you say so,” Frank quipped, picturing Maria’s balding, pencil pushing husband.
Jack was laid to rest two days after he passed. Frank had been asked to act as a pallbearer—something that he wasn’t all together comfortable with, but agreed to anyway. He joined Matt, his friend from law school and some other guys from the gym in carrying the casket. The weight of carrying Jack was much heavier than he’d expected. It was almost like he was carrying the grief from all of Fogwell’s and a good portion of the boxing world along with him. A few photographers snapped pictures as they walked up the church stairs, and Frank did his best to give him a look that would make them think twice about clicking the damned button again. Ahead of him, he watched Matt’s shoulders grimly remembering what it was like to carry his own father.
Thankfully the service was quick. The priest—Father Lanthom was pragmatic about the man they were laying to rest, but somehow managed to bring to light all of the wonderful things that Jack Murdock had been known for. Frank somehow made it through the ceremony while only half-hearing what was being said. It wasn’t until Matt was brought up to say a few words that Frank’s attention snapped to. Matt looked pale and careworn as he stepped to the podium, but his voice was strong.
“I’d like to thank you all for coming today. Dad was always thankful for the friends he made over the years. The two of us didn’t have much in the way of blood related family when I was a kid, but I always felt like we were loved by so many of you that it made up for it.” He paused for a minute. “For those of you that knew my dad well, you know that he was a hard headed man. I’m sure more than a few of you can attest to that physically as well as mentally.” There were a few chuckles in the audience at that, and Matt’s lips quirked upwards. “I think that’s what I loved the most about him. When he got an idea in his head, it stuck there, and he always had this crazy idea that I would be something more than what he was. He used to push at me to study constantly, to get the best grades, and to have a dream to be something other than a prize fighter. That expectation didn’t lower after I lost my sight. He didn’t let me sit around and wallow in self pity or make excuses for the things that I couldn’t do. Not my dad. Instead, it was like those expectations rose. A disability wouldn’t be the thing that held me back. It would make somethings harder, but that only meant that I had to work harder. Thanks to Dad, I did. I worked hard enough to go to law school and become a partner of a prestigious firm in San Francisco. To him, I did what he’d asked of me; I had become more than him. The funny part is though that I don’t think I will ever be even half of the man he was. He had a heart that didn’t stop loving and wouldn’t stop giving. Not just to me, but to the community. He wanted to give back some of what he had at the gym, and he did. He helped shape not only my life, but the lives of so many young men and women who came through those doors. I only wish that Dad could have seen himself the way that I saw him. I wish that he could have seen how much he truly had to give to this world and how much he would be missed.”
By the time he finished, there were tears on Matt’s cheeks and on those of just about everyone in the pews. Even some of the hardened old fighters were wiping away tears. Frank himself just barely managed to keep himself looking stoic through the rest of the eulogies.
The wake was held at Josie’s bar. It was a dump, but it had been one of Jack’s favorites and the owner had been a friend for years. The tiny space was so packed with mourners that it was hard to move. Matt was sitting at the bar with his friend, and it seemed that people one by one managed to push their way over to see him. Behind his dark glasses, it was hard to gauge what he was thinking, but it looked like he had reigned in his emotions from earlier. Frank lingered on the other side of the room sipping a beer. After a while, Reggie sidled up beside him.
“Back at it full force tomorrow, you know,” the trainer said glumly. “Place won’t be the same, but the world still spins.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that you came up to take over the gym and not because of me?” Frank asked.
Reggie gave one of his signature shrugs. “I did come up because of you, dumb ass. Taking over the gym was more of a back up plan. Jack knew that I still wanted to train, but that I had a hard time dealing with a lot of these young kids and their bullshit. When he first called, I didn’t even know he was sick. It took a hell of a lot of convincing for me to agree to run the show.”
“Jack had a way of convincing people,” Frank murmured, draining his pint. “Know if Matt’s gonna sell the place? I doubt he needs the money it brings in.”
“Walk your ass over there and ask him.” Reggie smirked. “You’ve been makin’ eyes at that kid since he walked back into that gym. Jack won his money back on that one though…I bet you two would’ve been screwing by now.”
“Christ,” Frank swore. “Is there anything you won’t bet on? Besides, I’m not going to make a move at his dad’s funeral.”
“Not what I told you to do. Go talk to the man.” Reggie rolled his eyes. “He could use a friend right about now. You’re not some teenage girl at a dance.”
