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Confessions were said to be an act of honesty and courage. Frank remembered that from back in the day when he’d been a practicing Catholic. It was one thing he’d always believed, more than anything he'd ever heard about God.
Honesty and courage were both things Frank thought he completely embraced these days. The nightmare weighing heavy on his mind, made him reconsider as he stared across the apartment where Matt was making him tea. It said a lot that he wasn’t protesting the stupid hot leaf juice in favor of coffee. Who cared if it was four am.
No good would come of speaking about what was on Frank’s mind. As much as logic said it was the right thing to tell the man he loved about it, the thought of saying it out loud made his stomach turn. If he drank the tea, maybe he’d have an excuse for puking. Assuming he followed Matt’s gentle nudges and told him about his nightmare, like he was so used to doing now. It was bonding, self-care and all that good shit.
Matt had reached the point in their relationship a while ago that he wanted to share all the deep stuff. The kind two mature adults living together with no plans on ending their relationship, did. Frank... well, fuck him because he had found that he wanted that too. Otherwise he wouldn’t have gone from annoyances with benefits to spooning most mornings.
Eventually Frank would get up to make them breakfast. The life of a construction worker started early and to this day he had trouble sleeping. Case and point, their asses were sitting on the couch and not snug in their bed. Besides, he liked doing things for Matt. If anything, it was possible he spoiled the guy.
The thing was, Frank just wasn't sure the nightmare he'd just had was the kind of baggage he could share. Particularly with the man he had started to secretly entertain spending the rest of his life with. No doubt, the reason the unsettling memories had resurfaced in his sleep with Matt warm beside him under the blankets during a cold New York winter night.
Considering the nightmare had involved Maria, Frank found a certain amount of humor in the situation. Dark humor. The kind that kept things light because he couldn’t remain emotionless anymore. He had to either laugh or cry and he wasn't exactly a fan of shedding tears. Another little piece of humor since he felt privileged to wipe any of Matt's away from his pretty brown eyes.
"You know, you can't tell me anything that will change how I feel about us," Matt tried, a common reminder during these moments, as he padded from the kitchen to the living room with a steaming cup in his hand. “...or you.”
Frank believed him. He did. The guy was just as crazy as him for falling in love with the Punisher in the first place. A man who shot others in the face without blinking and left others hanging on meat hooks.
Matt could claim he was reformed. Frank could live like he was too. Still, those incidents had happened and they had drenched his ledger in blood.
Reluctantly taking the cup from Matt as the man sat down on the couch beside him, Frank looked at the liquid. Lit up by the billboard outside. It smelled weird. He was going to drink it anyway, because the stubborn bastard was trying to help him. The way he always had.
Matt was good. He was pure, despite all his ‘devil’ work that sometimes gave him a little internal conflict. It was kinda why he knew the man wasn’t ready for this story, despite how many of his nightmares he’d shared before now. The majority of which were of war or the murder of his kids.
Something about what Frank had dealt with with Maria was different. He couldn't exactly pinpoint why. Aside from Matt, he didn't give a shit what people thought about it… and maybe that was part of the problem. It was the first time in ages, he actually cared what someone thought of him.
"It's not that," Frank admitted, sipping his tea like a good boy and… gross. "Not really."
"Frank,” Matt started, and Frank could practically hear the counter argument building in the man's head. "You're the one person I've never had to keep secrets from. My past or present. I've said it before and I'll say it again. I don't care what it is. I just don't want you to hide yourself from me.”
Frank shook his head, instinctively protesting. Out of all the trauma he'd ever told Matt, this one would paint him different from the others. It made him feel pathetic and down right pitiful. Horrible things to feel as a proud Marine. Fuck being the Punisher.
Worthless outside of combat. Weak, as just another man. Frank had silently dealt with some self-loathing of his own long before Matt had pestered his way into his life. It's why he had made sure to tell Daredevil that day, that he wasn't a bad guy. He needed to hear it out loud, to believe it, that way he could keep chugging on.
"You ain't got nothing to hide," Frank told him, soothingly patting Matt's knee with a touch of envy.
"Talk to me” Matt tried, covering his hand.
