Crash

21. IN WHICH KAREN CHAIRS THE BIG DISCUSSION OF FEELINGS™

“So what are you gonna do? After all this.”

Frank looks over at her from where he’s stretched out on the couch, one hand hanging down to idly fondle Pi’s ears. Karen’s standing over in the kitchen; she’s just come back from a grocery run because apparently Matt has fuck all food in his kitchen. While she was out Foggy had texted saying they were about to head back. She’s nervous, but excited.

He’d ended his text with a smiley face. That’s a good sign, right? If things had gone badly he probably would’ve used a much less jovial emoji.

Now she’s making an omelette, both because they’re hungry and because she needs something to do with her hands. It was getting a bit too weird just sitting on the couch with Frank, watching the news. Being so close, but knowing she can’t reach out and touch him - knowing what they both want, not being able to act on it - it’d gotten her all antsy.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“After we take down the Hellhounds. Are you gonna…”

She trails off, trying to think of a tactful way to put it. Are you gonna go back to murdering people or is the Punisher still retired?

Frank seems to know what she means. He heaves himself up off the couch with a groan. One hand clutched to his ribs, he limps over to the counter and leans against it.

“You sure you should be getting up?” Karen asks, concerned.

“I’m not an invalid.” His brows are furrowed, and he drums his fingers against the counter. “After? Ain’t thought much about it.”

“I was just curious.” She attempts to flip the omelette and proceeds to ruin all her hard work. “Matt tried to retire from being Daredevil, shortly after everything that went down with you and the Hand. Didn’t take.”

Frank hums.

“As long as he can hear all the shit that went goes down in this city, I don’t think he’ll be able to retire,” he says. “And me, I… I don’t think I’m cut out to be a civilian, either. Doesn’t feel like me. I tried, but I… old habits die hard.”

“So the Punisher…”

“Punisher’s work’s done. But going out with Matt…”

“Stopping crime but not killing people,” Karen says, and Frank pulls a face.

“I still don’t think it’s a perfect solution. I’d much rather put those motherfuckers in the ground and be sure that they can’t come after us again. But I’m not… I don’t wanna fight with Red about it. And I don’t wanna fuck up the second chance I got to have a clean slate.”

“Right,” Karen murmurs.

“There’s too much to lose.” He fixes her with an oddly intense look that makes her cheeks heat suddenly; she can’t quite explain why.

“Well, I’m glad you guys have each other’s backs,” she says, and smiles.

A noise at the door, and the moment is broken. They both turn.

“We’re back!” Foggy yells, as he marches in the door. “That smells really good! Who’s cooking?”

He’s smiling, Karen notices, and it feels like a knot’s unravelled in her chest. He’s grinning from ear to ear.

Matt’s come trailing in the door behind him. He goes to put away their gym gear and Pi follows him excitedly. Karen catches a smile on his face, too, as he bends down to play with the dog.

Frank goes to collapse back on the couch and Foggy comes up by her side and touches her shoulder briefly. She casts him a small smile.

“All went well, then?” she whispers.

Foggy nods. 

“Really well,” he says. “We’ll talk about it in a second.” 

He looks – radiant, almost. Eyes filled with a shining hopefulness, something almost childlike to his glee. Like it’s Christmas morning and nothing could possibly go wrong. 

Matt emerges again. He goes and perches on the arm of the couch, next to Frank. Out of the corner of her eye, Karen sees him reach up and squeeze Matt’s hand.

“You good?” he asks quietly, and Matt nods. 

For a second it fills her chest with a sudden, blazing fondness. It’s been kind of strange, thinking of the two of them together. Maybe, to some extent, coloured by her own jealousy. But there’s something so intimate, so domestic about the small motion – so comfortable. She doesn’t see that look on Frank’s face much. Or on Matt’s. It’s sweet. 

Foggy’s watching them too, thoughtfully. His eyes meet hers for a second and she can see, too – he approves, for whatever it’s worth.

“How was boxing?” she asks, as she starts to plate up. She’s eager to get to the elephant in the room, the conversation they all know is coming. 

“Terrifying,” Matt jokes, “He’s a force to be reckoned with. He beat me up.”

“I beat him up with emotions,” Foggy quips. Matt ducks his head, biting back a laugh, and Karen cannot express how relieved she is to see him smile. “Also,” he adds, turning to Frank, “Matt said my punch was good. So there. Bitch.” 

Karen nearly drops the eggs on the floor. 

Did he just call the Punisher a bitch? 

Frank just scoffs.

“Yeah,” he grunts, “Because I fucking taught you.”

“Oh my God. Are you seriously trying to take all the credit?” 

“The teacher’s responsible for half the work. You think me and Red sprang from the womb as heavily armed black belts?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Foggy mutters. This time Frank’s the one who snorts out a laugh. 

“C’mon,” Karen says, as she sets the table. ”Let’s eat.” 

They gather at the table. Foggy sits by Matt, so Frank comes around to sit with her. He pulls her chair out and smiles at her. She smiles back. Her heart skips a beat. Matt casts her a look she can’t figure out. Foggy’s gaze shifts between all three of them. There’s a very awkward silence. 

“So,” Frank says finally.

“So,” Foggy repeats, and heaves a deep breath. He was bouncing off the walls this morning, but when he and Matt got back he’d seemed perfectly calm. Now, for the first time, he seems nervous again.

“What happened?” Frank asks, cutting through the bullshit as usual.

Matt and Foggy turn towards each other. Whatever silent exchange takes place ends with Foggy clearing his throat.

“We talked about a lot of things,” he offers. “I did a lot of processing. I... what Karen wants...”

He glances at her uncertainty, and she smiles.

“I told Frank already,” she says, and Foggy nods, looking relieved.

“I wasn’t sure if I... I felt that way at first. But I thought about it a lot. We decided we want to at least try.” He pauses. Swallows. Then adds, a bit awkwardly, “So, y’know, we sat around and made out.”

Matt lowers his head. Karen’s heart is pounding; she would be embarrassed about all this except she’s quite sure she’s not the only one. It’s not exactly a normal situation. None of them seem to quite know how to deal with all this.

“A few times,” Foggy adds, “Because, you know. Practice makes perfect.”

Matt laughs. Foggy reaches out and folds his hand over his; a rush of relief spreads through Karen’s chest. She’d been worried; it’s like walking on a tightrope with Matt sometimes, and Foggy’s been near breaking point lately too. So she’s glad that the two of them seem okay.

“So yeah,” Foggy says, articulately, and turns to Matt expectantly. Karen’s eyes land on him and he lifts his head and smiles in her direction.

“We... we want to try,” he agrees.

“That right, Red?” Frank asks, and Matt’s head tilts towards him. Karen glances between them, uncertainly; Frank is the one piece that doesn’t quite fit into the puzzle just yet. But he doesn’t seem upset, just like he’s - she doesn’t know how to put it. Like he’s treading carefully, maybe.

“Yeah,” Matt says quietly. “I didn’t think this could ever happen. I knew what I wanted, but it - it wasn’t possible. And if it doesn’t work out-”

“If it doesn’t work,” Karen cuts in quickly, before anyone can start spiralling, “We’ll talk about it like adults. Look, we’ve all been through too much together for relationship drama to end us.” She looks at Matt, then at Foggy. “It’s not like any of us was ever the bitter ex, no matter how things went down.”

“You’re optimistic,” Matt says, and Foggy reaches out and pokes him.

“Yeah, well, you’re enough of a pessimist for all of us.”

That gets another laugh. Matt smacks him on the arm, gently, and Foggy pulls a wounded face.

“Now who’s beating who up?”

Frank’s being uncharacteristically quiet. Karen doesn’t really know how to pull him into the conversation.

