Chapter 4
Frank awoke to the smell of coffee and the quiet hum of Matt moving about the apartment. The rain had finally stopped, leaving behind the faint scent of wet concrete drifting in through the open window.
“Morning, sunshine,” Matt called out from the kitchen, his tone light and teasing.
Frank grunted in response, sitting up on the couch with a wince. His leg throbbed, and his side felt like someone had used it for target practice—which, technically, they had.
“Thought you couldn’t see,” Frank said, his voice gravelly from sleep, “but you’re awful good at knowing where I am.”
Matt smirked as he set a mug of coffee on the table near the couch. “Call it a gift.”
Frank grabbed the mug, sipping slowly, letting the warmth chase away the chill from the previous night. “You always this cheerful in the morning?”
“Depends on the company,” Matt replied smoothly.
Frank huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Alright, Red. Enough with the jokes. What’s the plan for today? Or are you just gonna hover over me like a mother hen again?”
Matt crossed his arms, leaning against the kitchen counter. “You’re supposed to rest, Frank. Not sure what part of that you’re struggling with.”
“I don’t rest,” Frank replied simply, setting the mug down. “Never have. Not really my style.”
Matt raised an eyebrow. “So, what? You’re just gonna limp out of here and hope the next bullet misses?”
“Something like that,” Frank said, smirking.
Matt sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re stubborn,” Frank shot back. “Guess we make a good team, huh?”
Matt didn’t dignify that with a response, instead returning to the kitchen. Frank watched him move, his steps deliberate and precise, and frowned.
“You’re not the only one who can cook, y’know,” Frank said suddenly.
Matt paused mid-step, turning his head toward Frank. “Is that your way of saying you want to help?”
Frank shrugged. “Call it a thank-you. You patched me up, fed me, let me bleed all over your couch. Least I can do is make breakfast.”
Matt folded his arms, his lips twitching into a faint smile. “You can barely stand.”
“Details,” Frank muttered, swinging his legs over the side of the couch. He pushed himself upright, swaying slightly before steadying himself against the armrest.
Matt was at his side in an instant, one hand on Frank’s arm to keep him steady. “You’re going to rip your stitches, Frank.”
“Then you’ll just patch me up again,” Frank said with a grin.
Matt sighed but didn’t let go of his arm. “You’re hopeless.”
Frank smirked down at him. “And yet, here you are.”
Matt rolled his eyes but helped Frank hobble into the kitchen. “Fine. But if you burn my apartment down, I’m kicking you out.”
“Deal,” Frank said, easing himself onto a stool by the counter.
He glanced around, surveying the limited ingredients. “Alright, Red. Show me what I’m workin’ with.”
Matt opened the fridge, pulling out eggs, bread, and a block of cheese. “It’s not much, but it’ll do.”
Frank grabbed the eggs, cracking them into a bowl with surprising finesse. “Guess you’re not the only one full of surprises.”
Matt leaned against the counter, his arms crossed as he listened to the rhythmic clinking of a fork whisking eggs. “You’ve done this before.”
“Used to cook for my family,” Frank said simply, his tone softer than usual. “Back when things were... different.”
Matt didn’t push, sensing the weight behind Frank’s words. Instead, he grabbed a pan and set it on the stove, turning on the burner.
As Frank poured the eggs into the pan, their hands brushed briefly. Matt pulled back, clearing his throat.
“Sorry,” Matt said quickly.
Frank smirked. “What’s the matter, Red? You afraid of a little contact?”
Matt shook his head, biting back a smile. “Just focus on not burning the eggs, Frank.”
Frank chuckled, flipping the eggs with practiced ease. “Relax. You’re in good hands.”
The smell of cooking eggs filled the apartment, mingling with the faint aroma of rain lingering in the air.
Matt couldn’t help but smile as he listened to Frank hum softly under his breath—a low, almost melodic sound that seemed out of place for someone like the Punisher.
“You’re not half-bad at this,” Matt admitted.
Frank grinned. “Told you. I’ve got layers, Red. Like an onion.”
Matt laughed, shaking his head. “Yeah, an onion that shoots people.”
Frank smirked, serving up the eggs onto two plates. “And yet, here I am. Feeding you breakfast.”
Matt took a seat at the small dining table, raising an eyebrow as Frank joined him. “This doesn’t mean you’re off the hook.”
“Didn’t expect it to,” Frank replied, digging into his plate.
They ate in comfortable silence, the storm outside finally giving way to a rare moment of peace.