"Good morning, sweetheart," he greets in return as he makes an immediate line for the coffee. He pours himself a cup and then goes to retrieve the bottle of tylenol that's still out and dumps four pills into his hand. He washes them down with a sip and tilts his head to the sound of the reporter on the television.
He faintly smiles at Frank's assessment because he's right, of course. It sounds bad to say that the Punisher is not only out in the world but that he's winning against the task force. Naming him would only spark a response that the mayor's office doesn't want. He doesn't linger on the fact that of the over twenty cops, Frank killed eleven of them. Maybe if he hadn't been there, it would have been all of them but he's started to learn that the time and place for discussions of morality is 'not here' and 'never' with Frank.
"Sad you didn't get any credit for your fine work?" he asks before taking another sip.
"Might be comin' around to the long-game," Frank mutters, pushing himself up to make his own way to the coffee pot. Is he sad? Sad wouldn't be the word he'd use, but it's not credit with the public he wants. The shitbags he wants to know, know. "Last thing I need right now is another man hunt." Better for the general focus to be obscured in whatever way; it gives him space to work. He fills a coffee mug as the anchor drones on behind him.
"...allegedly reported to have been working with another vigilante at the time. In a statement, Connor Powell of the AVTF warned the public..."
He wishes that it could go a different way but he doesn't argue about it. He's too tired, too sore and not awake enough to explore the moral quandary that is Frank Castle. "At least not a public one." The cops are going to be looking for him but that's not a new development.
Matt quietly scoffs over the brim of his mug. "Sounds like they've put it together that we're working together again." And that's what this is, isn't it? Going their separate ways now would be stupid because they've pulled each other out of the proverbial fire a few times now and splitting up when the task force is gunning for them would be foolish. "Though this makes it sound like I'm your sidekick," he faintly smiles.
So all Frank has to do to shut up about moral quandries is to get him tired, sore, and half-asleep? Noted.
"What, y'don't think any of these chuckleheads believe that you and Jones are out there together shootin' up the streets?" Rhetorical question. Frank takes a sip of his coffee and leans against the counter. "Don't know, Red. I'm not really into that sorta thing but I can't say you wouldn't look good with a little collar and leash get-up."
"I can't speak for her but I think where I stand on that sort of thing has been obvious," he answers with a shrug. He rolls his head and shoulders, trying to work out a knot that has been bothering him since he woke up.
That sparks a half smile, even as he tries to get comfortable with just the idea of standing upright. "Don't threaten me with a good time, Frank," he grins as he goes to grab his phone from where he left it on the kitchen island. He really shouldn't go to work like this, he knows, and maybe for once in his life, he's going to do the smart thing and give himself a day to rest. The concussion is really the factor; his head aches and there's just enough minor spin to make him think he should rest it. "Gotta make a call," he says before taking the phone to the bedroom so he can call Kirsten and tell her that he's sick and won't be coming in.
Frank chuckles as Red heads off, fills his spot at the counter again. With the TV still on he's not capable of eavesdropping but the truth is that whatever Red's saying doesn't matter to him; he's got more pressing issues. He checks the triggers on his bunker, the few contacts with scratch enough to follow the cop gossip. Can't trust em further than he could toss their asses, but it helps paint a picture.
Task Force hasn't found his place yet, but they're on the scent. Building back up his stash will take time and effort and space that Fisk's goons aren't gonna give him: he needs to get into his place and clear out.
Kirsten is worried again, because of course she is. He's fine, he tells her. Just needs a day to get over a head cold. It's...not a great lie. Most of his aren't. He doesn't think that much of the night before reads on his face because it doesn't feel too tender anywhere, even where he has a cut on the inside of his mouth, but he might need to ask Frank about that later. He finishes the call and comes back out to the kitchen.
"Called in sick to work," he explains, giving his phone a shake in his hand before setting it down. "When it was me and Foggy, at least I didn't have to come up with a creative lie after he found out." He doesn't have that relationship with Kirsten yet. He doubts he ever will. "Anything else come across the news?" he asks. He wasn't listening to anything except the worry in his partner's voice.