“Matt,” she says instead, because sometimes it pays to double check things with him, “You’re happy with this?”

There’s maybe something a bit too vulnerable in it. They’ve heard from his own mouth how he feels about Foggy. She’s less certain about her own position in all this.

But he nods, leaning across the table towards her.

“And you?” he asks, softly. She swallows hard.

“Things didn’t work out well between the two of us,” she whispers. “But I... we never had closure.”

“I’m sorry about that,” he says, genuinely.

It suddenly feels too personal to talk about - about them, about how Elektra fit into it all, in front of the other two. But she reaches out and squeezes his hand, and he gives a small smile, and she thinks the two of them will be okay. Since the second they met, they’ve always had something. They’ll make it work, this time.

“But you and Frank...” she adds, glancing at him.

“We’ll keep figuring it out,” Foggy jumps in.

Frank’s eyebrow rises.

“That’s the sort of vague that gets people in trouble,” he says.

Karen tenses. It’s the sort of situation that could easily turn into an argument between the two men - but Foggy just nods, and smiles, and a little of the tension seems to deflate.

“You’re right. What I mean is, we’re not asking Matt to break up with you or - whatever,” he adds.

Frank nods slowly.

“An open relationship,” he observes.

It’s weird to hear it put into words.

“A very open relationship, within...” Foggy trails off, waves a hand around the table. The four of them, sitting in a circle. “Within this.”

Except then Frank glances at Karen, and her cheeks heat, and she feels the awkwardness ratchet up again. The others must sense it too, because Matt rises abruptly.

“You two should talk,” he tells her and Foggy, and then turns towards Frank and says, rather pointedly. “I’m gonna take Pi for a walk.”

Frank nods.

“Think I might have a sleep,” he adds, “I’m beat.”

It’s hardly subtle, but Karen has to agree; there are parts of this that she and Foggy just have to figure out. It just comes with being the first two, the only ones with a properly established relationship. She watches Matt help Frank up and towards the bedroom, one arm wrapped around his waist. It’s strange to see both of them touching so comfortably; Frank’s arm gripping at his sleeve, Matt’s other hand steadying on his arm. Frank leans in and murmurs something in his ear as they reach the bedroom door, but neither she nor Foggy have super hearing; she has no idea what passes between them.

There’s an excruciating few minutes in which she and Foggy sit there eating in silence until Matt emerges and calls the dog, clipping a leash on him. He gives them a rather awkward wave and hurries out of the room.

“How far until he’s out of range?” Foggy asks abruptly. “Ten minutes? Fifteen?”

“I think if he wants to hear us he’ll find a way,” Karen replies, “And if he doesn’t he’ll focus on something else.”

“Fair enough.” Foggy’s shoulders slump a little, and she reaches out in concern, but he gives her a smile. “I’m not upset. Just tired. It’s been kind of a crazy day.”

She slips into the chair next to him and reaches out to take his hand, only to gasp a bit when he tugs her in and kisses her suddenly. She laughs against his mouth; it still makes her heart pound. Everything now seems new and exciting, seems different.

“So you and Matt,” she teases, when they pull apart.

“Oh my God.” He slumps back in his chair. “We had the worst kiss ever. It was so awkward.”

“In what way?”

“Just terrible all around.” He makes a number of jumbled hand gestures that she can’t decipher. “We were both so on-edge and nothing was going right. But we tried again and it was better.”

“He okay?” she asks. And then, gently, “You okay?”

“I think so,” Foggy says. “The two of us were already so close. It just - feels right.” And then, with a glance at her, “Don’t you dare say I told you so.”

Karen laughs a bit.

“I’m happy with this if you are,” she says, and Foggy squeezes her hand and nods.

“I want it to work,” he says, confidently. “I love both of you. There was never a question about that. Taking Nelson, Murdock and Page to the next level!”

“I strongly maintain that Nelson, Page and Murdock sounds better,” she teases, “The syllables just work nicely.”

“I’ll let you be the one to tell Matt that his name’s getting booted down the chain,” Foggy says. After a second, his grin fades a little. “But we don’t need to discuss the firm.”

“Boundaries,” she confirms, and he nods, looking down.

“Let’s not mince words. You like Frank. Frank likes you. You - you want my permission.”

“I don’t want to push you into anything,” she starts, but he cuts her off with a finger to her lips.

“Matt already gave me that spiel,” he says, gently. “It’s okay, Karen, really. Things are bigger than just the two of us now.”

“Nothing will change with you and I,” she assures him, but he shakes his head, smiling a little.

“Things will change,” he argues, “It’s inevitable. But they’re already changing, with Matt in there now. You and Frank, I... it’s not jealousy. Not exactly. Not now, not with the way things are, not with Matt and him already together, and now me and Matt together too. It’s just...”

He trails off, flailing a bit.

“New ground,” she offers.

“New ground,” he agrees. “It’s scary. But I - I had some good talks with Frank, actually, when we went out to meet that client that one time. I guess sometimes I feel like I’m from a different world from all of you. I used to get worried about being left behind. But not anymore.”

“I like that you’re from a different world,” she says, and rests her head against his shoulder. “Some of the shit the rest of us have done, it’s... it’s not pretty, it’s not nice. It’s just more shit we’re carrying around. We need an anchor.”

His hand cards through her hair, then wraps around her cheek, turning her face to kiss him. Her hands settle on his waist - steady, sturdy Foggy. Just being together is comforting. She can’t imagine doing this without him.

“All I’m scared of,” he says when they pull apart, “Is that we’re jumping in too deep, too fast with all this.”

“We’ll take it slow,” she promises. “Figure it out one thing at a time.”

“Okay. In that case, go for it.”

She strokes his cheek, but his eyes are fixed on the bedroom door Frank disappeared into. She doesn’t quite know what to think of this - but she feels excited and floaty and happy, the sort of adrenaline rush you get at the crest of a rollercoaster; the fall coming doesn’t seem like a danger but a thrill, like all the best parts are yet to come.

Frank must have actually legit been tired, because when Karen goes in to check on him later, hoping to talk, he’s dead to the world.

She stands for a moment, staring down at him. In sleep he seems oddly peaceful; lashes long and dark on his bruised cheeks. Mouth open a little, curled in on himself like a child. She feels a warm, fond swell and reaches to brush hair out of his face, then runs a hand down his rough cheek.

Later, she thinks, with an excited flutter in her chest.

The front door opens; she hears the scratch of claws on wood floors. Then the bedroom door slides open a little more and Matt feels his way into the room.

“Where’s Foggy?” he asks.

She turns towards him.

“Down in the car. We’re about to head home.”

Matt nods. There’s a funny, quiet pause. He looks tired, and gaunt, with his face shadowed from the baseball cap pulled low over his brow.

“What did he say?” he asks abruptly.

“He said yes.”

She doesn’t really need to expand. It’s there between all of them - a world suddenly full of open doors. Something flickers in Matt’s face that she can’t work out. He nods, and leans against the wall. Both of them stand watching Frank or a moment.

“What are your plans for tonight?” she asks finally. When his head turns towards her she raises her index fingers and makes horns on her head; he lets out a soft snort.

“Yeah. Working on the Hellhounds stuff.”

“You have a plan?”

He nods.

“I’m gonna talk to Brett. Drop a hint that I’m gonna drive them out of the subway tunnels soon. See if we can work something out. Then that gang you were researching, the one that aren’t in with the Hounds yet. Gonna meet with them and propose we take them down together. The original plan, except we’re getting the police involved a bit sooner.”

“You need us to do anything?”

“Not yet. Tonight’s just a lot of negotiating. But once I have the gangs onside, we’ll start doing more recon about exactly where their underground hideouts are. And then get the charges to blow them to smithereens. Frank can probably help with that.”

