[ Nothing in this life has come easy for them. The Murdock boys have made their own, very unique way, through this world for years and years now. The only sure constant was the other, and a bond that no one could possibly understand. How does one quantify something like this? Maybe the math just doesn't exist.
What they're walking into tonight, they've talked about. In heated whispers and sometimes arguments. Prayers said in silence or out loud. Wondering what the answer is. Wondering if this is it. Why else do they hear what they do? Feel the things they feel? They tried all the right ways of doing this. They reached out to the proper authorities. The man was smart and his wife was just willfully ignorant about it all.
So a little girl suffered where only they could hear. ]
How does that feel? [ Michael asks his brother as he finishes wrapping his hands. It's at terrible get up. Minimal protection. His face is barely hidden, even if it is the dead of night out there. It's why they have an alibi in place for after Matt leaves. One of their neighbors, a kind, elderly woman, is always fussing that he should visit. He shouldn't be alone all day long. So, he'll visit. Help out with a couple of small things. Be visible. ] Not too tight?
Walk me through it again?
[ They have to be on the same page with this. They have to be sure. One of them can't waver on this, there's too much at stake for that. ]
[Born into the world together, sent careening from one disaster to the next and holding on to at least this bond. It's a bit like they've been given gifts of skill and personality, though some split right down the middle as though there weren't enough. That sort of eerie need for connection and completion that was observed when they would complete one another's sentences or eat off the other's plate in more formative years. Then they were accepted as separates then, they were protected and loved. Extra mouths to feed for Jack Murdock and he still gladly hoisted one on each arm. Matty and Mikey.
That is how a father should be. This man that hurts his daughter...this can't go on. Matthew flexes his fingers.]
It's fine. It will do. I don't think he'll put up much of a fight.
[Especially for what is going to be rained down on him. Both arms move independently testing the ropes. Yeah, they'll hold.]
I'll find a way into the yard. It's surrounded by chain link. The minute I get the chance, I'll be up on the rail cars, up and out of the way. I'll wait and get the drop on him once he's alone.
[ Most families might not have survived the things they have. Maybe it was that bond that afforded them this ability on top of the others. If everything the universe could think of to throw wasn't enough to break them apart then what possibly could? So many nights one would fall asleep waiting on Jack to get home from the latest bout, and hurriedly wake up the other when they heard him coming. ]
Probably too drunk to manage much.
[ But even drunkards can get lucky hits in sometimes. Mike tilts his head, listening to the ropes flex and creak, and nods. It'll work. ]
Mrs. Davis is always wanting us to drop in. I'll bring over some groceries she's needing, and help clean up a little for her. The weather lately is really bothering her hip.
[ Just in case something goes wrong. Just in case Matt is seen. But that won't happen. He has to believe it won't happen. Why else would they have been led here? He has to trust this. They have to have faith that this is what was meant to happen. ]
[ Mike shrugged his jacket off, and pulled a softer hoodie over his head. It mussed his hair, and made him have to reach up and try and flatten it down after. Still, it was mostly hoping for the best. At least he has the hood if this doesn't work. Matt was on his way home, he'd already made plans to go out, but he was hoping he could avoid a fight if he got out of the house soon.
The only problem with it still being daylight outside were neighbors. He couldn't exactly ditch the apartment for the rooftops at this hour. So, stuck he is, and he just focuses on getting ready. The place wasn't far that he was meeting Frank at, but he'd mentioned something about a drive. Mike wasn't sure where, or if it was in town. Didn't matter.
He's got a small backpack on the couch next to him, and he's pulling his shoes on when he hears the door open. Now, if only he can get out the door with a minimum of bloodshed. Verbal or otherwise.
[Matt is relieved to hear his brother in the apartment. It was one thing to live the same life, it was another to live two lives. The process was tedious but they've been braiding a single destiny together for some time. Was it for the better? That was a question Matt would meditate on from time to time. Better for Hell's Kitchen? Yes. Better for Matthew? Absolutely. Better for Michael?
Well.
Right now he just wanted to get inside, get comfortable. Eat and cool down. The day in court was trying. It felt like nothing he said or did was getting through to Karen or Foggy. Was it something he said? Was it something that Mike said? There was only one cure for this. A nice, quiet evening with some takeout, a radio show and maybe a spar. Though being here and knowing the both of them were safe always put an ease to his mind.]
