Chapter Text
“Red.”
Frank hadn’t meant to say the name aloud, but once it was done, he found that he couldn’t stop.
“It’s funny that I should think of you now.”
He paused.
“Maybe not,” he amended. “Last time I was here, you were here, too. Actually had our first real conversation, one that didn’t involve our fists. So yeah, maybe you are the person I need to talk to.”
Frank felt like an idiot. A bone-tired, numb idiot. He didn’t really think Red could hear him (could he?). People believed that the Devil heard everything. Frank knew that wasn’t true, but the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen heard a lot. He just wasn’t sure what Red’s range was. It was pretty big, a couple of blocks at least. It all depended on where Red was patrolling tonight (because Frank had no doubt that Red was on patrol. Sometimes Frank thought the crime fighting was Red’s real job. The other stuff he just did to keep the lights on). Whether or not Red could actually hear him wasn’t the point. He didn’t expect the other man to drop everything and turn up at his wife and kids’ gravestones. That’s not what this was about.
No. This was about…confession.
“Everything’s all fucked up. But I guess that don’t surprise you.
“Made a mistake, Red. Tactical error.”
Frank shook his head, remembering.
“I got my vengeance. Got it all. Straight to the top of the fucking food chain.” He chuckled humorlessly. “Homeland even gave me a free pass. It was too much of a clusterfuck for it all to come to light. So, the government let me clean up their shit, and then they let me walk. Wanted me to disappear like I didn’t just provide a service to this country. Justice, Red. Sometimes vengeance and justice is the same thing. I know you don’t agree with me,” he added. “Good thing you’re not here to say so.” Frank smiled at the thought, imagining Red’s outraged response. Then he sobered.
“But I was sloppy. Didn’t tie up all the loose ends and now the biggest loose end is gunning for me.” Frank shook his head again. “Should’ve put Billy down, but I thought that was too easy, y’know? Easy to die, harder to live. I know what that’s like, Red. I know all about it. But your God’s got a sick sense of humor. ‘Cos Billy? He don’t remember anything about what he did. Knocked it all clean out of his noggin. And now he thinks I betrayed him. What the fuck kind of joke is that?”
Frank stopped. His throat felt a little dry. He wasn’t a big talker on the best of days. But that’s what confession was, right? Talking. Letting it all out. Same shit as therapy, but cheaper. That got Frank to wondering about Billy and his therapist. Both Madani and Curtis had said something about that, right? How Billy had been working with a therapist since he’d woken up from a coma that all the doctors had said he’d never wake from. Billy had crawled back from hell, one agonizing step at a time. He’d done everything that the experts had said he’d never be able to do again. Even though Frank hated him, he admired that. And he hadn’t been surprised in the least. Billy Russo had been the most gifted marine Frank had ever served with. Gifted, charismatic and a born leader. And that’s why Frank had to put him down. Like a dog, if it came to that. Because with or without his memory, there was no end to what Russo would be capable of now that he was free.
God, what Frank wouldn’t give for a drink.
“Never told you about Billy, did I, Red?” he started again. “Billy was my brother, my family…”
By then, there was no way that Frank could stop. The stories poured out of him like an endless fount: his life in the core, how he met Billy and Curtis, where they’d served, what they’d did.
“You’d like Curt,” Frank found himself saying. “You two have a lot in common. Moral compasses, both of you. Fact is, he’s soundin’ more and more like you everyday. Didn’t mean to get ‘im involved, Red. But this shit, man. It drags the people you care about down with you. It’s like a…whaddya call it? It’s like a tornado. You get in its wake and it sweeps you up.”
Frank ended up telling Red about Amy as well, and the other mess he’d stumbled into. High-powered players gunning for the presidency and the psycho killer that had been sent after them. He smiled at the description. Psycho killer. That’s probably how Red thought about him. He was in this mess because he couldn’t mind his own business. He saw a kid in trouble – some lost teenager way in over her head – and he just had to do something about it. Now look where it’d gotten him.
After a moment’s hesitation, he told Red about Beth, too.
“Could’ve been something there,” Frank said, a little wistfully. “I’m not big on those. One night stands. But there was something about her, y’know?”
Frank wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting there just talking. Over an hour, at least. The dew on the grass had seeped into his jeans and the material had turned cold and clammy against his skin. He could feel his legs stiffening and he shifted, stretching them out to get more comfortable. It was while he was doing this that a voice said:
“You sure sound like you could use a drink.”