“Because of his connections?”

“Because he works on a construction site.”

“Oh. Right.” They both laugh, and on impulse she steps a bit closer to him.

“Still - be careful tonight. Frank’s already so hurt - you’re still healing.” she rests a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t want all of us bedbound.”

“I’ll try,” he says, and smiles a bit sadly. She reaches up and takes his glasses off; he doesn’t stop her, but also doesn’t make an effort to meet her eyes, staring blankly across the room instead. There’s an odd, pained look on his face.

“What is it?” she asks softly.

He swallows hard, but when she rests a hand on his cheek he leans into it.

“The Daredevil thing is - complicated lately.” He seems to force the words out; she frowns.

“What do you mean?”

“I was telling Foggy... after Fisk... it’s a lot.”

It’s a lot.

Three simple words, but somehow she knows what it means. That feeling of the building weight of everything they’ve been through, slowly growing heavier and heavier, nearly forcing them to their knees. Standing at their bedside, stroking their faces with black fingers as they sleep.

She’s done enough interviews with reluctant subjects to know when to wait silently. After a minute he swallows hard and continues.

“I’m... I’m not as strong... or as sure of myself... as people think.”

“Oh, Matt.” She curls a hand around the back of his neck, draws him in to rest their foreheads together. “You’ve done more for this city than anyone. More than anyone could expect from you.”

“It’s still never enough,” he murmurs. “And everyone we lost-”

“That’s on Fisk. Not you.”

“Some of it’s on me,” he says, with heavy certainty. “And there things I can’t - get over. Things I still haven’t... processed, I think. I just try to keep moving and not think about them. But then they come breathing down my neck when I least expect it.”

“Like what?”

“Like Midland going down.” It comes out in a rush, like it’s been on his mind. “Like Elektra murdering Stick right in front of me.”

She...

She doesn’t know what to do with this.

“And other things, too,” Matt continues, and shifts. “But I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I’m upsetting you,” he observes. She swallows hard. It’s true - there’s a lump in her throat and her heart’s pounding. But she shakes her head.

“Only because I care about you and I want you to be okay. I’d rather you tell me than not.” She lets her hands drop to his, takes them in hers and squeezes. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“People keep telling me that,” he says, with a tight smile.

“Maybe you should start listening,” she fires back.

He huffs out a laugh, but his smile fades quickly.

“I can’t let my guard down, even for a second.”

“That’s why you need people to watch your back,” she says, patiently. “Take a bit of the burden off you. We can’t carry all of it, all the time. I can’t. Frank can’t. Why should you?”

Matt bites his lip, but looks like he can’t really argue with that. She tangles their fingers together.

“I’m really, really happy this is working out,” she whispers.

“Bit early to say it’s working out,” he says, and she laughs and slaps his chest lightly.

“Shut up and just enjoy it, Murdock,” she says, and he lets out a chuckle. The silence is comfortable; she shifts a bit, then adds, shyly, “I was worried. That you didn’t like me.”

“Of course I like you,” Matt says, sounding genuinely startled. “I like you a lot. Why would you think that?”

“I know, but - after things didn’t work out with us the first time... I hoped, but I wasn’t sure. So I was worried. I knew you liked Foggy.”

“Obvious, was it?” he asks, sounding a bit disgruntled.

“I’m a PI now. You can’t hide anything from me.”

Matt snorts.

“Trust me,” he says, gently, “I definitely like you.”

“Good,” she says.

It comes naturally to lean in and kiss him. There’s no hesitation in the way he reaches down to rest his hands on her waist. There’s something shy and gentle about it, a little coy. It’s not their first kiss, but it still feels different. This time, she knows. When they were last together, as far as she knew the man she was with was just Matt Murdock.

Now, she remembers - Matt, the man in black who first saved her. Matt, who she sees every day in the office, slumped over paperwork or standing with his head held high in court. Matt, returned from the dead.

Matt - avenging angel, lost child, everything in between.

They break apart, but he’s the one to hold her close for a second, cradling her in his arms. She rests her head on his chest.

“Be careful tonight,” she repeats.

“I will,” he promises. For once she believes him. She leans up and kisses him once more, briefly this time. Casts one more glance over her shoulder at the sleeping Frank, and leaves with her heart pounding.

Everything seems different now. And it’s exciting, but at the same time, the stakes feel higher than ever.

22. IN WHICH FRANK GETS A BIT UPSETTI SPAGHETTI

Frank wakes up, in pain, from unsettling dreams.

The room is dark. It was late afternoon when he fell asleep, but night has fallen now; he can see the faint glow of the city lights falling through the window. There are no lights on, no voices - the others have all left, then.

His wounds ache, and he’s stiff from the position he fell asleep in. He rolls over and grabs his phone from the bedside table. One text from Karen, one voicemail from Matt.

‘We went home! Hope you feel better. See you soon. <3’

The voicemail is from a couple of hours ago, which is bizarre since he’s been here the whole time, but then again Matt hates texting and may have not wanted to wake him.

“Hey Frank. I’m going out to meet with Brett and that gang we talked to. Just talking, I won’t be going after the Hounds. See you soon.”

He closes his eyes for a moment. Thinks of Matt, somewhere out there roaming the streets right now. Thinks of Karen and Foggy, back at their apartment. Probably eating together, in a brightly lit kitchen, talking through everything that’s happened. His chest feels very tight.

It’s past midnight.

He gets up and stretches, biting back a loud groan of pain as every single muscle protests. Everything hurts, he feels-

Beaten down, and tired, and melancholic. The apartment is very, very dark, and very quiet, and very lonely. He heaves himself out of bed and Pi, stretched out at his feet, whines and yawns before jumping down to follow him out.

“Good boy,” he whispers, reaching down to tangle his fingers in the dog’s fur. There’s something calming about his solid, warm presence.  

Outside the living room is awash with neon light from that stupid billboard. Still, there’s something almost comforting about that, too. Matt’s place is becoming familiar. He switches on the kitchen light and starts making coffee, careful to return everything to its right place after using it. It’s becoming habit; they’re getting used to each other. The first time he was here he’d left a glass out on the counter and Matt had knocked it to the floor almost immediately.

“Didn’t you sense it?” Frank had asked, while sweeping the broken shards into a plastic bag.

“No one focuses twenty-four seven,” Matt’d replied. “It’s exhausting. And unsustainable. When I get home it’s back to autopilot for most things.”

And Frank has seen him - taking uniform steps, feeling around for things on the countertop. He gets used to cleaning everything up after he uses it, not leaving shit lying around. There’s something almost satisfying to how organised everything is. Sometimes it reminds him of his early days in the military, the discipline of it all.

Now-

Now, he sits down on the floor, his back to the couch, his mug steaming warm next to him, Pi’s head a heavy, comforting weight in his lap. He closes his eyes, and tries to breathe.

He dreamed of Maria.

He thinks about her a lot lately. He wonders what she’d think of all this. This being the vigilantism, this also being him and Matt - and Karen and Foggy, now, too. Sometimes, he gets this guilty pain deep in his gut, like he’s betrayed her somehow. Betrayed all of them.

He puts on a tough show. Makes it seem like he’s taking all this in stride.

But he doesn’t know if they realise he’s just as fucking lost as the rest of them. More so, sometimes. Red gets it, to an extent; there was Elektra, so a lot of this isn’t just a new relationship, it’s moving on.

Frank…

Frank had a whole fucking family. Frank was married. And for a long time was terrified of ever getting close to anyone again.