You would not believe the day I had--[He sets the cane aside and hangs his satchel. That's when Matt pauses.]
[ Most nights take out and sparring would be just what the doctor ordered. Nurse, at least. Claire would be glad to know there wasn't any chance of finding one of them stumbling in bloody. In fact, it was Claire who had, in part, set this in motion. Haven't you ever wondered what it was like to live just for yourself?
They've each had moments of weakness. Each time something has kept them together. This feels---well, he's not sure. Maybe that's why he's still pursuing it, even as insane as it is. Which, honestly, it's pretty damn insane.
He can smell the courtroom, city, and the underlying scent of their small offices. The case was wearing both of them down, and that made Mike think more that maybe this was needed. No, not maybe. It was. He clears his throat softly, and continues to tie his shoe. ]
Uh, yeah. I'm---someone's expecting me. [ It's not that he's ashamed of anything that he doesn't say Frank's name. It's more the fact that saying it will only hasten how quickly the argument comes on. ]
[They had never been in sigh dire straits. Though Matthew knows he has no one to blame but himself. That is why he hadn't gone and asked for Mike to be back up, not even in the shadows. The Hand had swept in. And Elektra had her way with his senses once again. Logic had no meaning. Nothing was on balance.
For being so careful, so attentive, it was a right shit show. So he was glad to promise a getaway. He and Elektra would run, who knows where. They were going to die. They were going to die together.
Then maybe Mike would be able to live as he wanted. He would like that, then. No one to push him into corners, no one to eat all of the sweets. Thinking as though he'll never see him again was easier if it was laced with antagonism. The foot soldiers of the Hand were creeping up the stairs and over the roof.]
[ These last few weeks (was it months?) have gone by in a rush too hard to keep track of. Frank Castle, Stick returning, Elektra, and the Hand? It was one bad day after another. In between trying to keep their firm afloat, nearly dying himself, and having to contend with a more adult version of his brother's college fling---he's exhausted.
He agreed, hoping that he didn't sound bitter or angry (he was though) that they should go their own ways. The Hand would chase Matt and Elektra. They would die, who knows where, and Mike would never, ever know. It's what he wanted, though, isn't it? And Jesus he got that now, didn't he? He gets it, but it isn't enough to make him okay with staying there in their apartment and waiting for them to get away---or worse.
It's why he makes the stupidest decision of his life. I'm sorry. I can't do this. I have to go. Getting the old black suit out of the trunk is easy. It slides on like an old suit, and before he can think to go check his phone when it goes off again, he's already out the roof access, and vaulting across alleyways to get to the fight.
It isn't hard to pinpoint once he's out there. There's a lot of radio chatter. People watching the news unfold. Sirens once he gets closer. Making the roof they are on is more difficult, but once the fighting starts, he's right next to them. If they're going to get out of there alive, then they are going to need all the help they can get. ]
[Time flies when your life is going off of the rails. All of the cast of characters were pulling the fragile existence of Matt Murdock in multiple directions. The Devil of Hell's Kitchen was divided as well. Trying to intervene with the blossoming relationship between Frank and Mike proved to be impossible. And trying to keep Elektra and Mike apart, keeping her secret and away from Karen and Foggy that was not happening.
And then Stick. Again. No breaks on this thing! Luring the Hand away from New York was the best outcome. They could run. Mike would be safe. So would Foggy and Karen. It wasn't an ideal option, just the best option.
Barreling out into the night air, Matt's mouth drops open.]
What do you think you're doing?
[Not that they can have that much of a conversation spinning and knocking away a barrage of fists and feet.]
[ Getting ready that morning had been a surprisingly slow ordeal. Partly because mike didn't want to leave, and the other part was because Frank continued to find reasons to pull him back into bed. It was incredibly distracting.
He wouldn't trade it for anything. ]
No, come on, hey. I have to go. I'm sorry.
[ Pants, check. Shirt, well, he's looking for that. This is a new experience, trying to extricate himself from a very good night out then time together in. If he could stay all day, he would. The thought makes his heart do a weird little flutter that he's not really familiar with. He realizes what Frank has too late to grab for it before it's out of reach, and the other man has an arm secure around his waist.
[And wouldn't you know that now he has found a new pillow in Mike's lap, arms about his waist, both arms. Deal with it, Murdock. Frank yawns nosily.]
Quit moving. I'm trying to sleep here.