Frank inwardly cursed his fatigue and distraction. He hadn’t heard anyone approach. “How long you been back there?” he asked.
“Roundabout the time you started talking about Amy,” Red answered. “She seems like a real handful.”
About fifteen minutes then, Frank thought.
“Didn’t want to interrupt your…confession,” Red added.
Frank could hear the smirk in the other man’s tone, but beneath that snark he also detected sincerity. Red hadn’t come here to pick a fight, and for that Frank was glad.
“Here,” Red said. “Take it.”
Frank finally looked to his right. Out of his peripheral vision, he’d seen the other man holding something out to him. Now, he clearly saw what it was – a finely crafted silver flask. Frank accepted the offering, glancing up at Red as he did so. The other man was wearing all black, his billy clubs strapped to the sides of his thighs, a black mask covering the top half of his face. Frank was mildly surprised and, if he was being honest with himself, slightly disappointed not to see the red suit. It wouldn’t make much sense to tease the other man with the nickname ‘Hornhead’ if he weren’t wearing any, y’know, horns. That and…well…the red suit was form fitting. Not that the black top Red was wearing now didn’t accentuate his form…Frank banished those thoughts.
“What happened to your red pajamas?” he asked instead.
“Why?” Red said, a little nonchalantly as he dropped down beside Frank. “You miss the horns?”
Frank didn’t even try to hide his grin as he swiveled the cap off the flask. “They gave you character,” he conceded, before taking a drink. He savored the burn of the liquid down his throat – expensive stuff to match the expensive case. No way the flask belonged to Red. He didn’t think it was Red’s style and the other man wouldn’t bring alcohol with him on patrol. It meant that Red had picked up the flask sometime during the night and Frank idly wondered what those circumstances had been.
“I retired the suit,” Red explained, settling more comfortably on the grass. “I didn’t feel like it represented what I stood for anymore.”
“That happens when some psycho steals your identity and starts murdering innocent people.”
“Saw that, did you?”
“Hard not to.”
Beside him, Red nodded thoughtfully. Frank held the flask back to the other man, but Red brushed the action away. “Keep it,” he said. “You really do need it more than I do.”
For once, Frank wasn't going to argue with the other man. He translated Red’s words to mean, I brought that for you, and the thought made Frank inwardly smile. They fell into a companionable silence, Frank drinking while Red sat quietly beside him. After a while, Frank would’ve sworn that the other man was meditating. There was a preternatural stillness about him that gave Frank the impression that Red may have been far away. He decided to put his theory to the test and he reached out. His hand was blocked so swiftly that once more, Frank didn’t bother to hide his grin.
“What’re you doing?” Red asked sharply.
“I just wanna know,” Frank said. His answer sounded vague to him, but Red understood well enough.
“You already know.”
“I don't,” Frank countered. “Not for sure.” When there was no response, he added, “C’mon, man. It’s only fair.”
Frank watched the hard line of Red’s jaw. What was fair? he wondered. Fair because he’d spilled his guts to a man he hadn’t really thought had been listening? Fair because Red knew his identity but Frank wasn’t one hundred percent sure about Red’s? Oh, he had his suspicions. But suspicion was one thing, confirmation another. Red was all about fairness. They each had their own codes and they stuck to them.
After what felt like an eternity but was really only a few seconds, Red dipped his head, the hard line of his jaw slackening. Frank took that to be permission and he reached out again. This time, no hand blocked him. Frank grasped the black mask. It was surprisingly soft to the touch. He hesitated for a moment, giving Red a chance to change his mind. When nothing happened, he pulled the material off.
Frank didn’t even realize he was holding his breath until he released it. Matthew Murdock’s face greeted him, eyes cast downward.
“Now you know,” the other man said. “For sure.”
Frank tossed the black mask back at the other man, and Murdock effortlessly caught it with one hand.
“How do you do it?” Frank asked. “The blindness. It’s not an act.”
“No,” Murdock confirmed, folding the material neatly before tucking it into his pocket. “It’s not an act.”
“So?” Frank prodded. “You got superpowers?”
“Heightened senses.”
“Superpowers,” Frank repeated.