By the time Frank made it to where Matt sat, his friend had left and it was just him. The seats on either side were empty. Everyone wanted to give him some space, it seemed. Pulling out a stool, Frank sat down and ordered a beer.
“How’re you holding up?” he asked.
Matt shrugged. “I’m not actually sure. I guess it hasn’t fully hit yet in some ways. I mean, when I lived on the West coast, sometimes we would go a couple of weeks without talking. Part of me feels like this is the same thing, like he’s going to call me tomorrow, but...”
“Yeah, I know how that feels.”
“I just want to hit something, you know?” Matt said with an ironic smile. “Funny, but I don’t think I have ever wanted to beat the living shit out someone or something more.”
Frank downed half of his beer in one swallow. “Then let’s go.”
“Now? Are you serious?”
“Yeah. Let’s get out of here. It’s not like anyone in this room is going to blame you for it,” Frank added.
The gym was within walking distance from Josie’s, and neither of them seemed to be too interested in hurrying to get there. After being crammed into a pew first and then the bar, Frank was enjoying having space. The funny thing was that he usually hated people being right against him, but Matt clutching at his arm didn’t make him feel crowded at all. It was comfortable somehow. Even the silence between them wasn’t awkward this time.
When they got to the gym, both men stripped off their shirts and ties down to their undershirts. Frank grabbed some tape and wound it around Matt’s hands before leading him to the heavy bag. He thumped against the side of it harshly. “Here you go, Red. Perfect target.”
Matt smiled nervously and gave the bag a pathetic attempt at a jab.
“Really, Red? That’s what you’ve got? Thought you wanted to beat the fuck out of someone?”
The smile fell from Matt’s face. The second punch lacked form but was much stronger. After that, the blows that followed were nothing short of vicious. Frank held the bag steady while Matt unleashed everything that had been building inside of him since find his father dead. His hits were frantic and erratically placed, but a few almost toppled Frank over from where he stood. The pummeling went on for nearly twenty minutes before Frank pulled him back. Tears were falling down Matt’s face unchecked. A session beating the fuck out a bag wasn’t going to fix this. Without thinking, Frank pulled Matt against him and let him cry into his shoulder while he held him. The tears had dissolved into hiccups, but Frank didn’t let go.
“Why are you being so good to me?” Matt asked, pushing himself away and attempting to regain his composure.
“You and you’re dad kinda grew one me, Red,” Frank answered.
Matt smiled. “I can still remember how pissed I was when you started calling me that.”
“Well, you only wore that one god damned sweatshirt all the time…” Frank teased.
“It was my dad’s color!”
“You look good in red,” Frank admitted.
Matt bit his lip. “I’ll have to remember that…for another time though.”
“Yeah, another time.” Frank found himself smiling despite himself. This definitely wasn’t the time or place for it, but the fact that there could be in the future… That was something that he didn’t mind thinking about.
True to Reggie’s predictions, the world continued right on turning after Jack’s funeral. The next morning Frank was at the gym a little before dawn training. Winning the fight had always mattered, but there was a fire in his gut now that was almost uncontrollable. He wouldn’t let Jack’s memory be tarnished by a crappy performance on his end. If Reggie noticed what was going on with him, he didn’t mention it aside from commenting on taking it easy on the old man wielding the pads. Frank’s laser focus was so precise that he didn’t even notice when Matt was or was not in the office of the gym until someone pointed it out to him. He sent Matt a text apologizing for it the day before the fight, but got a reply that merely said: Go kick some ass.
The night before the fight, Frank had a hell of a time sleeping. He hadn’t gone such a long time between matches in years. The anticipation surrounding him was almost palpable. And it was more than just being ready for the fight… he was more nervous than he’d like to admit. Thinking back to the night Jack had burst into his locker room, he never would have imagine caring so much about the man’s legacy. For years, he had hated Jack and his gym with a passion, but all he could think of was what losing would look like for Fogwell’s. With a heavy sigh, Frank rolled out of bed and threw on some clothes. He didn’t have to wonder where his feet would take him, but he he knew he had to follow them anyway.
Much like the night of the funeral, the gym was dark when he arrived, but it wasn’t silent to say the least. The familiar sound of fists against a bag echoed through the open space. In the dim light, Frank could make out a vague form, but he didn’t need to see to know who it was. He flipped on the lights to reveal Matt working at the bag—which was no surprise. What did surprise him was that Matt had stripped off his shirt and was only wearing a pair of dark shorts. Frank couldn’t peal his eyes off of the toned abs and sculpted chest in front of him. As a fighter, he was used to seeing muscular men, but Matt was different.