[He is about fully awake. The sun isn't even up yet, right? What's the rush. Before they try and pin down all of the feelings and emotions, they should just accept things as they are. Just be. Frank sighs and opens an eye to look up at the man.]
[ Mike is quickly finding out that he doesn't mind being a pillow in the slightest. His fingers find their way to run over his short hair, and down to rest at the nape of the other man's neck. ]
You've been awake for over an hour.
[ At least mostly. He heard it. No, the sun isn't up, but it's going to be difficult once it is up for him to make it back to the apartment he shares with Matt before its easy to be noticed. ]
Negotiations for my shirt? Offer on the table from your side first, then we can negotiate.
[ Mike isn't sure where it all went to hell. It was a fairly simple patrol. Maybe his head wasn't on right. Maybe he missed something. He must have, or this new player trying to move in was just that tough on the streets.
The end result was still the same.
Breaking his fists on faces and disarming as many as he could didn't do a damn thing. In the end he had to break away from the main fighting, and make for the pier. Diving into the water in the middle of winter was the absolutely worst plan, but it was better than dying in a hail of gunfire. Even though he was going quickly, he still felt the burn of a bullet tearing through his arm. It was a little deeper than a graze, but that thought left him as soon as the ice-cold of the water hit him full force.
New players or not, he was they seemed too stupid to double check if he'd been taken care of. Swimming away from the scene was difficult, but he managed to get some distance at least. ]
[Hell's Kitchen is dense, yeah. It's not huge. You hear some shit on the police scanner and a little detective work, it's easy to find out where shit is going down. Frank was already nearby. New assholes, new observations, new recon.
Just because he didn't see a streak of dark red through the pier-side compound doesn't mean he wasn't aware. The minute there was gunfire and a wreck he was launching himself behind. That was probably a mistake on his part. One vigilante? Bad. Two? Torch everything and leave no evidence.
Which is part of why he was able to duck out as fast as he had in. Two bozos see his face, the panic itself is doing a bang up job.
But where oh were is Red?
There are only so many choices. He scans the water and makes the choice to jack a little rowboat. It's dark and honestly the flames are what is drawing the most attention.
[ It isn't the first time they've crossed paths in the night with their respective work. It won't be the last, more than likely. Mike can't think about that now because all he can think about is how mind-numbingly cold the water is. It feels like it's stabbing through his skin with each and every movement, but he bites his bottom lip to keep himself quiet.
He must be going in and out. Survival instincts kick in and he tries, half flailing as he does, to pull himself up onto the pier. It only succeeds in splashing up water around him, and he grabs back onto the wooden stanchion. He hears something not too far away from him, but he can't call out past his chattering teeth.
Was that Frank? His gloves are only helping a little with holding on. His slippery consciousness is what the real problem is. He slips a little and it's enough to send him into a coughing fit. ]
[ They are at Frank's place again. Matt is coming to terms with this whole thing, more okay with it after Frank saved Mike's life after a dive into the freezing river, but doing this anywhere else would not be the best call. It's okay though, Mike doesn't mind the commute.
It means he's already warmed up, ready for whatever it is they decide to get into once he gets to his partner's place.
When the door opens, he's already in Frank's space, and arms flung around his neck. He pulls him into a slow kiss to savor this version of a greeting. Only when he breaks away does he chuckle and smile. ]
[He never wants to get used to the warm greeting. It shouldn't ever be old or mundane. He wants this. Badly. This is what he would kill for, this is what he would die for. Sorta hard to put that kind of emotion to words so he'll just envelope Mike in an embrace, one arm about his middle the other up to cup the back of his neck. A happy, if not exaggerated hum reverberates in the kiss.
They can be themselves here. In private. No questions, no comments. Just Mike and Frank.]
C'mon in, babe. [Though it's more of a shuffle together because he's not letting go.] How are you feeling?
[ He's still in awe that it doesn't seem to get old. He's amazed by it. The fact that each and every time they come crashing together it just makes the desire to be close stronger. Mike has already fought for this, but if he had to again, he would in a heartbeat.
The fact that they have no walls here. No things to hide from each other. The world outside doesn't matter. ]
It took too long to get here. [ Is what he's feeling. He finds his mouth again with his own for another brief kiss, and lets his arms encircle his shoulders. ] But I'm good. You?