"Aw, McDuffie worried?" There's no heat in it, Frank's still focused on his own phone. "You should tell her you're in a fight club for blind guys." He looks up, glances back at the still droning TV.
"Nah. They're just releasin' enough to make the city feel like they're the good guys. Fisk's media team must be running on fumes for all the smoke they're blowing." He considers his coffee, takes another drink. "I got clean up to do. Far as I can tell the AVTF's still just sniffin' but eventually they'll find the right scent. Before they do I gotta get back to mine, pack up, find somewhere new."
"Yeah, a bit. I should probably come up with a better lie. How's my face? Any visible bruising?" he asks. It's hard to tell sometimes so he'll just have to rely on the guy with actual sight to tell him.
Matt faintly smiles in response. Yeah, he's sure that the mayor's office is churning out plenty of press about it and that of course they would find some way to spin it that their task force is doing the right thing. It's bullshit and Matt does feel like a lot of the city knows it but they just can't do anything about it. "I'm going to regret this but there's space in the storage locker if you need it. I'm not sure what fallout shelters go for in the city or how easy they are to find but, you know. If you need it for your gear."
Frank hears the offers, but he ignores it for now. Red's question lets him delay pulling that particular trigger. He turns to Red and looks, then pushes himself out of his seat and steps forward.
Knuckles bump Red's chin. Frank lets himself look over the face in front of him. "This--" He touches a cheek, probably matching the cut Red says he has inside his mouth. Already yellow, his fingers follow an almost a straight line that speaks of teeth impact. "Faint. Don't shave, you'll be fine."
His hand drops. "That why you called out? Or your head still ringin'?"
He stays still while Frank examines him and he draws in an annoyed breath when he finds out that his face carries the history of the night. The mask and helmet do a lot to protect against the worst of damage but he still sometimes carries the hints of what he really does with his life.
“I can lie about a bruise. My head is still a mess. My equilibrium is kind of off so I should probably take the day to shake it off.” He notices the way that Frank doesn’t address his other offer but he knows better than to push the matter.
It's when Frank lists Red's injuries in the back of his head that he realizes that he's accepted the man as a personal asset - with all the implicit trust and potential dependencies that come along with such a thing. "Yeah. You rest up."
He turns away, finds his coffee and finishes it in two long swallows. "I'll keep you in the loop." It's an offer he doesn't need to make, but he knows that this shit with the task force starts with Fisk and that's Red's fight too; this isn't Frank dragging Red in by association. They've both got a stake in what's to come.
Matt cares and he makes no secret about that with Frank. Why should he try to hide something that’s obvious? He wears bloody good intentions on his sleeve along with the scars that come with that kind of caring. It costs. It always does. He knows that Frank doesn’t carry the same amount of feelings of responsibility and whatever else he calls this and that’s fine.
“So what are you going to do while I rest?” He has some amount of trepidation about that question and what Frank might or might not do but he’s a big boy. He doesn’t actually need Matt’s help or even his offer of a kind of safe space in his apartment and in his life.
But he also didn't leave before Red got up. Frank's actions have always spoken for him; he's never had need for a bunch of fancy words like Red is so fond of throwing around in front of a jury.
Frank washes his mug. "Told you. I'm gonna clean out." It's put in the draining board and Frank puts his hands on the counter edge, hangs his head for a moment. Exhales. "Wipe it down, all of it. No tracks. Nothing they can use but maybe I'll leave somethin' that'll send them in a direction of my choosing." Something that would point them far away from the place both of them are standing right now. He stands, cracks his neck. "There are a few guys I can shake down for information."
It matters that Frank stayed. Even if it was just practicality and Matt reminds himself of that easily enough. He and Frank collide when it works and often when it doesn’t but it doesn’t mean that he doesn’t worry about what last night means. Being that close to Frank’s little bunker and the ambush they had to lay to deal with it all still lingers in his mind.