And yeah, maybe today was good. They talked things out. Karen seems happy, so Foggy probably said he’s cool with them moving things in a much more open direction. And Frank should be glad, but instead-

Instead he feels a bit like he wants to crawl back under the covers and not have to think about all this, just for a little while. Feels a bit like something dangerous might come through all these open doors.

“Stop it,” he whispers, and takes a sip of his drink, relishing the way it sends warmth spreading through his chest. “You’re overthinking this shit.”

Is he?

Or is he making sure he doesn’t get in way, way too far over his head?

He closes his eyes. Maria’s smile. Maria’s hands on him, straightening his collar, pulling him into a kiss. The sunlight on her hair. The way he could always hear her laugh from anywhere in the house.

There’s a lump in his throat. Suddenly he misses her much more than he can say - misses her so much it hurts. Misses all of them. A grief he’d thought he’d been starting to heal from has resurfaced.

Suddenly, he feels tears welling up, along with a familiar rage. Fuck Billy, fuck all of them who ever had anything to do with it-

He wants to hit something, wants to smash things with a sledgehammer like he used to - but he hurts so much he can barely lift his arms. All he can do is sit there, clenching his fists as silent tears slide down his face.

Pi whines and he leans down and buries his face in the dog’s fur, breathing in his warm scent, heart slamming in his chest.

Breathe. Just breathe.

There’s guilt, somewhere in there, for being so torn up. Especially now, when things are objectively going pretty well for him.

But these are the sort of wounds that don’t heal. Because God, God. He loves Karen so much it takes his breath away sometimes, and he knows he’d die for Matt-

But that doesn’t change the fact that he’d give anything, anything, to have his little girl in his arms again. To be able to tell his son he loves him one more time. To wake up next to his wife.

Pi licks his face and Frank laughs. It turns into a sob halfway through. He lifts his head, lets it fall back against the sofa, and slowly drinks his coffee. Thinks, you’re a mess, Castle, you’re a God damn mess, but then again, aren’t they all? Shattered in their own different, jagged ways.

There’s a sound on the roof, and he sits up a bit. Matt’s back. The door opens and he trudges down the stairs, barely more than a silhouette in the dim light. His face is hidden in the same mask he still uses that, to be totally honest, really does look like he just made it out of torn scraps of cloth. Less Daredevil, more the Man in Black. He really needs armour, Frank thinks, just looking at him. He worries, sometimes, what just one bullet in the wrong spot could do.

Matt pauses at the base of the stairs.

“Hey,” Frank offers.

“Hey,” Matt replies, cautiously. And then, with a faint smile, “You can sit on the couch, you know.”

That makes Frank snort out a laugh. God, that first night - that first kiss - it feels long ago now. Matt steps closer and eases himself down next to him with a wince Frank doesn’t miss.

“You okay?” Matt asks quietly.

Frank hesitates. There’s zero doubt Matt can tell he’s been crying. It seems like a lot to explain when he just got back, though.

“Sort of,” he replies. “You okay? Thought you were just talking?”

Matt huffs out a laugh.

“Got in a little scuffle with some muggers on the way back. Nothing’s bleeding, I just bruised a rib.”

“Everything go well?”

“Pretty well. I’ll tell you in a minute. Gonna go shower.”

Frank nods. Matt hesitates, then suddenly leans in and kisses him.

“What was that for?” Frank asks - amused, but not displeased. It wiped a little of the fog from his mind, steadied him a little more in the present.

“Do I need a reason?” Matt replies, but sounds a bit nervous. Frank shakes his head, then reaches up and pulls the other man’s mask off. His hair is dishevelled and he has a very black eye. Frank strokes his cheek for a moment, then pats him on the shoulder.

“Go clean up. I’ll see you in a bit.”

Matt nods. Frank watches him head off to the bathroom. A small smile tugs at his lips; he takes a deep breath.

They’re damaged, but this - this is good. This is okay. It’s easier to remember when the others are around him, when he isn’t just off getting lost in his own head. He feels a little more on solid ground.

Back in bed, Frank lies curled next to Matt, head resting on his shoulder, fingers gently tracing over the blackening bruise low on his chest.

“Is it bad?” Matt asks. His eyes are shut.

“It’s colourful,” Frank replies. He takes Matt’s hand and runs a thumb over his scarred knuckles. “Couldn’t help yourself, huh?”

Matt gives a thin smile. It’s true, though. He’s not such a good Catholic boy after all; Frank’s seen him in a fight. Knows that he doesn’t just mete out violent vigilante justice because he feels some moral obligation; no, he enjoys it. He has anger issues to rival Frank’s; they just draw the line in different places.

Just one more fucked up way they understand each other.

“It felt better tonight,” Matt says - Frank gives him a confused look, then makes a confused noise to go with it just in case he doesn’t catch it. Matt laughs. “Sorry, what I mean is- I wasn’t…  after Fisk, going out there sometimes felt… I was worried. What I’d do.”

He clearly doesn’t want to say it, but Frank knows. Frank was there.

Let someone stick a gun in your face and not move out of the way? Yeah, Red, I’m pretty fucking worried about that too.

He slips his arm around Matt’s and tugs him closer.

“But it wasn’t like that today,” Matt says. “I don’t know. Maybe… maybe it’s because I wasn’t going after the Hounds, but… it was fine. Felt more like before.”

“Good,” Frank says, and Matt smiles a bit. He reaches down and prods his own bruise hard enough to make himself grimace.

“Foggy won’t be happy,” he comments, and Frank gets this weird possessive jolt that is - well, not a good sign, not really, not when today’s been all about opening new doors and other such fun polyamorous things. It just - makes it sink in suddenly, makes it seem real; Matt ain’t just his anymore.

He mouths at Matt’s shoulder, suddenly wanting to be close to him - feeling way too needy, too alone, too much like there’s a void in his chest that needs to be filled.

It’s strange to be in bed together and not fucking.

Maybe that’s crude, but it’s true. This - the soft parts, the domestic parts, the parts that sometimes remind him too much of Maria - this is new.

He’s still wrapping his head around it. Not in a bad way, more in a so what are we way. Partners? Boyfriends? Lovers?

He runs a hand down Matt’s chest, careful of a still-healing row of stitches, a few other angry patches of bruising. Honestly, Matt’s a bigger mess of scars than he is, due to a combination of the lack of body armour and more people going after him with knives.

“So today was-”

Matt breaks off, not seeming to quite know how to start the conversation. S’pose Foggy and Karen got their chance to talk; now it’s their turn. Frank stops touching him and rolls to lie next to him instead, their arms just touching. He stares up at the dark ceiling.

“Productive?” he offers, and Matt laughs.

“Guess that’s one way of putting it.”

“After I fell asleep,” Frank says, “What happened with the others?”

Matt takes a deep breath. His eyes are still shut. It’s hard to tell if he’s happy or what.

“They talked,” he says. “I wasn’t eavesdropping, but they seemed okay when I got back. I mainly just talked to Karen. Foggy said yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes to all four of us being - whatever we are. To figuring it out. Yes to you and me.” A pause. “Yes to you and Karen.”

An electric bolt of excitement strikes at his heart., seems to fizzle down every nerve end.

“I see,” he says, with great restraint.

It feels a bit unreal. To want something for so long and finally have it within reach.

Karen.

Just thinking about her makes a shaky excitement build in the pit of his stomach. Karen is sunshine, is warmth and light and hope. Karen is the one damn person who makes him feel like even after everything, he might be able to be a good man.

He’s thought about being with her. He’s wanted it, more than he’ll admit even to himself. Now that it’s an actual possibility, though - he suddenly finds himself nervous.

You want this too much. You’re all assuming it’s gonna work out.

What if you’re wrong?

What if, once you all actually try this, it just falls to pieces?

