The smell of pennies and gunpowder follows Frank when he walks in through the patio door. Matt doesn't lift his head; he knows who's coming and had him clocked a block out so there's not much of an element of surprise. "Of course I did, dear. Supper is on the table," he drawls with a short laugh.

Really, it's just the first aid kit but that's the joke. Not that he's feeling terribly funny. Stripped down to his underwear and standing in the living room, he feels over his ribs with his fingertips while Frank closes distance. "I'd put it back on but you can never really figure out how to effectively take it off." He winces when he finds the right place and sighs before going to the freezer to retrieve an ice pack. Two, actually. One for his ribs and one for his head. "Can you put coffee on? I'm going to go crumple on my new couch for a few minutes." Frank's a big boy and when he's not actively bleeding all over the place, he doesn't need Matt to tend to his wounds, nor does he expect anything in kind.

"Awfully close to your little fallout shelter. Do you think they knew or just got lucky?" he asks from the sofa where he spreads his legs across it to stretch out with an ice pack on his ribs and on his forehead.