‘I don’t want this for our relationship. We can't build a future together, on a foundation of secrets. A lie by omission, is still a lie.’ The list of reasons and arguments Matt had made to convince Frank into sharing little pieces of himself, went on and on. He knew, because they’d argued about it at the beginning of their relationship. Back when fucking around didn’t equal talking.
“I am talking,” Frank mumbled, taking another drink and openly grimacing. “Ugh.”
“And I love it,” Matt actually smiled at him, apparently deciding to shelve being a smart ass for now. “So, tell me more. What's bothering you?”
Frank squeezed Matt’s hand instead of pulling it away like he might have a long time ago. It made him feel better, stronger, when the uncomfortable weakness from his nightmare trickled through his muscles again. The urge to cry, without the spray of a shower to mask it, building under his eyes.
"I wasn't a good husband," Frank managed, more defeated than bitter. "Why do you think she wanted to divorce me?"
"People get divorced all the time. Nearly forty percent of American couples. Usually for getting married too young or due to major life changes," Matt informed him and Frank couldn’t quite produce a scoff. "I didn't know Maria, but knowing who you were before and knowing who you are now? I could never imagine leaving you."
Frank threw back his flower water like a pot of coffee, appreciating the distracting burn it made in his throat. He hoped whatever supposed benefits it had would kick in soon, as he sat the cup down like he’d just taken a shot. All while cursing his stupid brain for making him relive this bullshit.
“You don’t know that,” Frank argued, scrubbing at his scalp and putting his head between his knees to breathe.
“I do,” Matt said and it sounded so sure it was fucking laughable.
The nights he woke up gasping from his dreams, Frank had gotten really good at staving off PTSD episodes. Grounding agents, he’d learned on his own and the few Matt had taught him to help with panic attacks. He wasn’t sure either of those were happening right now, they probably would have already, but he could feel the cold sweat over his skin. Maybe lingering from the physical stress of the nightmare or maybe it was all just in his head.
"You're gonna think differently of me," Frank warned him, dragging his hands over his face and displeased when it produced none of the sweat he felt "... and I’m talking about the monster me. The ‘this’ me. The soft version.”
"Never," Matt told him, again sounding so damn sure of himself.
Frank wanted to believe him. He wanted to believe him bad enough it hurt, because Matt had come to be the one person he could trust in this world. A pretty sad and otherwise lonely one. Until they’d realized together one day, that they could be that thing each other needed to be fulfilled in both of their identities.
Matt Murdock. Daredevil. Frank Castle and Pete Castiglione. The Punisher on special occasions or when absolutely necessary.
"Do you want to go talk to Sister Maggie?" Matt offered, carefully.
Oh boy, if the man wasn't getting desperate now. It must have seemed, sounded, bad if Matt was suggesting his boyfriend have some kind of confessional with his mother. As if that relationship wasn’t weird enough. Although Frank really did like Sister Maggie.
The woman reminded Frank of Matt. Both of them stood firm that he took after his father, but he figured it was just because they were similar enough they couldn’t see it. Sure, maybe the man had his father’s pride. All that sass, smart ass-ery and natural knack for arguing just for the sake of it definitely came from Sister Maggie.
"No," Frank decided, shaking his head again after genuinely taking a few to consider it. "Just you, but I don't want to do it here."
"Why?" Matt asked, looking completely puzzled and alright that was fair.
"It’s home," Frank said, leaning his head back and thinking about how many times he’d happily passed out looking at the same interesting ceiling. "I don't want to bring those memories here, where I’m happy. Yeah, I wanna move one day, but not because I can only think about what I’ve told you on this couch."
“You hate this couch,” Matt said lightly, raising his eyebrows. “... and we’ve talked about almost everything here… or on rooftops.”
“That’s beside the point,” Frank huffed dismissively. “War, the kids… both of them are different than, than… this.”
“Okay, that’s fine,” Matt agreed easily, softly, untucking himself from the corner of the couch he’d settled into. “Where do you want to go?”
Back to bed. Into his memories so he could douse them in gasoline. Far away from this moment, even if it meant legging it the whole damn length of the island of Manhattan. Maybe he wasn’t desperate enough to jump into the Hudson, but he’d stand on the edge and seriously fucking consider it.