[ Days seem longer now that he doesn't have anyone to answer to. No driving purpose. Serve life itself. He knows what the Hand did now is wrong. It doesn't affect him the way it would have before. He knows that as well.
His memories are muddled and disjointed. He doesn't have anything to really gauge off of. He left the safety of Frank Castle's small apartment to try and find his brother. Half a day and nothing. A full day and still nothing. Then he catches something at the river.
When he thinks of where his brother might go, or ask to go in a vulnerable state, he only thinks of one place. Even the place that was their home for so many years has little affect on his memory. Bits and pieces, jumbled conversations like they are underwater. Nightmares. Stick. Stick earns a spike of anger in his heart.
He's not sure that he's glad he's dead or not. It's complicated. He feels very close to the same about Alexandra and he's the one who took her life.
It's too easy to steal away into the church. To find the room where they have his brother. Pain is palpable in the air. Tension as well. He can smell old blood and bandages. Once the sister checking on him leaves, he slides into the room under the cover of night still, and kneels next to the bed.
His instincts brought him here. Now what? ]
Matty?
[ Still unused to so much conversation, his voice is rough at times. The Hand had little use for talk when it came to their weapon. The fact that he lost so much coming back was incredibly fortunate for them. It made him dependent. Needy. Easy to manipulate. Alexandra took advantage of it. ]
( i was finding myself sleepless and he was running out of lullabies. )
[ It's infuriating at times how patient Frank is. Infuriating and maddening and too much. They've come to blows since he dragged him back here from Midland before it imploded and collapsed. Still, he stays. Still, he's patient.
Mike hates him. He doesn't. He knows who he is. Who he was? Mike doesn't even know the answers. He's relearning all of it. Maybe he hates that Frank knows who he used to be, and all Mike's got is the mostly empty cavern of his skull and frustration.
Time goes on. Days. Weeks. They've gone into months now, haven't they? More settles and starts to make sense. They ordered Italian cause Mike asked for it. Something about it felt familiar. That was a few days ago. More is coming together for him, but it's still haphazardly pieced together.
Mike wakes up from the side of the bed that he takes cause there isn't anywhere else but the floor to sleep. They don't stay too close to each other, even if there's something familiar about it. Proximity is something that would come with memory and there isn't enough of it yet. There's a pressure change in the air. Static. Rain is in the air.
The thunder rattles the shitty window at the fire escape. He sighs and reaches up to rub at a temple, head starting with a dull ache. ]
[Survival mode was Frank's oxygen in the hardest of times. Operation Cerberus had him in corners and peril he had never imagined. The training and determination to not only get through this but to live had seen him touch American soil again. This was a different challenge. It required parts of his soul he didn't know where still attached to him, then again when it came to Michael Murdock there were miracles again. He was alive. And he wore his same face and talked with his same voice.
There was a kind of sad, hollowness that no doubt came from the gaps in his memory. He had to be patient, he had to be kind. It was not only for Mike but for himself. Losing his brother and gaining his freedom was not an even exchange. Right now he didn't know what it meant. In time he would. So Frank made measures to keep Mike close. Keep him fed, keep him as comfortable as his meager existence allowed.
When he asked for Italian, Frank didn't hesitate. They got a spread much bigger than their stomachs and they would have leftovers for days. Whether it was the flavor or the comfort, it was a ray of hope.
The night is the hardest for Frank. The haze near sleep and waking nightmares and restlessness he had to soothe alone. That was not for Mike to trouble himself with. And being without him it was hard. Having him within arm's length was an ache he wasn't ready for. Like anything else though, Frank would find a way to deal.
The rumbling shakes the glass and he stirs. Just as he starts to settle he feels Mike move.]
[ Mike doesn't like to think of the things that kept him going during his time with the Hand. The sense of purpose is still buried deep, like a splinter he can't get out now infectious and aching. Poison in his blood. There's a small war between his head, his heart, and maybe his soul.
The blood on his hands didn't bother him before. It does now, but not near as much as it should. That he knows. Sometimes pleas wake him up in the dead of night and the smell of blood in the air. Other times it's his brother's voice. Or Frank's hands on his skin.
He thinks when they had Italian ordered in that it was the first time he laughed in a while. Barely a chuckle but something about the taste was just right. With the right person as well.
Frank doesn't sleep well either, he's noticed. Mike isn't sure there's anything he can do for that. Or if he's crossing some line to try. So he doesn't. ]
The change in air pressure.