Murdock chuckled at Frank’s stubbornness. “It’s not like I can shoot lasers out of my eyes,” he countered. “Or fly. Or heal myself when I’m injured. That would be a nifty superpower,” he added.
“What do you have?” Frank asked, his curiosity piqued.
Murdock shrugged. “Fancy hearing,” he said, off-handedly.
“Fancy enough that you heard me talkin’ to you from god knows how far away.”
“Fancy enough that I can tell when people are lying to me.”
“Now that’s a nifty trick,” Frank said, leaning slightly towards the other man.
“It has its moments.”
“What else?”
“I told you,” Murdock said patiently. “Heightened senses. Just like my hearing is magnified, the other remaining senses are magnified as well.”
Frank considered this. “That would drive me nuts,” he eventually said. “Can you switch it off?”
“No,” Murdock replied, and he sounded a little rueful. “It’s a 24-hour package deal.”
“How the hell do you sleep?”
“I manage.”
Maybe this was the reason Red went out at night and beat up criminals, Frank thought. Just so he’d be tired enough to catch some ZZZs.
They fell into another companionable silence, Frank still mulling over Murdock’s superpowers. The heightened senses explained a lot, but they didn’t explain everything like how Murdock learned to fight. Frank knew that Murdock could take down a unit of marines, had taken down groups of highly trained government agents, and (though he still couldn’t entirely wrap his head around it) about thirty or so ninjas on that rooftop before Frank had intervened. That was the last time Frank had seen Red. (Even then he hadn’t been sure. Murdock hadn’t been wearing the mask at the time, but Frank had never caught a good look at him through his scope.) Heightened senses would give Murdock a massive tactical advantage, but the skills themselves had to be learned. Frank wondered if superior reflexes were part of the superpower deal. He thought there was a decent chance and was about to ask, but Murdock broke the silence first.
“You got a place to crash tonight? Unless you plan on sleeping outdoors?”
“Why?” Frank asked, sounding a little suspicious.
Murdock shrugged. “After everything you told me, it doesn’t sound like you’d want to see any of your...” He trailed off, choosing his words carefully. “It doesn’t sound as if you’d want to see any of your friends tonight,” he finally said.
“You sayin’ yer not my friend?” Frank asked, with surprising good humor.
“I don’t know what we are, Frank,” Murdock replied honestly. “But ‘friends’ probably isn’t it.”
Frank chuckled at that. “No,” he agreed. “Don’t have many of those anyway.”
“But the ones you do have care about you,” Murdock said softly.
Frank glanced at the other man warily, knowing that Murdock would be able to sense the gesture. “Don’t,” he said sternly.
Murdock held up his hands. “Didn’t come here to fight,” he said.
“Why did you come here?”
Frank waited the other man out. Murdock, who rarely gave anything away when he was Frank’s lawyer, looked genuinely lost for words. Frank almost wished he had a camera so he could take a picture. It was a Kodak moment.
“I don’t know,” Murdock finally said. “You sounded so…lost. And you were talking to me. Me,” he repeated, as though he couldn’t believe it. (Some part of Frank couldn’t believe it either.) “I couldn’t just leave you out here.”
“Just a bleedin’ heart good Samaritan,” Frank stated, with only the slightest shade of irony.
Murdock let the jibe slide. “You got a place to stay tonight?” he asked again.
“Why? You offering yours?”
“Yes.”
Frank was caught so off guard by the other man’s reply that he didn’t say anything.
“Unless you prefer wet grass?” Murdock continued, when the silence dragged on.
Frank wondered what his heart was telling the other man. Murdock hadn’t said it explicitly, but it wasn’t hard to put two and two together. If Murdock could tell when people were lying, he was probably doing it through their heartbeats like some human lie detector. Sure, there’d be other indicators – increased respiration, sweat – but a stutter or skip in the heartbeat was a dead giveaway. Frank knew he had a low resting heart rate, but he also knew that his heart had sped up a fraction at the offer.
“Sure,” he said, the word sliding off his tongue more easily than he expected.
“Let’s go, then,” Murdock suggested, getting to his feet. He held out a hand to Frank. “Some of us have day jobs,” he added.
Frank grasped the other man’s hand and allowed Murdock to pull him up. He held onto him, to the other man’s surprise, when he leaned in and said, “It’s not wise for the Devil to show me where he lives.”
Murdock scoffed, freeing his hand from Frank’s grip. “Please,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “As if you couldn’t find out where I live if you wanted to.”