“Just be careful.” It’s not a necessary warning. Of course it isn’t. Frank knows what he has to do and right now Matt just needs to heal up or he won’t be any use to him. “I’ll leave the patio door unlocked if you need it.” It’s what passes as a real invitation between them.
Yeah, being able to walk in a door via the rooftop instead of crawl in a window via the rooftop. Almost goddamn romantic, Red, better watch yourself.
Frank claps Red on the shoulder as he passes him. In the bathroom he changes back into his own clothes, leaves the sweatpants folded on the seat of the toilet. He has work to do and he's never careless, even though that's not always the same on him as careful - but right now he's not trying to kick the hornet's nest. He zips his hoodie closed over flak vest.
"I'll see you soon, Red." Soon. Not later, not around. It's an answer to his question, if not a promise. A nine-mil is pulled from behind the back of a couch cushion, slide checked, made safe before Frank tucks it in the back of his waistband. Maybe the sound of it is another answer: last night was something more than practicality for Frank. He heads to the glass doors. "Stay outta that suit."
He would offer Frank a key and the door code if he thought that he would ever use it. That would put him directly in front of security cameras and the sort of things that the Punisher would actively try to avoid. The rooftop access and the patio is the most welcoming practical thing that he can offer in times like these.
He knew the gun was there. He can smell the powder and how it was freshly fired last night. If Frank sought to protect the apartment last night, it’s about as much of a sign of affection he thinks Castle is capable of outside of sex. “I’ll try.” He makes no promises and then Frank is gone. He takes another sip of coffee and decides he’s better off just going back to bed.
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He faintly smiles at Frank's assessment because he's right, of course. It sounds bad to say that the Punisher is not only out in the world but that he's winning against the task force. Naming him would only spark a response that the mayor's office doesn't want. He doesn't linger on the fact that of the over twenty cops, Frank killed eleven of them. Maybe if he hadn't been there, it would have been all of them but he's started to learn that the time and place for discussions of morality is 'not here' and 'never' with Frank.
"Sad you didn't get any credit for your fine work?" he asks before taking another sip.
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"...allegedly reported to have been working with another vigilante at the time. In a statement, Connor Powell of the AVTF warned the public..."
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Matt quietly scoffs over the brim of his mug. "Sounds like they've put it together that we're working together again." And that's what this is, isn't it? Going their separate ways now would be stupid because they've pulled each other out of the proverbial fire a few times now and splitting up when the task force is gunning for them would be foolish. "Though this makes it sound like I'm your sidekick," he faintly smiles.
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"What, y'don't think any of these chuckleheads believe that you and Jones are out there together shootin' up the streets?" Rhetorical question. Frank takes a sip of his coffee and leans against the counter. "Don't know, Red. I'm not really into that sorta thing but I can't say you wouldn't look good with a little collar and leash get-up."
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That sparks a half smile, even as he tries to get comfortable with just the idea of standing upright. "Don't threaten me with a good time, Frank," he grins as he goes to grab his phone from where he left it on the kitchen island. He really shouldn't go to work like this, he knows, and maybe for once in his life, he's going to do the smart thing and give himself a day to rest. The concussion is really the factor; his head aches and there's just enough minor spin to make him think he should rest it. "Gotta make a call," he says before taking the phone to the bedroom so he can call Kirsten and tell her that he's sick and won't be coming in.
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Task Force hasn't found his place yet, but they're on the scent. Building back up his stash will take time and effort and space that Fisk's goons aren't gonna give him: he needs to get into his place and clear out.
Goddamnit.
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"Called in sick to work," he explains, giving his phone a shake in his hand before setting it down. "When it was me and Foggy, at least I didn't have to come up with a creative lie after he found out." He doesn't have that relationship with Kirsten yet. He doubts he ever will. "Anything else come across the news?" he asks. He wasn't listening to anything except the worry in his partner's voice.
