"Thought part of the mystery was fumbling for the zippers." Secret is, Frank likes it when Red's a bit more asshole than caring do-gooder. Maybe it's not a secret. Just keeps him on his feet, makes the ground feel a little more stable. He moves to the coffee maker without question or gripe. He watches Red slump onto the couch from the corner of his eye.

Red makes his own choices, as fraught by guilt or bleeding heart as they may be. Frank doesn't feel responsible.

"Truth? Dunno." He's got warning systems in place but he'll sleep a little lighter for the next few days. Water and grinds in, the pot starts its magic. Frank leans against the counter and pulls the velcro on his vest, taking a deep breath. Yeah, there're a few rounds in white paint that'll be bruises tomorrow and forgotten the day after. He exhales. "Most of those clowns got their heads up their asses but there are a few with their caps screwed on straight enough to be bad news." He doesn't want to relocate, but he will if necessary. Packing up wouldn't be hard.