bang.

When he woke Matt could immediately hear the steady thump-thump of Frank's heart. It was strong and, in a way, reassuring. There was little sign of the strain it had been under several hours previously and something akin to relief washed through Matt's body. 

The warmth radiating through the half-open curtains told him it was at the height of the day - probably as late as one o'clock - meaning he'd been sleeping for more than just an hour, but the ache in his joints and the steady pressure behind his eyes spoke volumes of how tired he still was. He rose groggily, throwing back his covers and stumbling into the bathroom with almost no grace. After he'd relieved himself and cleaned up, he walked out into the living room. Matt found he was itching to check the stitches for any sign of infection, irritation or tearing, even though he couldn't smell the fresh blood that would indicate something had happened during his nap. It might have been driven, in part, by the desire to run his hands over his Soulmate's body - everyone knew touch was a big part of establishing and reaffirming the bond between a pair...not to mention it gave him a way to map out the features of the man before him. It would be nice to have some sort of image in his mind other than the blurred, fiery visage that his heightened senses gave him. 

Frank was breathing out steadily, body grateful for the reprieve as his cells knitted together his skin and patched up the holes that had perforated him, but a soft, half-snort sounded as Matt gingerly inched his fingers over the first of the many wounds. The snuffing noise would have been inherently sweet were Matt not still so conflicted about having the man before him as his Soulmate. He hadn't lied when he'd told Frank that his other half had the capacity for good. Despite everything the man had done, he had seen The Punisher's goodness regardless of how desperately he tried to hide it, and it was for perhaps that reason that he was even more angry at their situation. His leg was still incredibly swollen and bloody, but the stitches were holding well. His wrist was much as it had been hours ago, although somehow Frank had dislodged the splint just enough that Matt had to carefully correct it. He had moved onto checking his shoulder when he felt Frank's breathing change and his muscles tense beneath him just enough to tell him he was awake. It was a moment before the Punisher's eyes opened but Matt didn't react, carefully moving, checking the wounds with a feather-light touch, even when eyes began to bore into the side of his head. His shoulder looked a little worse for wear, so Matt fumbled behind him for the antiseptic and rubbing alcohol, running his fingers down to check the braille before reaching for a pair of cotton pads. He soaked one through before returning it to Frank's shoulder, gently wiping away as much of the grime as he could and pressing on the stitches which were a little too wet with pus for Matt's liking. While the man beneath him made no sound, nor did he move, his heart picked up, thundering away in his chest as Matt worked. The lawyer wasn't exactly sure what to make of it - only that Frank seemed to just as affected, just as drawn to him, as Matt was to him; although the former marine was clearly perplexed as to why. When he was reasonably satisfied, he switched out to the dressing, re-taping it with automatic movements. His finger clearly pressed on a bruise before a low groan breathed out between Frank's lips. It could just have easily been made while sleeping though so Matt didn't react, instead speaking almost to himself.

"Easy Castle," he muttered softly, "you're alright." There was a long steadying breath before his inhales and exhales became more regular. "There you go," Matt murmured. "It's all fine," he whispered, hand smoothing over the injured skin with tenderness. The longer they were together, the more difficult it was to ignore the growing demand in his chest to be with his other half. It would only get worse, he knew. Proximity and touch were the two more important things for mated pairs.

It took a moment but eventually he pulled himself away, standing and groaning slightly at the creaks in his shoulders and knees, before picking up the dirty pads and moving into the kitchen to toss them into the bin. Frank's eyes followed him as he moved, but still Matt didn't react. The gaze may have been unwavering and bordering on unblinking, but if there was any doubt in Castle's mind about his other identity, Matt wasn't going to be the one to encourage the thoughts. Instead he began pulling what little food he had out of the fridge and cupboards, fixing up a couple of sandwiches to stave off the sudden ravenous hunger that was gnawing at his stomach as well as making a spare because there were the beginnings of hunger stirring in Frank too. Matt was quiet, he knew, but the clatter of cutlery felt loud nevertheless. He had taken all but three bites before his phone rang, breaking the tentative peace. 

"Foggy. Foggy. Foggy." It shouted and Matt stumbled over, answering it quickly, as though worried about waking Frank, but also because Foggy calling him couldn't have been good. 