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"Nah. They're just releasin' enough to make the city feel like they're the good guys. Fisk's media team must be running on fumes for all the smoke they're blowing." He considers his coffee, takes another drink. "I got clean up to do. Far as I can tell the AVTF's still just sniffin' but eventually they'll find the right scent. Before they do I gotta get back to mine, pack up, find somewhere new."
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Matt faintly smiles in response. Yeah, he's sure that the mayor's office is churning out plenty of press about it and that of course they would find some way to spin it that their task force is doing the right thing. It's bullshit and Matt does feel like a lot of the city knows it but they just can't do anything about it. "I'm going to regret this but there's space in the storage locker if you need it. I'm not sure what fallout shelters go for in the city or how easy they are to find but, you know. If you need it for your gear."
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Knuckles bump Red's chin. Frank lets himself look over the face in front of him. "This--" He touches a cheek, probably matching the cut Red says he has inside his mouth. Already yellow, his fingers follow an almost a straight line that speaks of teeth impact. "Faint. Don't shave, you'll be fine."
His hand drops. "That why you called out? Or your head still ringin'?"
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“I can lie about a bruise. My head is still a mess. My equilibrium is kind of off so I should probably take the day to shake it off.” He notices the way that Frank doesn’t address his other offer but he knows better than to push the matter.
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He turns away, finds his coffee and finishes it in two long swallows. "I'll keep you in the loop." It's an offer he doesn't need to make, but he knows that this shit with the task force starts with Fisk and that's Red's fight too; this isn't Frank dragging Red in by association. They've both got a stake in what's to come.
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Matt cares and he makes no secret about that with Frank. Why should he try to hide something that’s obvious? He wears bloody good intentions on his sleeve along with the scars that come with that kind of caring. It costs. It always does. He knows that Frank doesn’t carry the same amount of feelings of responsibility and whatever else he calls this and that’s fine.
“So what are you going to do while I rest?” He has some amount of trepidation about that question and what Frank might or might not do but he’s a big boy. He doesn’t actually need Matt’s help or even his offer of a kind of safe space in his apartment and in his life.
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But he also didn't leave before Red got up. Frank's actions have always spoken for him; he's never had need for a bunch of fancy words like Red is so fond of throwing around in front of a jury.
Frank washes his mug. "Told you. I'm gonna clean out." It's put in the draining board and Frank puts his hands on the counter edge, hangs his head for a moment. Exhales. "Wipe it down, all of it. No tracks. Nothing they can use but maybe I'll leave somethin' that'll send them in a direction of my choosing." Something that would point them far away from the place both of them are standing right now. He stands, cracks his neck. "There are a few guys I can shake down for information."
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“Just be careful.” It’s not a necessary warning. Of course it isn’t. Frank knows what he has to do and right now Matt just needs to heal up or he won’t be any use to him. “I’ll leave the patio door unlocked if you need it.” It’s what passes as a real invitation between them.
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Frank claps Red on the shoulder as he passes him. In the bathroom he changes back into his own clothes, leaves the sweatpants folded on the seat of the toilet. He has work to do and he's never careless, even though that's not always the same on him as careful - but right now he's not trying to kick the hornet's nest. He zips his hoodie closed over flak vest.
"I'll see you soon, Red." Soon. Not later, not around. It's an answer to his question, if not a promise. A nine-mil is pulled from behind the back of a couch cushion, slide checked, made safe before Frank tucks it in the back of his waistband. Maybe the sound of it is another answer: last night was something more than practicality for Frank. He heads to the glass doors. "Stay outta that suit."
Then he's gone.
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He knew the gun was there. He can smell the powder and how it was freshly fired last night. If Frank sought to protect the apartment last night, it’s about as much of a sign of affection he thinks Castle is capable of outside of sex. “I’ll try.” He makes no promises and then Frank is gone. He takes another sip of coffee and decides he’s better off just going back to bed.