“You think the two of them are gonna be okay?” he asks carefully. “They’ve been together a while now. This is… it’ll be a big change, even if we’re all in agreement on it.”

“I think so,” Matt says, “But what do I know? I’m the last person out of the four of us to be an authority on relationships. In fact, I’m a negative authority. You should take what I think and do the opposite.”

He’s clearly joking, which is the only reason Frank doesn’t call him out on the self-deprecation.

“I don’t know,” he teases instead, “You have your moments.”

“Like what?”

“Like deciding to make out with me that first time.”

Matt laughs a bit.

“Trust me, I had no clue what I was doing. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Maybe you should continue to not think,” Frank says, then sighs. “Seriously, though, what’s on your mind? About all this. You and Foggy, you wanted that for years.”

Matt swallows hard. Frank rolls over, props himself up on his elbow to look down at him. His eyes are open, now, but he’s just vacantly gazing across the room. In the dark the wells under his eyes look bruise-deep; he seems worn down, fragile.

“I know I should be happy,” Matt says, abruptly. “I should be fucking ecstatic. I have everything I wanted. All three of you. And I… I am happy, but I’m mostly fucking terrified.”

“There’s a lot to lose,” Frank murmurs.

“Exactly. I’m scared that… that if something, if anything happens to you guys it’ll break me. I’m scared that I’ll fuck up and be the one to ruin us. I’m scared that the skeletons in my closet will make one of us realise that all this isn’t worth the trouble.”

His voice is raw and Frank knows, suddenly, there is nothing he can say, no comforting words that can fix this. Not now. These aren’t the sort of wounds that can be healed by verbal platitudes. He just nods, slowly. Sticks close, his arm just nudging the other man’s.

Matt swallows hard.

“Is it awful,” he asks, “If I come into this with secrets?”

That makes Frank freeze.

“How big a secret are we talking here?” he asks, trying to sound calm. “Like another secret identity?”

Matt gives him a the fuck sort of look.

“You think I have time to have another secret identity?” he demands. “I have a day job and a night job already!”

“I dunno,” Frank replies indignantly, “Maybe you’re Spiderman.”

“Hilarious.”

“No, but seriously, Red,” Frank says, “You’re worryin’ me here. What sort of secrets are we-”

“If I’m with them,” Matt cuts in, nervously, “There’s… there’s stuff I should be able to tell them. Right?”

He’s so tense that he’s nearly shaking now and Frank moves forward, leans over him.

“But I can’t,” Matt says desperately. Frank reaches out and cups his cheek, tilting his face towards him. Maybe it’s pointless, not like Matt can fucking see him anyway, but it makes him feel better.

“Can you tell me?” he asks quietly.

“Yeah,” Matt murmurs. “You’re… it’s different with you.”

Frank waits patiently. Lets him gather himself. There’s a look playing out across Matt’s face that Frank knows well; it’s guilt, but not the personal sort. The sort of big-picture, existential, internal-ideological-battle sort that Catholics specialise in.

“Sometimes,” Matt admits finally, the words spilling out in a rush, “I wish I killed Fisk.”

Frank practically collapses by his side.

“You fucking serious?” he demands. “That’s your secret? Jesus, Red, you had me scared it was something way worse!”

“That’s pretty bad,” Matt argues. “You weren’t here! It was a huge thing, I - I was gonna kill him and then Foggy told me-”

“Matt.” Frank grips his shoulders firmly. “That’s not… that’s not even a secret. It’s more like - a private thought.”

“Well,” Matt says defensively, “It’s not a private thought that I want to share with the others. They wouldn’t understand.”

“I think they’d understand more than you think.” He thinks, with a flash, of Karen firing her gun the other night - again and again and again - thinks of smashing Billy’s face against shards of glass, thinks of his scream. Fights back a shiver. “You think they ain’t fucking scared of Fisk too? I bet it’s crossed their minds.”

Matt doesn’t answer. His jaw is clenched and after a second Frank reaches up and cups his cheek.

“Seriously, that’s what you’re carrying around? That’s the most understandable doubt you could have.”

“That and other stuff.” Matt still seems broody; his fists are clenched by his sides. He’s lying flat on his back like he’s on a fucking operating table, still not making any effort to look over at Frank. “I… it was all meant to be fine. Now that he was put away. I beat him, I won, but I still can’t stop… it… it’s still like… doesn’t feel like I won. Feels like he - he’s still got some sort of power over us. If you were here, would you have killed him?”

Frank bites his lip. It’s not a question he was prepared for, it’s one that means he’s gotta dig deep into a lot of shit that he’s been trying not to think about.

But this is Matt - Matt, who usually either lashes out or runs at the first hint of vulnerability. Matt, who sounds almost pleading now. Who has reached Shakespearean levels of internal conflict.

Frank takes a shaky breath.

“Billy Russo.”

“What?”

“I think I told you about him before. My best friend. Loved him like a brother. We… we were in the army, went on tour together. He was the uncle to my kids. He was family. Like you and Foggy ‘cept without the secret pining for years. We had each other’s backs every day on the battlefield. And when I came back, I didn’t tell him because I wanted to protect him. When my family were dead, he and… and a couple other friends, they were all I had left. Would’ve died for them.”

Matt’s quiet. Frank doesn’t know how much Karen has told him, how much he might’ve looked up.

“‘cept it turns out…” And even now, even now it’s hard to voice, like digging his fingers into a wound barely scarred over. “Turns out he was in on it. Sold me out. He was there the day they killed my family. He was fucking in on it. He played me for a fool and tried to kill me. Let me tell you, Red, that level of betrayal… I can’t even put it into words. I didn’t just want him to die, I wanted him to suffer. Ain’t ever hated someone that much. So much it was- consuming, I guess.”

Matt nods. He looks upset; he’s turned towards Frank a little more now, his frown softened a little.

“I beat him,” Frank says. “I won. I fucked him up, took everything from him. And I had the chance to kill him, but I didn’t. I made the choice not to. And sure, part of it was revenge. Death seemed too easy. But another part of me knew it… knew it was time to step back. Knew I had to let go.”

“That can’t have been easy,” Matt says.

“It wasn’t.” He takes a deep breath. It feels good to have talked about it, to be honest. To have got it all out in the open. “Still. Ain’t on you to decide who lives or dies. That’s God’s work. Right?”

“That’s what I used to think.”

“What changed?”

“Half my friends died,” Matt says, voice tight, “And I couldn’t help but think if I’d only killed Fisk earlier, it wouldn’t have happened. Exactly like you warned me. You don’t put them down, they get back up. When did you stop believing that?”

“Still do, sometimes,” Frank admits. “Don’t think I’ll ever stop believing it. But… but I also realised that once you start killing, you don’t stop. You just get more and more lost. Is it worth losing yourself to take him down? Your friends don’t want that.”

“Doesn’t matter what they want if they’re in danger.”

Frank pulls a face. It’s an impossible dilemma, to be honest. They could spend the whole night arguing in circles about it.

“Fact is, you didn’t kill him,” he says bluntly. “So there’s no point post-morteming the situation. To answer your question, if you’d asked me last year, yeah, I’d’ve killed him. But if you ask me now - I think I’d try not to.”

It’s very easy to say. To be completely honest, he only 60% believes that and it would depend very heavily on the circumstances. There is a good chance that in the moment he would still shoot Fisk directly in the face and not give a fuck.

But he’s not about to tell Matt that. It isn’t what he needs to hear. And it’s not really a lie since the key word in there is try, so he’s pretty sure his heart won’t give him away. See, you don’t gotta be a lawyer to know a good loophole when you see one!

Matt shifts. He looks torn.

