Chapter 6
The next evening, Frank sat sprawled on Matt’s couch, his leg propped up and a beer bottle dangling loosely from his hand. Rain patted lightly against the window, a quieter encore to the storm that had delivered him to Matt’s doorstep.
“You don’t sit still, do you?” Matt asked, pulling on his Daredevil suit in the corner of the room.
Frank raised a brow, taking a swig of his beer. “Takes one to know one. Where you headin’ off to?”
“Patrol,” Matt said simply, fastening the straps of his billy club holster.
“Figured as much.” Frank set his beer down on the coffee table and pushed himself to his feet, favoring his injured leg. “Guess I’m comin’ with you.”
Matt froze mid-motion, turning his head sharply. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” Frank limped toward him, his expression set with that same stubborn determination Matt was quickly growing familiar with.
“You’re still recovering, Frank,” Matt said, crossing his arms. “I’m not babysitting you out there.”
Frank snorted. “You think I need babysittin’? I’ve been doin’ this longer than you, Red.”
“And yet, here you are. Injured. On my couch,” Matt shot back.
Frank smirked, unfazed. “What, you scared I’m gonna slow you down?”
Matt let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re impossible.”
“Yeah, you keep sayin’ that,” Frank replied, grabbing his coat from the back of a chair.
“Fine,” Matt relented, throwing his hands up. “But if you rip your stitches, I’m not patching you up again.”
The city stretched out beneath them, a glittering maze of lights and shadows. Matt moved with his usual grace, his steps silent as he leaped from one rooftop to the next.
Frank, on the other hand, was a bit less elegant. He landed heavily, his boots scraping against the gravel.
“You’re loud,” Matt commented, crouching by the edge of a rooftop to listen for movement below.
“I’m effective,” Frank shot back, leaning on a knee-high vent to ease the strain on his injured leg.
Matt smirked. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
Frank watched him for a moment, his eyes narrowing. “You always this cocky?”
“Only when I’m right,” Matt replied, tilting his head as he caught the faint sound of shouting a few blocks away.
He stood abruptly, pointing. “There. Two blocks south.”
Frank grinned, his hand instinctively moving toward where his gun would normally be. Matt’s sharp intake of breath stopped him.
“No killing,” Matt said firmly.
Frank rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know the drill, Red. Don’t get your tights in a twist.”
Matt opened his mouth to retort but thought better of it, shaking his head instead.
The two of them reached the shop just in time to find a group of men surrounding a terrified shopkeeper. The man’s apron was stained with flour, and he clutched a bag of cash to his chest as the thugs closed in.
“Classic,” Frank muttered.
Matt didn’t waste time responding. He leaped down, his billy club spinning through the air to crack one of the men across the temple.
“Show-off,” Frank grumbled, following suit with a slightly less graceful descent.
The fight was chaotic but efficient. Matt moved like a shadow, his strikes precise and unrelenting. Frank, on the other hand, relied on brute force, his fists landing with bone-crunching power.
At one point, Matt ducked a wild punch and felt Frank’s arm brush against his back.
“Watch it,” Matt hissed.
“Don’t get in my way, then,” Frank shot back, driving his elbow into another thug’s face.
Within minutes, the alley was quiet again, the shopkeeper huddled behind the counter as he whispered a shaky thanks.
Matt helped the man to his feet, handing him back the bag of cash. “Get home safe.”
As the shopkeeper scurried away, Matt turned to Frank, who was inspecting his bloody knuckles.
“You didn’t need to hit that last guy so hard,” Matt said, crossing his arms.
Frank shrugged. “He’ll live.”
“That’s not the point,” Matt started, but Frank cut him off.
“You’re welcome, Red,” he said with a smirk, wiping his hands on his jeans.
Matt sighed, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re repetitive,” Frank quipped.
Back on the rooftops, the adrenaline began to fade, leaving Frank limping a little more heavily.
“Should’ve stayed on the couch,” Matt said, not unkindly.
“Probably,” Frank admitted, his voice softer now.
They reached Matt’s apartment without further incident, and Frank collapsed onto the couch with a groan.
“You’re still patching me up,” Frank said, smirking up at Matt.
Matt grabbed the first aid kit from the kitchen counter, shaking his head. “You’re lucky I’m a sucker for lost causes.”
Frank chuckled, leaning back as Matt pulled up a stool to tend to his leg.
“You’re not bad at this, Red,” Frank murmured after a while, his tone almost thoughtful.
“At what?” Matt asked, glancing up.
“Puttin’ up with me,” Frank said with a grin.
Matt shook his head, but a small smile tugged at his lips. “Don’t get used to it.”
Frank’s grin widened. “Too late.”