Frank smiled to himself as he followed the Devil out of the cemetery.
Frank didn’t know what to expect of Murdock’s place. Murdock wasn’t a high-powered corporate attorney, though he was certainly good enough to be one. Frank was glad of that. It depressed him to think of Murdock as a soulless corporate shark. (Not that he spent a lot of time thinking about his former lawyer, whom he’d privately suspected was Daredevil, as incredible as that seemed at the time.) The soulless corporate shark didn’t suit Murdock at all. Nah, most of Murdock’s cases were pro bono. He and his partner were all about helping the little guy, and that was something Frank could relate to.
Murdock lived in Hell’s Kitchen (of course) on the top floor of an old walk-up. It was the sort of place that wouldn’t have an elevator, which apparently didn’t matter since he and Murdock entered the latter’s unit through the non-conventional way. Rooftop access – practically mandatory for a vigilante superhero these days.
“Convenient,” Frank said, as they walked down a metal staircase that lead into the living room.
“Worth the extra that I pay in rent,” Murdock agreed.
“How much does a place like this go for these days?”
“Too much.”
“Yeah? So how can you afford it with all your pro bono work?”
“Easy. I put on the suit and beat up the other tenants when they’re late with their rent.”
Frank stopped, but Murdock kept on walking. “That’s some sense of humor you got there, Red,” he said.
Murdock had reached the bottom step. He turned to his right to head into the kitchen. Frank could see the sharp smile on his face when he said, “At least, I have one.”
That was true, Frank thought, resuming his walk. Before tonight, his experience of the Devil was a humorless, moralistic pedant…with a nice ass.
Frank stopped at the bottom of the staircase, surveying the area. The loft was spacious, much bigger than he would’ve guessed. On his left were the sliding doors (Japanese-style, Frank noted) that led into what must be the bedroom. The bathroom was behind those doors as well. Murdock hadn’t bothered to turn on the light and Frank understood why. The opposite wall was lined with ceiling to floor windows and the room was flooded by the lurid purple, green and gold lights from a billboard across the street. Only a blind person would be able to put up with that monstrosity, Frank thought, even as he came to the realization that he liked Murdock’s place. A lot.
Murdock was in the kitchen, filling a glass with water. “Want one?” he asked Frank.
“Okay,” Frank said, heading over to join him.
Murdock filled another glass and handed it to the other man. “Hungry?” he asked, as Frank took a drink. “Haven’t been able to buy groceries,” he admitted. “But there’s probably enough in the fridge to scrounge up a sandwich.”
Frank couldn’t help but chuckle. He’d been about to turn down the offer for food, but then his stomach growled. Loudly. Murdock didn’t need super senses to hear that.
“Yeah, yeah. I can fend for myself,” he said, stopping the other man when Murdock went to open the fridge.
Frank put his glass down on the counter and went to the fridge himself. Murdock hadn’t turned the light on in the kitchen either, even though the ceiling to floor windows didn’t extend here. Still, there was enough light to see and when Frank opened the fridge, the light inside automatically switched on. Murdock hadn’t been kidding when he said that the fridge wouldn’t be well stocked. Frank noted the six-pack immediately before zeroing in on the sliced bread. He pulled that out, together with the butter and the last two slices of cheese (which thankfully weren’t stale).
“I’m pretty sure there’s some leftover turkey,” Murdock told him.
Frank found the leftover turkey in a Tupperware container and he brought that out as well, together with the jar of mayonnaise, the last tomato and a bit of lettuce. It was just enough to scrounge together a sandwich, as Murdock had said.
By the time Frank turned around and dumped his trove on the kitchen counter, Murdock had switched on the kitchen light.
“I was starting to wonder if you had any of those,” Frank commented. “Not that you need them,” he added, after a moment’s thought.
“Don’t want you slicing off a finger,” Murdock replied. He handed Frank a large knife and then went to the cupboards. Frank watched as Murdock ran his hands over the wooden surface, counting the cupboards until he found the one he wanted. He opened it and pulled out a plate, which he also handed to Frank.
Frank, on the other hand, was openly staring at the other man. It was too easy to forget that Murdock was blind, and he sure as hell didn’t think of Red as blind, not with all the crazy stuff he could do.
“Frank,” Murdock said, when Frank didn’t take the plate.