"Foggy?" he asked, voice tentative.

"Matt!" Foggy exclaimed, voice layered with both relief and anger. "What the hell are you thinking?" Ah, shit, he thought, Karen had told him. 

"Foggy," he tried. 

"No, Matt," the man barked in reply, "this guy shot you in the head," he hissed, quietly enough to assure Matt that even if Frank had been hovering over his shoulder, he wouldn't have heard the comment. 

"Look Foggy, I know, alright? It's not exactly my ideal day either," he exhaled, exhausted of the conversation already. "But what was I going to do? Leave him bleeding in the hallway?"

"Yes Matt," Foggy cussed, "he's a psychopath!" A pause. "I don't care what Karen thinks she knows, but leaving the Punisher in your apartment is asking for trouble!"

"Karen's just trying to help, Fog," Matt placated. 

"When he finds out your Daredevil, he's going to put a bullet in your head!"

Matt snorted. "Again," he muttered, unable to help himself.

"God damn it Matt," the lawyer shouted, voice really rising now, "this isn't funny! He's deranged!"

"Foggy, Foggy, come on? I know, alright? I know how dangerous this is. I know Castle could shoot me or snap my neck or whatever. Okay, I know. But he's still a person Fog. He's still a person," he insisted, suddenly becoming acutely aware of Frank's gaze once more. He'd almost forgotten the man was awake, actually. "And everyone deserves a chance to -"

"If you say redeem themselves, so help me Matt, I'll shoot you," he snapped. "Just call the police, let them handle it."

"You know I can't do that Foggy," Matt replied, voice turning just a touch colder than he wanted it to. They'd already had this conversation - admittedly it had gone as well as he expected it to - and he didn't want a replay. 

"Yes you can. Come on, Matt. You don't have to do this." There was a long silence, once where Matt found himself turning, staring at the space Frank occupied and aware that he was no doubt meeting the man's gaze. "I'll call them then," Foggy eventually muttered. 

"No," Matt hissed. "Don't," he smirked cynically then, smile feeling icy on his features. "Besides," he added, voice chilled, "do you really want to send police to my apartment, Fog?"

A long, heavy pause settled around them. 

"I sure hope you've got some god damn clue as to what you're doing Matt," Foggy snarled, "because I'm not going to drag you over any more rooftops or fish you out of dumpsters when you're half dead, alright?" 

Then he hung up.

"Shit," Matt swore, anger swelling inside him. He wanted to be out on the streets, suddenly, forcing his fist into bones and flesh, feeling them break and veins burst beneath his hands. One bad day away from being Frank indeed, he thought. 

"You alright Murdock...?" Frank's voice startled him and he jumped just a little, not prepared for the sound. 

The man took a steadying breath in. "How much of that did you hear?" he finally asked. 

A wry chuckle before: "Not much." God damn liar, Matt thought. "But I heard enough to know you think I'm going to hurt ya." There was an undercurrent of concern lacing Frank's tone - something he'd heard maybe once before, and made him feel fluttery in his own skin. 

"You do like to kill people," Matt replied wryly, dropping his phone onto the counter with a sigh. 

A half inhale, surprised but also worried too. "I don't go 'round killin' just anyone, Murdock," he retorted. "Especially not pretty lawyers who patch me up after a gunfight."

Pretty lawyers. Pretty lawyers. Pretty lawyers. Fuck, this man messed with his head. 

"Don't get used to it," he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. 

Frank huffed out a laugh. "Wasn't going to," he replied before sobering, "but I mean it. Ya ain't in no danger from me, Blue Eyes."

Something weird settled under his skin then as he became acutely aware of his lack of shades and just how intimate that made their conversation. But there was also the overwhelming sense of affection that bloomed too, because his Soulmate, his Soulmate, had just looked at his unseeing eyes and named their colour. He'd looked past the milky white and seen, and he'd addressed it so casually, with no hint of disgust (that he had often heard from Electra) or pity (that sometimes Karen projected) or even unease (which Foggy had struggled with from time to time). No, Frank just saw eyes and that warmed him a little. It seemed he was right: there was something kind beneath the Punisher, like he thought.