Matt stopped the bag as it swung back his way and cocked his head to the side as Frank approached. “Frank?” he asked.
“Good guess, Red.” Frank dropped his gear on the bench beside Matt’s bag. “What gave it away?”
“Reggie would have said something sooner, and I don’t know anyone else who’d be likely to come wandering around the gym at two in the morning,” he explained with a small smile. “I’m glad it was you though.”
“Why’s that?”
The blind man raised a brow and gave a little shrug. “Do I have to start wearing a sign?”
Frank laughed. “No, you don’t need to do that, but it would be nice to hear you say it.”
“Say what? That I’ve been thinking about you almost non stop since I moved back here and found out you were working out in Dad’s gym? That I even had a crush on you when I was a kid, and somehow I think it got worse as an adult?” Matt licked his lips in that way of his that drove Frank insane. “Have I embarrassed myself enough yet?”
Closing the gap between them, Frank pulled Matt towards him until their foreheads were almost touching. Matt’s unfocused hazel eyes nearly met his, and damn if he didn’t want to kiss him right then. “I’m not the kind of guy to take advantage,” he said softly. “The other night… I didn’t know if your really meant what you said or if...”
“I’m an adult, Frank. If I give you the green light, I mean it. Things might not have been right then, but I haven’t changed my mind about what I want.” Matt trailed his fingertips up Frank’s arm until they met with his sleeve and then back down again. If it wasn’t for that little smirk on his lips, Frank would have wondered if Matt even knew what he was doing to him right then.
Frank didn’t need any further invitation. He cupped his palm against Matt’s cheek and drew him in for a kiss. The intention was that it was going to be the nice and easy kind, but it seemed that Matt didn’t want it nice and easy. He forced Frank’s lips apart roughly and deepened the kiss. Any hesitation Frank had been feeling went out the window, and he found himself grabbing Matt’s perfect ass for all he was worth. Teeth drug against Frank’s lower lip as Matt pulled away, breaking the kiss.
“I’ve been waiting a long time for that,” Matt murmured happily. He started to lean in for another kiss, but paused. “You should be getting some sleep though, not messing around with me.”
“Fuck,” Frank cursed, glaring uselessly at the blind man in his arms. “Seriously, Red?”
Laughing, Matt kissed the edge of Frank’s jaw lightly. “C’mon back to my place. I paid a ridiculous amount of money for a mattress that I’ve barely slept in.”
It surprised Frank that Matt’s apartment was only a few blocks away—still in the Kitchen. The building itself was modest and his apartment likewise. A small hallway led into an open kitchen and living room that were sparsely furnished. Huge windows ran the entire length of the main rooms and were filled with the lights from a flashing billboard across the street. Frank idly wondered if Matt even knew that it was there, but banished the thought as he watched Matt pull two beers from his fridge.
“You lookin’ to get me drunk enough to be easy?” Frank quipped as he accepted his.
Matt smirked and leaned against his kitchen counter. “Something tells me you don’t have to be drunk to be easy.”
“Maybe you’re right.” Taking a long drink of his beer, Frank studied his host. “You really thinking of my sleep tonight?”
“Just sleep tonight,” Matt confirmed. A blush worked its way up over the edges of dark stubble. “C’mon.”
Frank followed Matt through the small partition that kept the bedroom from the other rooms. He watched as he timidly pulled off his shirt and tossed it in the hamper beside the bed. Once again, Frank was amazed by just how beautiful Matt was. All of that pale skin was begging Frank to touch and taste, but he’d be a good boy tonight no matter how much he wanted to fuck Matt into that ‘ridiculously expensive mattress’ of his. Matt’s hands paused on the band of his sweatpants.
“You don’t mind staying here, do you?” he asked with a small frown. “I don’t want you to think...”
“Oh, I do think you’re just using me for my extremely large cock,” Frank finished for him wryly. “But I’m going to play hard to get and make you wait until after I buy you dinner before I go all the way, Murdock.”
Matt grinned and finished stripping down to his boxers. “You really are a smart ass.”
“I do have one thing to warn you about though,” Frank said staring at the bulge in Matt’s boxer briefs longingly. “You’d better stay on your damn side of the bed, or neither of us are sleeping tonight.”
“Consider me warned,” Matt replied with a devilish grin spreading across his face.