“He knows who I am,” he says slowly. “If anything happens to Vanessa, he might-”

“What, expose you?” Frank snorts. “You realise you’ve got the best cover story possible, right? What the hell’s he gonna do, go around telling people it was the blind guy? He’ll look like an idiot and after what he’s done, no one’s gonna believe him.”

“He’s really fucking smart, Frank.”

“You’re really fucking smart,” Frank tells him, confidently. “So’s Foggy. So’s Karen. You beat him twice, Matt, you can do it again - but it won’t come to that.”

Matt looks away. But the hypothetical situation of Fisk coming back to haunt them isn’t the issue here. Frank reaches out and strokes a hand through his hair.

“You could tell the others all that and I bet they’d understand,” he says. “You underestimate both Nelson’s tolerance for our sort of shit and Karen’s willingness to get her hands dirty. But you don’t have to. Not until you’re ready.”

Matt nods, slowly.

“It was good just to tell you,” he offers, and Frank knows he means thank you. Means a whole lot more than that.

“Good,” he says, and presses a kiss to Matt’s shoulder. “Also, I’ll get cringey and personal because it’s two fucking a.m. but… you know you don’t have to pretend to be okay all the time, right? None of us are okay all the time. We’re all scared and fucked up, hell, I was crying back there because I miss my wife so fucking much. I’m pretty damn terrified as well - terrified that me and Karen won’t work out, terrified that I’ll fuck all this up. Out of all of us I’m the weak link. Nelson’s not exactly sold on me and I’m the most likely to fly off the rails and do something stupid.”

“Don’t underestimate my capacity for flying off the rails,” Matt says with a faint smile.

“Don’t make it a competition,” Frank chuckles. “What I’m trying to say is it ain’t just you, Murdock. All we can do is try to hold it together and make things work.”

Matt nods. He looks tired, but a bit less like the weight of the world is on his shoulders. He reaches up and grips Frank’s wrist, lightly, thumb stroking over his pulse point.

Frank leans over him, presses their lips together. It’s the sort of tender, exploratory kiss that has way too much behind it, the sort with that always reminds him of sparring, where you gotta be in rhythm with one another. They know, by now, how each other works. He knows that Matt will take as much as he can give him, knows the best angle to get in deeper, knows that when Matt goes still it means he’s taking everything in- Frank’s racing pulse, his body temperature, every minute detail that makes him tick.

He feels some of the tension from earlier fall away, the doubts. Turns out making out can be a pretty good distraction from your inner turmoil. He shifts his grip a bit and Matt makes a sharp noise and breaks away.

“Ow,” he says, “You got me right on a bruise.”

“Sorry,” Frank says. Then, “Can’t lie, it kind of hurts to sit up.”

“Let’s just sleep,” Matt offers, and Frank laughs, and Matt grins, and-

A smile looks good on you. It’s the sort of sentimental bullshit he’ll never say out loud but that makes something warm swell on his chest. And they can laugh, together, and even if there’s a good chance someone will wake up screaming, this moment, now, as Frank reaches to pull the blankets up, as they curl up warm by one another’s sides - he knows this, the two of them at least, will be fine, no matter what else changes. Or at least, he can fall asleep believing it.

The next day is actually fairly relaxing.

After weeks of being shot at, obsessing over the others’ safety, or working their way through the various knots and snarls of their tangled relationship, it’s almost unsettling for nothing to be happening. Frank keeps thinking there’s something he should be busy doing - except there isn’t.

Matt asked him to sort out getting the explosives, and he got it done in no time. Now his only job is to rest and heal. He does end up going to the doctor, because he has to take sick leave from work - it’s been too long and he’s likely to get sacked at this rate, but he cites a car accident for the injuries, lies through his teeth and leaves with stronger prescription painkillers.

Other than that… it’s a lonely day.

He sleeps a lot, still over at Matt’s apartment. Takes Pi for a slow and rather painful walk around the block. Can’t stop wondering what the other three are up to - what conversations they’re having. If things feel different at work, after everything.

Karen texts him throughout the day - little messages that make him smile, heartened (and though he’ll never admit it, relieved) that she’s thinking of him.

Hope you’re feeling better today! <3

Still tracking down Cerberus, I think I’ve got a lead - I’ll tell you tonight!

Wish you were here, it’s more fun working together :(

How’s everything going?

It makes him feel included - because, truth be told, some part of himself has felt a little - unsettled. A little uncertain, still, of how he fits into all this. And maybe, if he’s honest, a little too vulnerable. Because it’s not like they’re just a bunch of separate pairs. Karen, Matt and Foggy? That’s a threesome. (He refuses to ever use the word throuple).

If he closes his eyes he can picture them all, smiling, laughing, touching, without him.

It’s a weird flavour of jealousy that’s not specifically targeted at anyone. Like, Foggy would be the obvious target, right? Seein’ as he’s the only one Frank’s not technically with, the stand-in for what he desires now; Karen’s warm hands, Matt’s shy smile. But strangely, Frank’s not jealous, not of him, not of the others’ attention.

More like-

More like he just wants to feel like he knows, comfortably, where he fits among all of them. Not that he particularly cares what Foggy thinks of him, but… Matt values his opinion highly, and Karen chose him first of all of them, so. It’s hard to put into words, but suffice to say he feels conflicted and pretty fucking unsettled.

Matt calls him some time after lunch.

“You doing okay?” is the first thing he asks.

“You guys keep asking me that,” Frank says, “I’m fine, I’m healing, how are you?”

There’s the sort of pause that makes Frank picture him breathing deep, licking his lips, working himself up to admit.

“Good,” Matt says finally. It ain’t a lie. “Things are - good today. They’re going well.”

“I’m glad,” Frank replies. His voice comes out kind of flat. There’s an awkward pause.

“We’re all going to Foggy’s later,” Matt says quietly, “To… to figure this out more. He can pick you up.”

“Sure,” Frank says, and when they hang up he pauses for a long moment, head resting in his hands. It’s not like him to feel nervous, but yesterday still kind of feels like it’s hanging unfinished.

Things might be good, but they sure as hell aren’t on sure footing yet.

Sitting in the car with Foggy, he thinks back suddenly to the last time they drove together. He remembers thinking Nelson sure was worked up - now, he realises, almost amused, it’s because Foggy knew about him and Matt.

It’s kind of excruciating for Frank as well, because to be honest, he doesn’t know what to say to the other man. Between everyone else, every other pair, things are clear cut. They want each other. Him and Foggy, though? Kinda weird to be dating the same people.

Foggy’s staring straight ahead, fingers drumming nervously against the wheel. Frank takes pity and breaks the silence first.

“You really okay with all this?” he asks.

Foggy glances at him and gives a quick, nervous smile.

“To be honest? I still need to figure it out. That’s… that’s why we’re all meeting up again today. Better to make sure things can work out early on instead of weeks in.”

“That seems logical,” Frank replies.

Foggy’s shoulders slump and he glances at Frank almost warmly. Like a we’re in the same boat sorta look. A the boat is getting very turbulent sort of look. A do you have a lifejacket because I sure don’t look.

“What do you want out of all this, Castle?” he asks - sounding pretty damn nervous, like a lot demands on the answer.

Well, shit. Frank can hardly escape this conversation when he was the one who went and got personal in the first place. And he… he usually wouldn’t-

But things are different now.

He swallows. It’s somehow - harder than he expected to talk about. He thought he was getting better at this, but it’s one thing with Curtis who’s known him from the start. It’s one thing with Red who’s lost just as much as he has.

But somehow - he trusts Foggy. Doesn’t know how or why or when it started, but he does.