"Uh, thanks," Matt eventually managed, throat a little closed. Frank shifted on the settee, breath shifting slightly and Matt sensed a vein of discomfort. "You uh, need the bathroom or anything?" he guessed.

Frank hesitated. "Yeah, actually," he finally muttered, trying to sit up but hissing just a little. Matt hurried over, hands helping to ease him up slowly. "If you don't mind, Blue."

Blue? "Uh, no," the lawyer replied, offering a hand and letting the Punisher sink most of his weight into him. His hand wrapped around the ex-marine's waist to steady him but the man's heart rate jumped as though electrocuted. "It's just through there," he mumbled, helping walk Frank through to the bathroom, keeping a careful focus on his injuries to ensure he wasn't pulling anything. They hesitated when they got there though because it was clear Frank could barely stand on his own but was reluctant to just start taking a piss. Matt almost smiled. "I promise I won't peak," he said, smiling properly when Frank snorted loudly at the words. He did turn his back though, giving some semblance of privacy, before assisting him to the sink and then finally back to the couch. 

"Thanks Blue," he muttered as he resettled, leg coming up to rest on the arm of the couch. 

"Blue?" Matt finally said aloud. What was it with Frank and naming him with colours...? 

"Blue Eyes, Blue," he clarified, but offered nothing further. Matt shrugged, just rolling with it, before offering him a sandwich and settling on the floor to eat his own. 

"You always been blind?" Frank asked after a few moments. 

Huh. "No," the man replied, curious as to the sudden change in thought process. "I lost my sight when I was nine."

"That must be tough. Ya know. Seeing colours and everything, then not seeing them."

"Yes, and no. I miss it sometimes, but I've been blind for longer than I've not been blind. This is more normal than colour would be."

"Uh huh." Another pause and the sound of chewing. "Only child?"

"Yep," Matt hesitated, "you?"

Frank huffed out a laugh. "Only one, yeah."

"Any family?" 

The mood darkened. "Not anymore Blue," he replied. There was loss there. 

Part of Matt wanted to say he was sorry, to take it back, but part of him knew that wouldn't be appreciated. "It that why?"

Frank looked up, surprised. "Why...?"

"Why you're the Punisher?"

"In part," he confessed. "Ain't nothin' a man won't do to get revenge when he's held his baby girl in his arms as she bleeds out."

"Shit," Matt whispered before he could stop himself. Frank managed a laugh, but it was cold and haunting. 

"I know, right?"

"All of them, at once?" Matt risked the question, but he already knew the answer. Frank seemed like the kind of person that would rally around to protect the rest of his family rather than spiral into a killing spree. 

"Wife and two kids," he nodded, "shoot out with some gang-fucks trying to make a deal. I don't know."

Suddenly a lot of things came into focus. "The Irish, the Mexican Cartel -"

"And the Dogs of Hell," Frank finished for him, half a smile on his face.

Matt crossed himself, almost automatically, his mind tumbling as he reconciled the Punisher with Frank Castle. Frank's laughter kept his attention though. "You religious, Blue?"

"Catholic," Matt replied. 

Frank chuckled. "Seems everyone in this town's Catholic," he snorted, and Matt knew exactly who he was thinking of. "I ain't sure I wanna believe in Him anymore, ya know? Seems like he turned His back on me a long time ago..." There was a pause. "She wasn't my Soulmate, my wife," he continued, almost as though he were talking to himself. "She should have been. I loved her so much, Blue, it was like burning up, and the kids, hell they were perfect. I can't say how perfect they were. I never thought they were in danger here? I mean me? Iraq, Afghanistan, getting shot at in the middle of the fucking desert, that was where the danger was... But havin' a picnic in the park? How'd ya square that?"

"You can't," Matt breathed, heart breaking at the words his Soulmate was saying. 