[ At the very least. He reaches up to his chest, rubbing idly at the scars from the sai. Alexandra said if she could take them from him, she would have. A testament to the failure of those who claimed to love him, she called it. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
calltoaction) wrote2019-09-13 04:07 pm
( what you wish to hold will rest sweetly and soft in the palms of your guarded hands. )
What they're walking into tonight, they've talked about. In heated whispers and sometimes arguments. Prayers said in silence or out loud. Wondering what the answer is. Wondering if this is it. Why else do they hear what they do? Feel the things they feel? They tried all the right ways of doing this. They reached out to the proper authorities. The man was smart and his wife was just willfully ignorant about it all.
So a little girl suffered where only they could hear. ]
How does that feel? [ Michael asks his brother as he finishes wrapping his hands. It's at terrible get up. Minimal protection. His face is barely hidden, even if it is the dead of night out there. It's why they have an alibi in place for after Matt leaves. One of their neighbors, a kind, elderly woman, is always fussing that he should visit. He shouldn't be alone all day long. So, he'll visit. Help out with a couple of small things. Be visible. ] Not too tight?
Walk me through it again?
[ They have to be on the same page with this. They have to be sure. One of them can't waver on this, there's too much at stake for that. ]
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That is how a father should be. This man that hurts his daughter...this can't go on. Matthew flexes his fingers.]
It's fine. It will do. I don't think he'll put up much of a fight.
[Especially for what is going to be rained down on him. Both arms move independently testing the ropes. Yeah, they'll hold.]
I'll find a way into the yard. It's surrounded by chain link. The minute I get the chance, I'll be up on the rail cars, up and out of the way. I'll wait and get the drop on him once he's alone.
[He wets his lips.]
You?
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Probably too drunk to manage much.
[ But even drunkards can get lucky hits in sometimes. Mike tilts his head, listening to the ropes flex and creak, and nods. It'll work. ]
Mrs. Davis is always wanting us to drop in. I'll bring over some groceries she's needing, and help clean up a little for her. The weather lately is really bothering her hip.
[ Just in case something goes wrong. Just in case Matt is seen. But that won't happen. He has to believe it won't happen. Why else would they have been led here? He has to trust this. They have to have faith that this is what was meant to happen. ]
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( we were waves, two, from two seas set to smash and collide )
The only problem with it still being daylight outside were neighbors. He couldn't exactly ditch the apartment for the rooftops at this hour. So, stuck he is, and he just focuses on getting ready. The place wasn't far that he was meeting Frank at, but he'd mentioned something about a drive. Mike wasn't sure where, or if it was in town. Didn't matter.
He's got a small backpack on the couch next to him, and he's pulling his shoes on when he hears the door open. Now, if only he can get out the door with a minimum of bloodshed. Verbal or otherwise.
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Well.
Right now he just wanted to get inside, get comfortable. Eat and cool down. The day in court was trying. It felt like nothing he said or did was getting through to Karen or Foggy. Was it something he said? Was it something that Mike said? There was only one cure for this. A nice, quiet evening with some takeout, a radio show and maybe a spar. Though being here and knowing the both of them were safe always put an ease to his mind.]
You would not believe the day I had--[He sets the cane aside and hangs his satchel. That's when Matt pauses.]
Are you going out?
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They've each had moments of weakness. Each time something has kept them together. This feels---well, he's not sure. Maybe that's why he's still pursuing it, even as insane as it is. Which, honestly, it's pretty damn insane.
He can smell the courtroom, city, and the underlying scent of their small offices. The case was wearing both of them down, and that made Mike think more that maybe this was needed. No, not maybe. It was. He clears his throat softly, and continues to tie his shoe. ]
Uh, yeah. I'm---someone's expecting me. [ It's not that he's ashamed of anything that he doesn't say Frank's name. It's more the fact that saying it will only hasten how quickly the argument comes on. ]
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the echoes bounce off of me, the shadow lost beside me, there is no need to pretend
For being so careful, so attentive, it was a right shit show. So he was glad to promise a getaway. He and Elektra would run, who knows where. They were going to die. They were going to die together.
Then maybe Mike would be able to live as he wanted. He would like that, then. No one to push him into corners, no one to eat all of the sweets. Thinking as though he'll never see him again was easier if it was laced with antagonism. The foot soldiers of the Hand were creeping up the stairs and over the roof.]