The very last thing that Frank remembered thinking before sinking into the perfect comfort of Matt’s bed was that there was no way he was going to fall asleep that night. Amazingly though, he did so almost the second his body hit the sheets. Heeding Frank’s warning, Matt did—sadly—keep to his side, but there was something about even just his presence that calmed Frank. He couldn’t say if the converse was true because when he awoke the next morning, Matt was already up and moving about in the kitchen.
Frank didn’t bother putting his clothes back on right away. He followed the scent of coffee and the sounds of eggs sizzling in a skillet like a damned zombie looking for brains. The moment his bare feet hit the flooring in the living room, Matt cocked his head towards the sound and smiled.
“I was wondering if I should wake you up,” he said cheerily. Thankfully, he was pouring a cup of coffee as spoke, and Frank didn’t instantly hate Matt for being a morning person.
Leaning on the opposite side of the counter, Frank accepted the steaming mug. “I’m glad you didn’t.”
“Scrambled okay? I am a bad judge of when I am or am not breaking yokes for fried,” Matt admitted. He slid the eggs onto a plate and reached for slices of toast fresh out of the toaster and bacon from the microwave. In the last hour, he’d cooked more than Frank had in probably a year.
“However you make ‘em, I’ll eat ‘em,” Frank mumbled with a yawn.
“Eat while it’s warm,” Matt urged as he poured more eggs into the skillet and bread into the toaster. “I know this whole thing is a little awkward, but I have a meeting with my new partners in a little while...”
“Don’t worry about kicking me out. I’ve got shit to do today too, Red,” Frank assured him.
Matt smiled and filled his own plate. “Did you mean what you said last night about going out to dinner sometime?”
“I did. And don’t skip the part where I said that I’m paying… You treated me to your swanky mattress. I would return the favor in kind, but I doubt you’d be interested in squeezing onto my futon, so dinner it is...”
“I’m sure I wouldn’t mind a little tighter sleeping quarters.” Once again the devil flashed in that grin of Matt’s, and Frank was feeling himself react.
“Thought you had places to be today, Red?” Frank asked. “Keep lookin’ like that and you aren’t goin’ anywhere.”
The little shit actually bit his lip. “Like what? You’ll have to be more specific.”
“Like you want me to drag your ass back into that bed.” Frank chuckled huskily.
Just when Matt opened to his mouth to reply, his phone started shouting “Foggy!” Both men let out a frustrated sigh almost at once. Frank poked at his eggs irritably as Matt answered it.
The rest of the day went by in a blur. Fight days mostly revolved around staying relaxed and focused. They were the one time when he didn’t think about much of anything—not even his kids. He spent the whole morning going between light stretches and deep breathing to keep his nerves in check. Weigh in came in the afternoon, and—for the first time in a while—he didn’t stress too much about it. Even as Reggie helped him tape up in the locker room, Frank felt an almost eerie calm.
It wasn’t until he he was walking down the tunnel that he finally felt the wave of adrenaline start to kick in. The venue wasn’t much in terms of big money boxing and the stands weren’t packed, but he still could feel ever set of eyes on him. He stepped up into the ring, giving a cursory glance around the room. His eyes landed on Matt sitting in the front row with his lawyer friend next to him, and he instantly felt his chest tighten just a bit. Beside him, Reggie elbowed him and gave him a warning look.
“Keep your you head where it belongs,” he said roughly.
Frank gave a curt nod and turned his attention to the kid in the other corner. At first glance, he realized that his opponent was a cocky fucker. He listened vaguely while he was announced complete with the stupid fucking moniker he’d been given—the Punisher—giving a wave to the crowd as they cheered him on. When his opponent was announced though, the kid seemed to be on a high raising his fists in the air like a fool, posing for the few cameras that flashed. As they touched gloves, the bastard even gave Frank a small wink. Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, Frank moved back to his corner and accepted the mouth piece that was pushed against his lips.
“Remember what we talked about,” Reggie whispered. “This kid is going to come full force from the bell. He’s not going to wait around to make somethin’ happen. Don’t pass up any opportunities.”
Just as Reggie had said, the second the bell rung, the kid was on him. He landed a vicious left hook to the side of Frank’s ribs that nearly threw him off balance, but Frank was able to keep him moving at his pace. He countered quick blow after blow before in one crystal clear instant he saw an opening that was, as Jack had put it, as wide as a fucking city block. This time, he didn’t miss it. Frank threw an upper cut to the jaw that sent the kid reeling to the mat.