“Right,” Frank replied, a little distractedly. “Thanks.”
He hated being caught off guard by the other man. It felt like giving Murdock ammunition to use against him in the future. He turned back to the counter and set about making his sandwich. Behind him, Murdock had gone to the fridge. Frank heard the door opening and then shutting. There was the pop of a bottle cap opening. Then another. When Murdock returned, he placed a cold bottle of beer on the counter next to Frank. Frank nodded his thanks. The other man settled somewhere on Frank’s right, leaning against the counter as he drank his beer.
This was weird, wasn’t it? Frank thought. How did he wind up in the Devil’s kitchen being domestic?
“You always cut the crust off your bread?” Murdock asked curiously, breaking Frank’s train of thought.
Frank glanced down. He hadn’t even been aware of doing that, but Murdock was right. He was automatically cutting the crust off the bread.
“Just a habit I got into,” he said gruffly. “Frank Jr. wasn’t big on crust.”
Frank could feel Murdock’s thoughtful silence beside him, but he didn’t push and Frank was grateful. Amy would’ve pushed. Sometimes she pushed too hard. Maybe Murdock didn’t feel the need to push, not after everything Frank had already told him that night.
Frank finished making the rest of his sandwich in the same comfortable silence that had fallen between them before. It was easy, Frank reflected. After everything each of them had been through, it was easy now to be in each other’s company.
Frank would’ve been content to eat his sandwich standing up at the counter, but Matt insisted that they move to the table. He was hospitable like that, and Frank didn’t argue. They sat at the table, continuing the surreal domesticity of the night. Frank could imagine that same table crowded with papers and folders when Matt was working, maybe filled with take-out boxes when Matt didn’t have time to go to the supermarket. It meant a lot to Frank that Matt had opened his home to him. And somewhere during the course of his sandwich-making, he’d stopped thinking of the other man as ‘Murdock’ and now thought of him as ‘Matt.’ Huh.
With beers and a turkey sandwich, they tried the novelty of holding a conversation, a normal one that didn’t involve pedantic preaching or opposing philosophies or twisted moral codes. Frank didn’t think they’d get very far, but Matt had proven him wrong on more than one occasion tonight. Frank was learning that it was easy to talk to Matt. Shooting the breeze with the Devil. The thought made Frank smile.
When the sandwich was gone and the bottles were empty, Frank knew the moment when Matt was going to stand up. He circumvented the action with a hand on the other man’s knee, as he shifted his chair closer. “Hey,” he said in a low voice.
Matt stilled beneath his touch, tilting his head slightly as though he were looking at where Frank was touching him. Frank wasn’t sure what he was doing when he leaned forward and brushed his lips against the other man’s. The action could hardly be called a kiss, but Frank felt a slight thrill go through him nonetheless.
“What was that for?” Matt asked, an amused smile playing at the corners of his lips.
At least he wasn’t mad, Frank thought, which was a more encouraging reaction than he could’ve hoped for. “Thanks?” he offered uncertainly.
The semi-amused smile transformed into a genuine one. “There are other ways to go about it, Frank,” Matt told him.
“Seemed like the best one,” Frank replied.
Matt chuckled and dipped his head a little lower. It was almost a bashful reaction. “Sure you’re not mistaking me for somebody else?” he asked. “Maybe somebody in Michigan?”
“Pretty sure,” Frank said. “And I don’t…” he hesitated. “I’m not one to pick up people in bars. The one night stand, it’s…it’s not who I am.”
Matt’s expression softened when he said, “Are you propositioning me?”
“Are you accepting?”
There was a moment of tense anticipation between them. Frank was a little stunned by his own boldness. He gave Matt’s leg a gentle squeeze, and the action seemed to jolt the other man out of his stillness. This time it was Matt who leaned forward, his right hand cupping Frank’s jaw. Frank didn’t hesitate. He knew what he wanted, and he took aim. This kiss was no gentle brush of lips against lips. It was full, deep and open-mouthed, and Frank was left a little breathless by it.
“I guess that’s a ‘yes’?” he prodded, noting how his hand had moved higher up Matt’s leg during the kiss, now resting on the inside of his thigh.
“It’s a ‘yes,’” Matt confirmed.
When he stood up, Frank didn’t stop him. Matt reached down and grasped Frank’s hand, and like a good soldier, Frank followed the other man to the bedroom.