[ The answering laugh stretches, barked as much in response to the invocation of nuns serenely repeating that same correction as to Frank's assertion as to just how at home he planned to make himself.
Does he object? Matt has a split second to consider between the sound of Frank's feet hitting the floor and the light resonant note of the empty bottle being set down. The scent of blood in the air shifts slightly as Frank's movement disturbs his injuries. He'd like to say that the single reason for his lack of protest, and not the simple comfort of shared injuries, of not having to embark on the slow process of bandaging and stitching himself back together on his own.
The hand on his chest pulls a second laugh from him, breaking on a pained wheeze. ]
The first aide kit is under the sink, [ Matt informs Frank's retreating back.
As the sound of rushing water rises, Matt peels the suit off. The armor goes into it's box, piece by piece. The sound of the city has receded, eclipsed by Frank. By the time Frank emerges, Matt has opened a two beers, dredged up aspirin for the headache he doesn't have yet but likely will before the night is over. ]
( the shower's quick and hot. it hits all his injuries in all the wrong ways, blood sluices off his skin and swirls down the drain. ain't all his. cops ever raid murdock's apartment their forensics team is going to have a field day with the dna cocktail of him and half a dozen mooks that needed killing.
he allows himself the luxury of a minute with his head pressed to the tile, letting his breathing even out.
then he gets out. scrubs himself down. ruins a towel. matt's question makes him snort.
dryly, )
I can't just miss your pretty face?
( he's got a towel slung low around his hips. even that's a concession to matt's probable modesty, because frank truly does not give a shit. you spend enough time in a barracks with forty other guys and only one blue shitbox between the lot of you and you learn real quick not to give a fuck who likes to let it all hang out. he picks up the beer on his way past. )
Some bullshit with a drug kingpin. Selling dope laced with fentanyl to fucking highschool kids. Took out one of his squads. You gonna lecture me about morality, Red, or have you given up that ghost?
[ Trying to think back over the cacophony of the city, it's impossible to try and pick out one particular set of gunshots to assign to Frank. Is it better or worse to know that at least one incident wasn't something that had gone unattended because Matt can only be in one place at a time, and can only move so quickly from one trouble to the next?
There isn't an answer in the moment. He might feel differently in the light of day. But in the moment he's tired enough to let the analysis fall by the wayside as he eases down to sit on the edge of the couch. ]
Give me ten minutes for the aspirin to kick in.
[ Surely Frank knows the argument. Matt knows the argument, the assertion he should snap out: don't kill anyone in my city. It's the very least. ]
You could have left the name with me.
[ As if they have the type of relationship that lends itself to passing off troubles. That's not how Frank deals with things.
Matt can still smell the gun oil on Frank, even beneath the borrowed soap. His head turns, tracking Frank's movements as he gingerly leans forward to lift his own beer as he continues— ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2020-02-21 12:27 am (UTC)Does he object? Matt has a split second to consider between the sound of Frank's feet hitting the floor and the light resonant note of the empty bottle being set down. The scent of blood in the air shifts slightly as Frank's movement disturbs his injuries. He'd like to say that the single reason for his lack of protest, and not the simple comfort of shared injuries, of not having to embark on the slow process of bandaging and stitching himself back together on his own.
The hand on his chest pulls a second laugh from him, breaking on a pained wheeze. ]
The first aide kit is under the sink, [ Matt informs Frank's retreating back.
As the sound of rushing water rises, Matt peels the suit off. The armor goes into it's box, piece by piece. The sound of the city has receded, eclipsed by Frank. By the time Frank emerges, Matt has opened a two beers, dredged up aspirin for the headache he doesn't have yet but likely will before the night is over. ]
Should I ask what brings you to town?
[ What, who. Comes to the same thing. ]
I assume it wasn't a social call.
no subject
Date: 2020-02-25 04:54 am (UTC)he allows himself the luxury of a minute with his head pressed to the tile, letting his breathing even out.
then he gets out. scrubs himself down. ruins a towel. matt's question makes him snort.
dryly, )
I can't just miss your pretty face?
( he's got a towel slung low around his hips. even that's a concession to matt's probable modesty, because frank truly does not give a shit. you spend enough time in a barracks with forty other guys and only one blue shitbox between the lot of you and you learn real quick not to give a fuck who likes to let it all hang out. he picks up the beer on his way past. )
Some bullshit with a drug kingpin. Selling dope laced with fentanyl to fucking highschool kids. Took out one of his squads. You gonna lecture me about morality, Red, or have you given up that ghost?
no subject
Date: 2020-03-26 07:58 pm (UTC)There isn't an answer in the moment. He might feel differently in the light of day. But in the moment he's tired enough to let the analysis fall by the wayside as he eases down to sit on the edge of the couch. ]
Give me ten minutes for the aspirin to kick in.
[ Surely Frank knows the argument. Matt knows the argument, the assertion he should snap out: don't kill anyone in my city. It's the very least. ]
You could have left the name with me.
[ As if they have the type of relationship that lends itself to passing off troubles. That's not how Frank deals with things.
Matt can still smell the gun oil on Frank, even beneath the borrowed soap. His head turns, tracking Frank's movements as he gingerly leans forward to lift his own beer as he continues— ]
It'd have saved you a trip.