Before he could even reconcile himself that the fight had really begun, the kid was declared a K.O. and his glove was being raised over his head. Ninety fucking seconds into the fight, and he won. Bemused, he spit his guard to the floor and stared as the Puerto Ricans helped his unsteady opponent to sit up. He should have been happy, but he wasn’t. Frank wanted to scoop the kid up and demand that they actually fight this time. This had to be some sort of fucking joke, he thought.
Reggie patted him on the shoulder. “That’s my man. That’s my man.”
“That’s fucking it?” Frank murmured incredulously.
“What? You wanted him to pound your ass a few more times before you earned your paycheck?” the trainer scoffed. He let out a high sound that was between a hoot and a laugh. “Woulda won me another hundred off Jack if he was still alive. I told him you’d wrap this one up quick now that we got the lead out of your gloves.”
Matt was waiting for Frank near the locker room door once all of the hoopla was over with. His smile brightened when he heard the commotion of Frank and the rest of the team coming down the hall. Reggie, being suspiciously useful, ushered the other men inside to give them a bit of privacy.
“I hope not everything with you ends less than halfway into the first round,” Matt teased as Frank pulled him close still wearing his gloves.
“Guess it depends who’s in the ring with me,” Frank bit back as he leaned in for a kiss. His lips were a little tender from one of the glancing blows he’d taken, but that didn’t matter. “And the good news is that I’m not too busted up to take you to dinner.”
“Oh? What did you have in mind?” Matt asked.
Frank grinned. “It’s a surprise… Although, I don’t know if you’re classy enough for this establishment I’ve got in mind.”
“Try me.”
In the end, Frank took Matt to his favorite pizza place. Matt laughed his ass off about it at first, but seemed thoroughly impressed half way through his second slice. The sounds of appreciation that came out of him made Frank hungry for something else, but Matt seemed content with a third slice of pepperoni. For a small man, he could certainly eat. At the moment, Frank envied his enthusiasm. His disappointment over the fight played hell with his appetite.
“What’s wrong?” Matt asked, setting aside his pie. “You haven’t exactly sounded happy all night.”
Frank shrugged. “It was too damn easy… Things in general are too damn easy. I don’t know, Red. I guess I’m just not the kind of guy that has shit go right in his life. I’ve spent a fuck ton of time against the ropes getting my ass beat.”
“I know what you mean. Sometimes, when things are going too good, it almost feels like you should be bracing yourself for the worst. It makes actually enjoying the good stuff hard,” Matt agreed sullenly. He held out his hand for Frank’s. “Do you know what the last thing Dad and I talked about was?”
“What?”
“You. He kept asking me why I hadn’t made a move until finally I got tired of it, and I snapped. I told him that the last thing either one of us should be thinking of while he was dying was my love life. I was so fucking angry about it, too, but Dad just laughed. He said that you can’t build your life around all of the horrible stuff that could happen or the things that you were dreading. He told me that the best parts of life are unexpected, and the timing isn’t always perfect or there are complications, but that doesn’t make them worth less. It kind off all went in one ear and out the other, but then the next day…” Matt shrugged and let out a heavy sigh. “The point is that night after the funeral, I didn’t want to think about what he said. I didn’t want anything good to happen right then, if that makes sense. I didn’t feel like I should even try to see the possibility of being happy, but then I thought about that conversation with Dad. I decided that I was going to enjoy the good things in front of me. I’m still hurting and I don’t know where this is going to go, but I am not going to focus so much on worrying or feeling guilty that I miss out. You won tonight, Frank. Sure, it was an easier win than you’d anticipated. There are going to be a lot harder fights out there for you and you’ll be back on the ropes at some point, but enjoy what you’ve got right now.”
Frank lifted Matt’s hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles. “You’re right, Red.”
“I don’t even mind that stupid nick name anymore,” Matt announced with a wide grin. “Besides, you said I looked good in red, so I wanted to test that theory.”
Letting out a laugh, Frank glanced at Matt’s clothes once again. “Unless I’m colorblind, your pants are black and your shirt is gray—not seeing any red.”
“Not yet,” Matt replied playfully.
Frank shook his head and shoved a bite of pizza in his mouth to keep himself from demanding that they hail a taxi that second.
In the end, he was pretty sure that Jack Murdock was mostly full of shit, but there were somethings that the man had been right about. For one, Frank had needed a trainer when he came into that locker room. More importantly though, Frank wasn’t going to keep watching around the corner for the rest of his life for the next shit show. Right now, he had an amazing man right in front of him, and god damned if he wasn’t going to enjoy these moments.