As the dust settles

"How did you learn to fight that way?"

"Huh?"

They enjoyed their drinks in silence for a while. Matt is surprised that Frank waited for two months to ask. 

Maybe he should've been honest from the beginning. Or maybe he should've played another card. Convince Frank he wasn't Daredevil. But he is tired. Tired of feeling Frank peek at the bruises. Tired of hiding it. 

He might as well be honest for once. 

"I've been thinking your senses are ridiculously amplified. It makes your whole 'I know how many people are inside that building and their weapons without even looking' thing work. But that doesn't explain how you fight."

Perhaps it was stupid to think that Frank would not figure it out. Even more stupid if he thinks of how much time they've spent together these last months.

Frank also doesn't question his blindness and figured out his enhanced senses. It feels good not having to explain everything. 

"Red?"

"When I was blinded my senses became a problem. Everything became too much. So the nuns got someone who could help me. That person became my teacher. He taught me most of what I know."

Frank's breathing stays the same and takes a sip from his glass. He smells like Max, liquor, oil, and guns. He's been honest during this whole conversation and Matt will answer any questions he has as thanks. 

"Huh, that makes sense."

There is something more. He inhales, prepares, and then lets go. 

He speaks for him. 

"He taught me how to identify lies from a heartbeat, how to fight hand-to-hand combat, and how to use my billy clubs. He also taught me how to meditate."

That got a reaction out of him. Frank leans towards Matt. He can hear the force of his knuckles as his hands tighten around the glass.

"Your teacher taught you to just meditate your injuries away?"

"It was easier that way. It helps to strengthen the mind. The mind controls the body. And it wasn't like the nuns knew what he was teaching me. It helped keep everything under wraps."

"You were still with the nuns. He helped you hide your injuries from your caregivers? How old were you?"

Isn't that the question of the year? He leans into the cushions. He can practically feel Frank's suspicion. He never told Frank about the incident. It never came up. (And he wasn't eager to repeat his life history like he did for everyone he met.) They stuck to the present. Never dug too deep into the other's past. 

But Frank worries for him (it's strange to say those words) and that includes his mission as Daredevil. He won't leave him alone. Not after seeing Matt hallucinate on that roof. 

"I was nine."

He doesn't wait for Frank to say anything. 

"This is what allows me to do what I do. I don't regret it. Never. This is what makes me Red, Frank."

Frank sighs and rubs his eyes. He can feel the anger radiating from Frank. He waits while Frank takes the bottle and fills his glass to the top. 

"Look Red. That it's part of you doesn't make it any less messed up. You were a child turned into a fucking soldier."

He says nothing and Frank continues. 

"Next time we get out I will help with any injuries."

Oh, so it's a we now. 

"Then we don't kill criminals, Frank."

Frank huffs while falling back into the cushions. 

"I will when absolutely necessary. Those pieces of shit deserve it, Red."

"Then I will meditate to heal my injuries."

"Please don't."

"Then. Don't. Kill."

"Jesus Chr-

"Language."

"Red. You will let me treat your injuries. And I won't kill anyone. Deal?"

But if it's between us and them. They are gone.

He doesn't fight it. This is a good deal. He can stop Frank from killing people for as long as he can. Frank will have some peace of mind regarding his health. 

He grins and takes a sip from his whiskey. 

"Deal."

He can hear Frank mutter. "Fucking lawyers." Under his breath.

He laughs and maybe feels a little dizzy. 

"Let's toast!" He raises his glass into the air almost dropping it in the process. 

"You drunk Red?"

"Just tipsy."

"Uh huh."

He listens to the bottle as the liquid inside moves. They are almost done. Then he runs a hand over his clock. Around seven and a half.

If he is going to spend the night with Frank, they might as well do something other than drink. 

"Wanna play poker?"

He hears Frank's head turning to look at him. His back stretching and the slight shifting of his muscles. They make a small sound of tensing and then letting go. It distracts him. 

"Why not? We betting on something?"

"Do you want to bet?"

"Yeah, why not."

The game is vicious. Frank doesn't let go of any clues. His heartbeat, breathing, body temperature, and movements tell him nothing. Every move, every card seems to be perfect. It leaves him waiting for the shoe to drop, for Frank to win at any given moment. 

Frank wins the first game. Then, Matt is the brutal one and wins the second one. 

They play a third one so tied they nearly resort to getting physical. Matt wins. So Frank wins the next one. 

Both of them lose money. They are not betting enough to leave them on the streets but a bet is a bet. 

Eventually, Matt wins again and Frank drops his cards. Obviously tipsy. If not drunk. 

"Enough. How much do I owe you?"