“Somewhere on the waterfront,” Frank decided, having always preferred to look out at the bay more than the Hudson anyway. “I’m gonna clean until then. You should try to get some more sleep.”
“We both know that isn’t happening,” Matt said, drinking his drink. “I have some case work I can get ahead of while we wait for double digits.”
Standing up, Frank planted a hard kiss on the top of Matt’s head. Rumpled hair, tickling his nose. A comfort to them both, that he needed more than stress cleaning he was about to do. The coping mechanism he hadn’t noticed he’d had.
Personally, Frank blamed the military for it, but he knew that wasn’t entirely the truth. It really came from his short stays at home between tours, wanting to keep busy and be useful. The methodical habit helped give him some order. Calmed him. No different than field stripping his weapons.
Picking up his cup, Frank nearly considered a second cup of tea as he headed into the kitchen. He got out the extra large container of dish soap and a stack of rags from the bottom cabinets. The apartment was going to be scrubbed top to bottom by the time he was done. Maybe he’d feel better then.
Doubtful. Frank got the warm water ready. He took a deep breath trying to decide if he was feeling a sense of panic, because he was self-aware like that now, or just fucking pissed at himself. The answer was both.
Frank remained firm on the opinion that nothing good would come from telling Matt the truth. All he could think about were the worst outcomes. The nightmare he’d relived, repeatedly, didn't happen to people like him. Consciously he knew it could and that it probably shouldn't have, but his stomach churned with nausea at the idea of telling the man he loved the failure of a husband he’d been.
—
A man had duties. He had a lot of them. It was what Frank had been raised and honestly, he believed that. Maybe not to the misogynistic levels a bunch of other men did, but he did.
Keeping his wife happy? Well, as they liked to say, happy wife, happy life. Frank had always called bullshit, but he had to admit it was easier that way.
The first time Frank had thought that thought after he’d married Maria had made him feel guilty. Selfish. As if there wasn't already enough broken in him after returning home from war.
No, Frank had needed to add on something more... something worse. Marriage was a partnership, so not making the person he loved happy made him feel like shit. It was safe to say, it turned out he wasn’t coping very well with being a soldier as well as a husband and a father.
“Not tonight,” Frank said gently, turning his head away from Maria's kisses as she came back to bed from checking on Lisa.
Frank was tired. Just like every other damn night since shortly after returning home. It took too much energy to do much of anything and the one thing that kept him going was Lisa. Who was a whole four years old now somehow.
Maria smoothed her hand over his chest. All the way up to the side of his face, to turn it back towards her. Frank kinda wished he’d worn a shirt to bed as his wife kissed him on the lips again.
“Come on babe,” Maria murmured, against his lips, deciding to kiss his jaw when he just couldn’t find it in him to return the physical affection. “We've gotta make the most of it.”
Frank didn’t really know what they were supposed to make the most of. He could feel their marriage failing in his bones. As picture perfect as it was, the cracks kept growing in his absence. Maybe it was supposed to be the time they had left together before his next deployment. It would be a few more months, but a phone call could come at any time.
Honestly, with Maria touching him when he didn’t want to do more than just lay there, Frank found he would be content to ship out tomorrow. After a sweet morning with Lisa. Eating pancakes, playing with whatever toys she wanted and reading a few books until she fell asleep for her nap. He always had more energy after first waking up, assuming it wasn’t from a nightmare.
Blinking, into the darkness, Frank turned his head away again as the side of his neck was kissed. He found comfort in the lack of light from where Maria had shut the door. A new development, either from being a soldier or just the simple comfort that came from hiding within the darkness. Still, he kinda wished it’d stay open because he didn’t want the kind of privacy his wife was trying to give them.
Frank swallowed at the cold feeling of Maria's hand sliding over his abs. Fingers that he really wanted to just bat away, working their way into his boxers. The chill her lips landed on his lips as she leaned over him, made him shiver and he knew it was for the wrong reasons. As wrong as the tight whimper that left him when she cupped his uninterested cock.
Emotional turmoil turned out to be a real cock block. Frank liked sex. He liked it a whole damn lot actually. The thing was, he just wasn’t in the mood and hadn’t been since returning home. Hell, he’d been too tired to even question why. Until maybe now.