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He agreed, hoping that he didn't sound bitter or angry (he was though) that they should go their own ways. The Hand would chase Matt and Elektra. They would die, who knows where, and Mike would never, ever know. It's what he wanted, though, isn't it? And Jesus he got that now, didn't he? He gets it, but it isn't enough to make him okay with staying there in their apartment and waiting for them to get away---or worse.
It's why he makes the stupidest decision of his life. I'm sorry. I can't do this. I have to go. Getting the old black suit out of the trunk is easy. It slides on like an old suit, and before he can think to go check his phone when it goes off again, he's already out the roof access, and vaulting across alleyways to get to the fight.
It isn't hard to pinpoint once he's out there. There's a lot of radio chatter. People watching the news unfold. Sirens once he gets closer. Making the roof they are on is more difficult, but once the fighting starts, he's right next to them. If they're going to get out of there alive, then they are going to need all the help they can get. ]
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And then Stick. Again. No breaks on this thing! Luring the Hand away from New York was the best outcome. They could run. Mike would be safe. So would Foggy and Karen. It wasn't an ideal option, just the best option.
Barreling out into the night air, Matt's mouth drops open.]
What do you think you're doing?
[Not that they can have that much of a conversation spinning and knocking away a barrage of fists and feet.]
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we are returning by the road we came.
He wouldn't trade it for anything. ]
No, come on, hey. I have to go. I'm sorry.
[ Pants, check. Shirt, well, he's looking for that. This is a new experience, trying to extricate himself from a very good night out then time together in. If he could stay all day, he would. The thought makes his heart do a weird little flutter that he's not really familiar with. He realizes what Frank has too late to grab for it before it's out of reach, and the other man has an arm secure around his waist.
He huffs with fond amusement.]
Can I have my shirt back?
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Quit moving. I'm trying to sleep here.
[He is about fully awake. The sun isn't even up yet, right? What's the rush. Before they try and pin down all of the feelings and emotions, they should just accept things as they are. Just be. Frank sighs and opens an eye to look up at the man.]
What will you give me for the shirt?
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You've been awake for over an hour.
[ At least mostly. He heard it. No, the sun isn't up, but it's going to be difficult once it is up for him to make it back to the apartment he shares with Matt before its easy to be noticed. ]
Negotiations for my shirt? Offer on the table from your side first, then we can negotiate.
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it starts with bloodshed, always bloodshed, always the same.
The end result was still the same.
Breaking his fists on faces and disarming as many as he could didn't do a damn thing. In the end he had to break away from the main fighting, and make for the pier. Diving into the water in the middle of winter was the absolutely worst plan, but it was better than dying in a hail of gunfire. Even though he was going quickly, he still felt the burn of a bullet tearing through his arm. It was a little deeper than a graze, but that thought left him as soon as the ice-cold of the water hit him full force.
New players or not, he was they seemed too stupid to double check if he'd been taken care of. Swimming away from the scene was difficult, but he managed to get some distance at least. ]
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Just because he didn't see a streak of dark red through the pier-side compound doesn't mean he wasn't aware. The minute there was gunfire and a wreck he was launching himself behind. That was probably a mistake on his part. One vigilante? Bad. Two? Torch everything and leave no evidence.
Which is part of why he was able to duck out as fast as he had in. Two bozos see his face, the panic itself is doing a bang up job.
But where oh were is Red?
There are only so many choices. He scans the water and makes the choice to jack a little rowboat. It's dark and honestly the flames are what is drawing the most attention.
Shit. Shit. Shit.]
C'mon, Red. C'mon.
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He must be going in and out. Survival instincts kick in and he tries, half flailing as he does, to pull himself up onto the pier. It only succeeds in splashing up water around him, and he grabs back onto the wooden stanchion. He hears something not too far away from him, but he can't call out past his chattering teeth.
Was that Frank? His gloves are only helping a little with holding on. His slippery consciousness is what the real problem is. He slips a little and it's enough to send him into a coughing fit. ]
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( with all of us watching with all of us wondering if these two boys will figure it out. )
It means he's already warmed up, ready for whatever it is they decide to get into once he gets to his partner's place.
When the door opens, he's already in Frank's space, and arms flung around his neck. He pulls him into a slow kiss to savor this version of a greeting. Only when he breaks away does he chuckle and smile. ]
Hey.