"Damn right ya can't. Ain't nothin' but goodness supposed to be home, but fuck, just mindin' our own business..." he trailed off. "Took a bullet the head, too," he said, pointing, as though unaware Matt was blind, "and I thought thank fuck because I'd be goin' with them. Then I wake up. I. Wake. Up. Can't even die right, Blue," he laughs again, words becoming almost rambling as he kept talking and talking. Part of Matt was stunned that Frank was willingly sharing his past, but in a way it made sense. Who else would the man feel most comfortable with than his other half? Not to mention he'd no doubt been carrying the story on his shoulders like a oppressive weight. He was probably desperate to talk about it. Desperate to vent, to yell, to cry - and Matt was probably the first person who was listening. "And then I'm this," Frank continued, something bitter in his tone, "I'm 'The Punisher'," he heaved in a heavy breath. "And then that punk-ass fool in red-fucking-pyjamas says my fucking words." 

Matt froze, stunned, because he hadn't expected Frank to talk about that. To talk about him. To admit to being so intrinsically bound to him. And to do so with such casual venom.  

"The Devil of Hell's Kitchen," Frank mocked, voice cruel and snide. "You know him, right?" Matt nods dumbly, not trusting his voice. "He said my words. I must'a said his. Don't even remember what I said. But he says 'em and suddenly I've got this punk-ass, trying to teach me morals, telling me I'm wrong, as my Soulmate." He paused, breathing heavily now. "And ya know what hurts the most, Blue? Is that this shit, all this Soulmate bullshit, is crazy fickle, right? Only one possible future, isn't that what they say? So I'm in this one possible future." Another pause, voice dropping to almost dangerous. "So my kids had to die for me to meet this fuckin' Daredevil," he spits the word. "What kinda Soulmate is that, eh Blue? What kinda Soulmate must he be? I mean, how'd ya square that? How'd ya square the universe telling me this guy is worth the lives of my wife and kids?"

The vigilante swallowed heavily. "You don't," he breathed. 

"That's right," Frank snarled, "you don't. I mean, I was raised right. I was raised that ya Soulmate is the one, I know. And what yours did to you was a fucking disgrace, Blue, cos your a good guy. Fuck knows whats wrong with him. But how the fuck am I supposed to think about Daredevil as anything other than the reason my kids are six feet under...?"

Oh. God. Matt's heart was racing and there were tears in the back of his throat. "I don't think you can," he croaked. 

"I know," Frank muttered, calming just a little, "I won't ever think anythin' else, really." He paused, drawing in a long, steadying breath. "I mean, how can the big-guy upstairs justify that? He abandoned me, Blue, an' why the fuck should I not abandon him right back?"  

"Hope?" Matt whispered, voice cracking. 

"Fuck hope, Murdock," he snorted, shaking his head, ranting now. "Ain't got no time for hope. I mean, what have I got to be hopeful for? Some lunatic runnin' 'round like a kid on Halloween? Nah. Ain't nothin' hopeful 'bout the Devil. Don't ya think?"

Matt inhaled. "I'm a lawyer," he eventually replied, trying desperately to stay calm, "and I have to see the innocence, the goodness, in people until they're found guilty."

"That's a fuckin' cop-out, Blue, an' you know it. You're a good guy; you patched me up, defended me to ya pal and ya ain't treated me with anythin' other than respect, so don't disrespect me now?" There was a pause. "Are ya really tellin' me tha' Daredevil is worth my Maria, my baby girl Lisa and my boy Frankie? Ya tellin' me that he's worth bein' hopeful in the face of all this shit?"

And wasn't that the question? Matt felt an ache in his chest that burned at the words his other half had spat towards him. And then he actually thought about what his Soulmate was asking. Matt Murdock was a broke lawyer. He was a blind, broke lawyer. He had two friends, a hand full of acquaintances but otherwise no real ties in his life. He broke rule after rule in his religion, desperate to hear Father Lantom tell him what he was doing was good. That God wanted him to help the people of Hell's Kitchen. He couldn't deal with loud noises or smells because they overwhelmed him if he didn't tune them out in time, and his peculiarities stretched into touch as well. This particular type of sheets, or towels, because the feeling on his skin was like sandpaper if it was wrong. And as for Daredevil? He was a vigilante. He got beaten half-way to shit every other night and sliced up on the days in between. He was a disappointment to Frank already, because he wouldn't kill, and had more more enemies in the criminal underworld than Frank had. 

Was he worth it?  Really?

"No, Frank," Matt whispered with a trembling voice, his decision made. "No, he's definitely not."