“Honey, I really don't want to right now,” Frank tried again, finding himself unable to wish Lisa would interrupt them because god forbid she walk in on her parents.
“Don't worry, I'll do all the work," Maria told him, starting to pump his cock encouragingly.
Oh, that did not make him feel better like she’d thought it would. Maybe like it would have anyone else. Frank was broken though, making him different. If his wife wanted sex and he was there, he couldn’t find it in himself to say no. So he closed his eyes, trying not to focus on the tingling sensation of his cock hardening.
Frank blew out a breath of relief that he hoped was mistaken for excitement when Maria let go of him. He pushed his boxers down like a good husband, any other man with a hungry attractive wife, and waited for her to wiggle out of her own underwear. Finding it hard to get his breathing back on track, he registered it as wrong that he didn’t even want to look at his wife’s tits when his peripheral vision caught her pulling her nightgown up over her head. Another time, he might have liked to hold them. Now he just wanted them put away.
Grabbing the base of his stupid erection, he held it close to his body. Tight. Hoping more than anything it would hide the shaking of his hand that had started. If he was lucky, calm the churning of his stomach too. Hr realized it was a protective move.
“Maria,” Frank managed, wondering if this was the start of him developing PTSD.
“I’m coming,” she answered, before he could decide what to add to that thought.
The next thing Frank knew his hand was being pulled off his cock. He felt the tremor in his right hand instantly take back over as his lungs squeezed. No tighter than his eyes did, but it made him dizzy.
Trying to make it better for himself, Frank told himself it was dormant arousal flaring back to life unexpectedly. The slick heat between his wife’s legs sliding over his crotch was what every married man longed for while serving. It didn’t work as well as he’d hoped it would and he squirmed under Maria’s light weight begging for some kind of… anything that was better than what he currently felt.
It’d been well over a year since the last time Maria and him had had sex. Tonight was about to be the first time they’d fooled around since he’d returned home two months ago. Maybe he just needed to get it over with.
Frank felt nausea deciding his lack of interest was another piece of evidence behind their failing marriage. All of which was pretty much his fault. The consequence of being such a shitty husband, unable to give Maria everything she wanted or needed to just be fucking happy with him. Content if nothing else.
Laying there, letting Maria take what she needed from him, was the least he could do for his wife. Frank reasoned with himself that, even if he couldn't find it in him to rest his hands on her lean thighs, the way he once would have. Both were busy gripping the bedsheets in a way that would definitely leave bruises on her.
If it were any one else on top of him, Frank actually would have been happy to beat them black and blue. Maria was his wife though, and he repeated that as she grabbed his erection to put it exactly where he didn’t want it. Still, it was fine, because she wasn’t going to hurt him or anything.
Frank realized he hadn’t been breathing, when he felt the tight wet heat engulfing his cock. It felt like he was being pushed under water. Slowly, with a pleased hum of satisfaction hiding the choke of overwhelming emotion in his own throat.
As Maria began to move her hips, riding him, Frank was happy that he had an easily excusable reason to regulate his breathing. The post deployment screening he’d been through, had had a shrink teaching him basic techniques for things like anxiety and shit. You know, ‘just in case’. Maybe the insistence that he’d brushed off weeks ago, had some fucking use for him in life after all.
Frank counted to five and back, multiple times. Frank forced his eyes open, when he felt like he had a handle on himself. Time doing wonders to make everything feel kinda distant. All he did was look up at the ceiling though, because that was what he was now. An uninterested, unappealing husband.
Ignoring the way Maria whimpered, the burn of her hands planted on his chest, Frank supposed the stimulation his cock was getting was pleasurable. Physically. Maybe. Okay, not really, but his body was resilient. Together, they’d survive a hell of a lot more than some orgasm he didn’t want.
Thrusting out of habit, muscle memory, Frank had the thought to ask if she was still on birth control. It hadn’t been a topic of concern before now and they’d definitely not wrapped him up first. A real pity, because maybe the barrier might have helped. As it was, the throb of his cock was like a heated iron on the head. Talk about a horrible feeling.