“When you lose everything,” he says, “It feels… feels like you’ll never have anything again. I didn’t think I’d ever be anything other than the Punisher. Half hoped I’d die tryin’ so I didn’t have to face the emptiness. But now I… I think I’m ready to move on. Start something new so I don’t end up stuck. Try to figure out who I want to be after everything I used to have got torn away.”

Foggy nods. His eyes are soft and understanding. It feels like a weight’s lifted away from Frank’s shoulders; the tension in the car eases a little.

“I know I… I didn’t exactly jump for joy when I found out about you and Matt,” he admits. “But I think you’re good for each other. You’re in the same boat. Kinda.”

“Kinda,” Frank agrees.

Foggy opens his mouth, shuts it, then forces the next words out in a rush.

“He… he’s really not okay, is he? You know about it, right?”

Frank bites his lip, glances at him sidelong. How much does he know? It ain’t his place to give away Matt’s secrets; at the same time, he can tell how much it’s tearing Foggy up inside not knowing.

“It’s bad,” Foggy continues. “Isn’t it? I think he was underplaying it when he told me.”

“It’s not good,” Frank says, and that seems to tell Foggy everything he needs to know. His lips twist.

“I’m scared for him.” His knuckles turn white where they’re gripping the wheel. “I… he bottles these things up. It’s not healthy. I was trying to figure out someone he might be able to talk to. His priest used to help, but he got killed in front of him.”

“Jesus,” Frank manages.

“His mother, maybe, but - things are kind of weird there. Or… you know the Defenders? Luke Cage and all that? Back when that whole Midland thing went down.”

“Saw it on the news,” Frank says, singularly unimpressed.

“Danny Rand might know someone,” Foggy says, “But I don’t think Matt got in touch with them after he came back. They’re probably pretty pissed he never told them he was alive.”

“Why would he?” is Frank’s rather blase response to that. “They weren’t friends.”

“Yeah, but they worked together.”

“Once.”

“Still! They were like the Avengers of Hell’s Kitchen!”

“For about five minutes,” Frank points out, “Then they broke up again because Matt died-”

He breaks off at the look on Foggy’s face. At the words that rattle around in his head. I knew I wasn’t getting out of Midland. God, this whole situation’s pretty fuckin’ grim. “Also, The Avengers of Hell’s Kitchen probably sounds badass in your head but you realise Hell’s Kitchen is like, the tiniest, grottiest shithole part of NYC-”

“It’s not the tiniest,” Foggy argues. “Can you not. This is my home suburb. Matt’s too.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He raises his hands. “You guys are doing good work here. Sure, talk to Rand. That’s a good idea.”

There’s a pause. He can see Foggy’s brows creasing, his mind racing a mile a minute. After a moment he casts Frank a little sidelong glance.

“He barely talked to me about it,” he says, voice soft and vulnerable. “He told me some but I know this was brewing for ages. How… how bad is it?

Given the choice, Frank would rather like to leap out of the moving car to avoid this conversation. There is no easy way to tell someone their best friend tried to kill themselves. He’s not… he’s no Curtis, he doesn’t know the right words to say. Doesn’t know if he should say anything. These situations need a soft touch and if he doesn’t do it right he’s gonna break something.

“He lost a lot of people in a short span of time,” he replies carefully. “He had to take down Fisk, again. He feels like he failed the city. It’s bad. It’s pretty damn bad.”

Foggy swallows hard.

“Since about the time when you arrived,” he blurts out, “Until we took down Fisk, it was just… just this ongoing stream of trauma. Just shit after shit after shit.”

The words are coming out in a babbling rush. Like he’s wanted to say this for ages but had no one to direct it to. Sometimes, Frank thinks, it’s easier with someone you don’t know as well - to drag things out into the light you usually would refuse to so much as look at.

“And we weren’t together for a lot of it,” Foggy continues, a bit hysterically. “We weren’t working together. And knowing how… how he feels about me now - I don’t know. It feels different, thinking back on it. Feels worse, somehow. How distant we got… we weren’t even talking. Even before Midland, things like Elektra dying… I wasn’t there with him.”

“That’s not on you,” Frank says quietly. “Matt builds walls.”

“There’s a lot I wish I could go back and do over again.”

“I bet Matt feels the same way.” The whole conversation feels like an echo of last night. Jesus, these people need some serious work on their communication. “The past doesn’t matter now, Nelson. You can’t change it. Just let it help you work on the future.”

Foggy gives him a strange look that he can’t figure out, except that it makes him feel like a bug pinned under a microscope.

“What?” he demands.

“Nothing.” Foggy glances away, pulling into his apartment car park now. “Just - you’re not what I expected.”

“Neither are you,” Frank mutters. But it’s true - he hadn’t given Nelson much thought during the trial, but the more he sees him with the others - the more time they spend together…

He’s warm, and funny, and startlingly brave, and it surprises Frank how much he likes the other man. How much part of him wants Foggy to like him, too.

There’s a slightly awkward silence as they get out of the car and head up to the apartment.

Frank hasn’t been here before. It’s a nice place - clearly much more expensive that Karen or Matt’s apartments, and certainly leagues above any of his old safehouses or the little flat he rents now. Probably from back when Foggy was getting those big dollars working at some swanky law firm.

When they step into his apartment, Frank has to pause, the breath nearly crushed from his chest.

Karen and Matt are sitting together on the couch - leaning in close, murmuring to one another, both of them smiling. For once they look completely carefree and unburdened, and easy in each other’s company; his arm draped just over her shoulders, her hand on his knee.

It makes him feel bizarrely emotional - the two of them, there, together. Especially when they both look up and smile at him. God, he wants this. So much. Too much.

“I’ll make you a drink,” Foggy says, and marches into the kitchenette.

“Is this a date?” Frank calls after him, because might as well know upfront.

“Kinda?” Foggy replies, seeming relieved someone brought it up. Then, “Karen was being the worst this morning. She kept insisting we do an activity together. I was like, can’t we just hang out? Nope. Activity. And that activity apparently had to be strip poker.”

“Look,” Karen laughs, “I thought we could just get that part rolling. Break through the inhibitions or whatever.”

“Well, it’s a terrible idea,” Foggy shoots back, “Firstly, Matt can’t see the fucking cards, and secondly, he can tell when people are lying! So we can’t play poker, those are the two most important criteria!”

Frank has… found it kind of hard to wrap his head around Foggy-and-Karen as a thing, but seeing the two of them teasing each other, it’s like it all falls into place. Matt laughs, and Frank goes over and sits next to him. Maybe it’s weird, but he just gravitates towards the familiarity. At least with Red he knows how things work, knows they do work. Knows they fit together.

Karen leans across Matt and plants a kiss on Frank’s cheek. The smell of her perfume, the brush of her hair against his neck, makes heat rise to his face. She jumps up off the couch a second later.

“Let’s put on some music,” she declares.

A fantastic idea, in Frank’s opinion. Every time silence falls between them, the awkwardness rises.

“Since we might as well get business out of the way,” Matt says abruptly - Foggy groans, and Matt shoots him a glare - “Tomorrow night I’m going to start scoping out those tunnels. Once I have an idea of where the Hounds are operating I’ll pass the information on to the gangs I talked with the other night. And Karen’s got a lead on this Cerberus guy that we’re gonna follow up tomorrow afternoon.”

“Sounds good,” Frank says. “I’ll come with you. Don’t start,” he adds, when Matt opens his mouth to no doubt suggest something like rest and recover first. “I’m fine. I’ll take it slow.”

The music starts up, the week’s most popular hits on the radio. Foggy walks back over and passes Frank a glass.

“Matt?” he offers, but Matt shakes his head.

“Going on patrol later. Thanks though.”