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They can be themselves here. In private. No questions, no comments. Just Mike and Frank.]
C'mon in, babe. [Though it's more of a shuffle together because he's not letting go.] How are you feeling?
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The fact that they have no walls here. No things to hide from each other. The world outside doesn't matter. ]
It took too long to get here. [ Is what he's feeling. He finds his mouth again with his own for another brief kiss, and lets his arms encircle his shoulders. ] But I'm good. You?
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( i want to tell you this story without having to confess anything. )
His memories are muddled and disjointed. He doesn't have anything to really gauge off of. He left the safety of Frank Castle's small apartment to try and find his brother. Half a day and nothing. A full day and still nothing. Then he catches something at the river.
When he thinks of where his brother might go, or ask to go in a vulnerable state, he only thinks of one place. Even the place that was their home for so many years has little affect on his memory. Bits and pieces, jumbled conversations like they are underwater. Nightmares. Stick. Stick earns a spike of anger in his heart.
He's not sure that he's glad he's dead or not. It's complicated. He feels very close to the same about Alexandra and he's the one who took her life.
It's too easy to steal away into the church. To find the room where they have his brother. Pain is palpable in the air. Tension as well. He can smell old blood and bandages. Once the sister checking on him leaves, he slides into the room under the cover of night still, and kneels next to the bed.
His instincts brought him here. Now what? ]
Matty?
[ Still unused to so much conversation, his voice is rough at times. The Hand had little use for talk when it came to their weapon. The fact that he lost so much coming back was incredibly fortunate for them. It made him dependent. Needy. Easy to manipulate. Alexandra took advantage of it. ]
( i was finding myself sleepless and he was running out of lullabies. )
Mike hates him. He doesn't. He knows who he is. Who he was? Mike doesn't even know the answers. He's relearning all of it. Maybe he hates that Frank knows who he used to be, and all Mike's got is the mostly empty cavern of his skull and frustration.
Time goes on. Days. Weeks. They've gone into months now, haven't they? More settles and starts to make sense. They ordered Italian cause Mike asked for it. Something about it felt familiar. That was a few days ago. More is coming together for him, but it's still haphazardly pieced together.
Mike wakes up from the side of the bed that he takes cause there isn't anywhere else but the floor to sleep. They don't stay too close to each other, even if there's something familiar about it. Proximity is something that would come with memory and there isn't enough of it yet. There's a pressure change in the air. Static. Rain is in the air.
The thunder rattles the shitty window at the fire escape. He sighs and reaches up to rub at a temple, head starting with a dull ache. ]
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There was a kind of sad, hollowness that no doubt came from the gaps in his memory. He had to be patient, he had to be kind. It was not only for Mike but for himself. Losing his brother and gaining his freedom was not an even exchange. Right now he didn't know what it meant. In time he would. So Frank made measures to keep Mike close. Keep him fed, keep him as comfortable as his meager existence allowed.
When he asked for Italian, Frank didn't hesitate. They got a spread much bigger than their stomachs and they would have leftovers for days. Whether it was the flavor or the comfort, it was a ray of hope.
The night is the hardest for Frank. The haze near sleep and waking nightmares and restlessness he had to soothe alone. That was not for Mike to trouble himself with. And being without him it was hard. Having him within arm's length was an ache he wasn't ready for. Like anything else though, Frank would find a way to deal.
The rumbling shakes the glass and he stirs. Just as he starts to settle he feels Mike move.]
...can't sleep?
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The blood on his hands didn't bother him before. It does now, but not near as much as it should. That he knows. Sometimes pleas wake him up in the dead of night and the smell of blood in the air. Other times it's his brother's voice. Or Frank's hands on his skin.
He thinks when they had Italian ordered in that it was the first time he laughed in a while. Barely a chuckle but something about the taste was just right. With the right person as well.
Frank doesn't sleep well either, he's noticed. Mike isn't sure there's anything he can do for that. Or if he's crossing some line to try. So he doesn't. ]
The change in air pressure.
[ At the very least. He reaches up to his chest, rubbing idly at the scars from the sai. Alexandra said if she could take them from him, she would have. A testament to the failure of those who claimed to love him, she called it. ]
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text.
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I'm coming back and I'm hungry.
[It is not worth a call give him a minute okay?]
I gonna need help.
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[ Beat. ]
help with what?
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