"20$"

"Asshole."

He pays with a really crumbled bill he takes and immediately saves in his wallet.

"Now, Murdock, square up because I'm getting my money back."

"Nah, 4 games is enough, Castle. Or should I say, Pete?"

"What name do you like more?"

They are sitting across from each other. Matt is sure he is looking at his face. But he can never be too sure. Sounds, scents, and tastes can only take you so far. 

"Frank's a classic. But Pete Castiglione got a ring to it. Italian, right?"

"Yeah, family came over from Italy long ago. We still keep some traditions."

"Must be real good at making pasta then?"

"One day I'll make some for you."

And Matt just smiles. Maybe he is drunk. Or maybe he feels something from Frank. 

"You better."

Matt stands up but his world turns sideways. His sense of balance is not the best when drunk. 

It doesn't matter because Frank catches him and guides him to the couch. The couch still has a nice texture even after all the blood that has stained it. 

Frank lies looking at the ceiling by his side. His hands twitch. He finds himself thinking about Frank's face. What does he look like? Does his face have many scars? Does he have a beard? How dense is it? What does his nose feel like? 

He leans in and he smells clearly Frank's breakfast: a sandwich with coffee. Back coffee with no sugar. He wonders if he only likes it that way. He also smells Max who drooled all over Frank earlier, the stench still distantly present. Though the smell of liquor covers it pretty well. 

His hands twitch again and he has to keep himself from leaning over the other man. 

Instead, he raises his hand and brings Frank's attention to himself.

"Can I touch your face?"

Frank rolls his neck looking sideways. He doesn't sound confused. Maybe surprised. Definitely comfortable. He isn't shifting or making any sounds. 

He truly considers Matt's question. 

He considers and considers. It might take seconds, minutes, or hours. Matt is drunk and what matters is Frank.

Once he seems to have an answer he positions himself so that he is closer to Matt. He takes one of his hands and puts it on his forehead. Matt uses his other hand to take his jaw. 

He has no scars on his forehead. But he does have a beard. It's surprisingly thick. No wonder he mixed in easily. He takes his other hand and feels his temple just by the sides of the eyebrows. He has a scar, not too deep, close to his right eyebrow. Probably faint enough that you can barely see it. It's old, and the skin already healed. His eyebrows are thick. There are small wrinkles between his eyebrows. Probably from an expression he does all the time. Frowning most likely. He trails down the nose. The bone and tissue underneath vibrates. Tell him it's been broken far too many times. Around 14 times. There is also a scar here. More recent. There have been no bruises until now. His mouth is pressed into a thin line probably to stop himself from talking. He has nice lips. His eye shape is also pretty. The face tells a story, it's full of space and marks. It is beautiful.

He says so out loud. 

"You have a beautiful face, Frank."

His voice is slurred and he can hear his breathing hit Frank in the face. He doesn't even care that he has no glasses on. 

"If only you could see yourself, Matt."

He smiles and he feels Frank's hands take his, feeling them. Allowing Matt to feel them. Both of their hands are bruised and calloused. Rough. But all Matt can feel is their tender feeling inside his chest. 

There is no ring. Matt can hear the metal shift, clinging against a silver chain against Frank's chest. Close to his heart. 

They stay like that. In silence. With their hands joined. 

The world no longer exists and Matt only exits by touch. He separates their hands just to guide them to Frank's cheek. He traces his lips once again and leans in. 

They kiss. It's soft and tender. Patient. Frank rests a hand on Matt's neck, another near his waist. The touch nearly burns. Frank tastes like his whiskey, coffee, cheese, and jam. Feels like silk under his lips. He brings himself closer and Frank tightens his hand while deepening the kiss.

When they break the kiss they don't separate. They lean into each other. So that their foreheads rest together. Matt smiles and he is sure Frank's unstoppable heartbeat skips a beat and his breathing picks up.

"Let's get you to bed, Matty"

"So ear-

"You are drunk. We are drunk. Let's get some sleep. Then we'll talk."

There's no lie. But why would there be? It's Frank. 

Frank carries him to the bedroom. If Matt were to walk he would probably vomit or fall. 

He leaves Matt on the bed and tries to go back to the couch. 

"Stay".

This he compliments with a deadly grip on the man's wrist. Frank stumbles into the bed.

His face is warmer than before. (For once he doesn't think of the constant sound of the city alone.) Matt takes the silk sheets and covers both of them. He entangles himself with Frank and Frank stiffens before relaxing. He drops a hand on Matt's back.

"Night Frank."

"Rest Red."

He falls asleep as soon as he focuses on the heartbeat next to him.