Foggy sits on the arm chair. Karen comes back over and perches on the arm rest next to him; his hand drapes easily over her leg. Frank leans against Matt’s side and turns towards him. He’s not wearing his glasses, but his eyes are shut. He wonders suddenly what the other man can hear, can sense between the four of them. Things feel easy, pressed up against him like this. Easy and warm. But Karen and Foggy are sitting on the opposite side of the room to them, two separate pairs.

That isn’t what tonight is about.

He looks over and meets Karen’s eyes. She smiles back at him, then jumps up and holds out a hand.

“Let’s dance,” she suggests.

He glances at Foggy, but he just grins, and Frank gets up, feeling quite self conscious as Karen grabs his hand and drags him to the side of the room. It’s a slow song and she clutches him tight as they shuffle back and forth. He doesn’t think he’s danced since his wedding; he’s not big on it. Two left feet unless he’s in a fight.

Still - his hand settles easily on Karen’s hip, holding her close. He wants this all too much.

They sway back and forth, moving to the music. He’s too aware of Foggy’s gaze on them. Of Karen’s blue, blue eyes boring into his, of her small waist under his hands, her pulse throbbing under his thumb where he’s clutching her hand.

They pivot, turn. He’s at a good angle to see the others. Foggy has moved over and taken the spot where Frank was before, by Matt’s side. He has an arm around the other man’s shoulders, their heads bent close.

Frank nearly steps on Karen’s foot. She squeezes his hand.

“Follow,” she whispers, and he lets her take the lead. Let’s her shift her grip so their fingers are tangled together, and lean in to rest her forehead against his. He drinks in her warmth, the smell of her shampoo, her soft hand over his-

Over on the couch, Foggy is murmuring something in Matt’s ear. Frank’s eyes keep dragging back towards them. Foggy ducks his head, mouths at Matt’s jaw - it makes him tilt his head back, baring the long line of his throat. Makes a hot flash like jealousy stab through Frank’s gut.

Well, this isn’t good.

This is kind of stupid, actually, since he’s literally dancing with Foggy’s girlfriend right now. But it just - feels like something still isn’t quite sitting right, especially when Foggy looks up and catches him staring and their eyes meet really fucking awkwardly.

“Frank,” Karen whispers, and her hand is on his cheek. She turns his head back towards her. There’s something nervous in her eyes, and on impulse Frank leans in and presses their lips together.

It’s everything he wanted.

He’s spent far too long imagining this moment. And it’s - perfect, to be honest. The way she gasps a little against his mouth, and then grips the back of his neck and tugs him in, her fingers curling in his hair, her body pressed soft and warm to his-

Is it kind of fucked up that he hopes Foggy’s watching?

It is, especially because he… he likes the other man, he’s got nothing against him. Just. He’s too aware that they’re not alone-

Karen’s lips work against his; he stumbles forward, pulling her with him, and her hands trail down his back, and-

He gets a sudden panicked flash, a jolt like someone’s grabbed his heart and is squeezing it nearly hard enough to burst.

With Matt, it’s different. Matt is rough edges and stubble and scars. Matt doesn’t make Frank think of Maria.

He starts to pull back - but Karen grips his face again, and he meets her eyes - soft, concerned, so fucking blue - her warm hands settle him and he takes a deep breath, and pushes Maria from his mind. This is not her. This is-

This is something else, something new-

This is something he is allowed. He shouldn’t feel guilty. He lets Karen take the lead, lets her push him against the wall and grip his hair and kiss him until he’s flushed and breathless, and for a moment, he can lose himself.

They finally break apart. Karen slumps against him and starts laughing and he can’t help the way he breaks into a grin as well.

“Okay?” Karen asks, and he nods.

They turn towards the others. They’re making out on the couch, Matt’s shirt clutched in Foggy’s fists. As they watch, the two of them pull apart, and Karen crosses the room towards them.

“My turn,” she says - she reaches out and draws Matt up into her arms. The sight of them together - her arms curled around his neck, long and elegant like a swan’s neck, his hands on her back pulling her as close to him as possible - make Frank’s mouth suddenly dry with want, make heat rise in his gut. He clenches his fists.

Foggy, next to him, is staring too. After a second they look at each other and - and dear God is it the most fucking awkward position Frank’s ever been in. They’re just sort of staring at each other like stunned mullets. Like hey, they’re making out, good times. And here we are. Watching. What the fuck.

After a second Frank shakes himself. They’re all meant to be doing this, right? So he walks up to them and puts a hand on Matt’s shoulder and when the two of them pull apart, he reaches up and grips Matt’s jaw and drags his head around to kiss him, too. Matt makes a muffled sound that might be his name. Frank feels Karen reach up and run her fingers down his spine, and pushes back a shudder-

And then leans in to kiss her, too, and the thought that a second later it was Matt’s lips on hers sends a bolt of desire through him like a bullet-

Except when they pull apart, he sees Foggy standing there - alone, and watching them, and thoroughly awkward.

“Foggy,” Karen breathes, noticing as well, and walks over to grab him then-

Which leaves Matt and Frank standing there next to each other. It’s like the world’s weirdest, most confusing game of pass the parcel.

Matt seems a bit dazed, gaze fixed vacantly at the wall, breathing fast. Frank grips the back of his neck, steadies him.

“You okay?” he asks.

Matt’s lips twitch.

“This is getting head-spinningly complicated,” he admits.

“What, need me to draw you a diagram?”

Matt snorts.

“It’d just be a tangled mess. Also, I wouldn’t be able to see it.”

Frank opens his mouth to reply but before he can say anything, Foggy - Karen’s arms around his waist and her mouth on his neck - suddenly reaches an arm out towards them.

“C’mere, Matty,” he says, and a second later Frank’s the one standing there on his own, watching them.

Yeah, okay, it kind of sucks.

He doesn’t really know what to do with his hands. And doesn’t like that he does feel left out, feels a bit upset watching the three of them - especially because, despite this being the first time they’re trying this, they already seem to have it down pat. A seamless push and pull, moving between one another fluid as water. Karen’s kissing Matt; Foggy’s pressed up against his back. Then Matt’s turning to kiss him while Karen runs a hand through Foggy’s hair. The sort of wordless communication that must come with knowing each other so well that it’s almost second nature. Between the three of them, he knows, there’s no jealousy. Between the three of them…

Well, Frank ain’t ever been one not to take what he wants. How long’s an appropriate amount of time to let them do their thing? Sixty seconds? He pushes his way back in, except that in turn pushes Foggy out, except apparently he’s not about to stand for that either because Frank’s barely gotten hold of Karen than Foggy is wrapping his arms around her waist to reel her close to him instead.

They all end up in what can only be described as a tangle, which coincides with about when the music stops and the radio goes to an ad break. There’s a very uncomfortable pause.

“Time out,” Foggy says, “This needs…”

“Practice,” Karen contributes, very optimistically.

“Needs a fucking queue is what,” Frank mutters. “Needs one of those little machines they use at the deli where you get a number and wait your turn.”

“I know you’re joking,” Foggy says, “But my family literally owns a butcher’s shop, so if you think it’d help…”

Matt buries his face in Frank’s shoulder and starts shaking with silent yet distinctly hysterical laughter.

“Oh my God, we are not forming a queue,” Karen says, throwing her hands up. “You’re all ridiculous. Practice. That’s all we need. Give this time. We will be a well oiled machine.”

Frank thinks of several filthy jokes and bites all of them back.

“Let’s get dinner!” Karen decides, clapping her hands together.

She turns away, seemingly cheerful as ever, but Frank… Frank is feeling-

Feeling like he wants this, but also like he can see all the problems they’re gonna run into, like looming black storm clouds on the horizon. And one look at Foggy’s face makes it obvious that he sees them, too.