Brushing off the concern, Frank decided it didn’t matter. Maria and him were married. The safest kind of relationship you could get. Whatever happened in their marriage, it was his duty to take care of. Maybe another baby would make them happier. Lisa was the one thing they both could converse about with genuine smiles on their faces. Usually.
Frank fought the instinct he had to pull out right then, because that was all wrong, just as his wife bore down on his cock for more. A filthy mewl that made his ears ring and made his skin feel like something nasty had been poured over it. Better than the orgasm that felt like it was being carved out of his flesh with a blunt knife as he started to come, gasping for air with his eyes watering like a faucet.
Apparently Maria had finished somewhere in his spiral too. Frank was glad, grateful, when she crawled off of him and he waited just a few seconds as she settled into place before throwing his legs over the bed to get up. Sex was sex, but this had been the worst sex of his entire fucking life.
Pulling up his boxers, he held them tight in the front. He wanted to burn them. If Lisa wasn’t in the house, he would have considered it in the shower that he made for after the ‘love you too’ that fell from his lips out of habit or maybe obligation. The last thing he wanted was to stir up more shit with the mother of his child. It was all nothing anyways.
Leaving his satisfied wife to sleep, checking on Lisa with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, Frank found his way into the shower. It wasn’t until he was standing under the scolding spray, scrubbed raw everywhere with the scent of honey taking over the bathroom, that something came to mind. A word that left him confused, doubtful and honestly a little sick. Renewing the nausea he’d fought off.
Beating his head lightly on his fists, propped on the shower wall, Frank forced it into the back of his mind. He was a married man. Sick things weren't going to be associated with him no matter what Maria wanted to try to claim about his wavering commitment. Marriage with Maria had somehow turned into some mission in his head. Luckily, he was a damn good soldier.
—-
As a man that liked the sound of his own voice, that ran his mouth just for the fun of it sometimes, the silence was unsettling. Frank hated it. Maybe because he’d talked more, said more, than he’d intended too. It just worked that way with Matt now and he’d wanted to explain things as best he could. Actually fucking hoping, the guy would understand.
Frank found his jacket was starting to feel suffocating the longer Matt went without speaking, just facing out across the river. Any passerby might think he was enjoying the view. He on the other hand knew the man was contemplating how he wanted to respond to the new… information.
The sun had risen, but it didn’t feel like it. The sun was out, but it didn’t look like it. The sun seemed like it was missing, and Frank told himself that it was a typical mid-December morning in New York City.
Matt was in his dark brown peacoat that Foggy had bought him. He was wearing the long fluffy maroon scarf that some client had knitted, and swallowed him up to his ears. Frank knew first hand that under his black slacks were actual, legitimate, long johns. Breaking down things, eased his mind a little.
"I know what you're gonna say," Frank pressed for something, trying to decide if he believed it or not.
“Tell me,” Matt actually responded, unmoving like a park statue.
"That it wasn't my fault?” Frank guessed, because it was that or ‘I can’t do this’.
“It’s not,” Matt said flatly, but the drag of his black gloves on his cane as he gripped it tighter betrayed his real emotions.
“I was her husband,” Frank shrugged. “It was… taking care of her was my job. I failed. So it was.”
Frank watched the fog of Matt’s breath billow out into the freezing air. A long suffering exhale. It was kinda cute, but he didn’t dare say that when the guy was in a mood. An angry one from the sound of it, that meant he was a few minutes or words away from snapping.
“I have to admit, I did not… this wasn’t…” Matt started, failed, and then chuckled the low dark sound Frank hated as the man rubbed his forehead.
“It’s the first time I’ve had that one in a long time,” Frank told him, understanding that ‘my boyfriend was maybe kinda sorta raped sometimes’ definitely wasn’t on the guy’s bingo card for his mountain of trauma. “It just caught me off guard is all. I don’t have it as often as the others.”
Matt’s lips pressed together tightly. Frank was really wishing he could take back everything. Hell, as far back as he could fucking remember right about now. He’d been an idiot, to try being something more with someone again. Obviously it hadn’t worked out well the first damn time.
The only good that had come out of his marriage with Maria was his babies. So unless Matt wanted to adopt, he’d probably just get some heartbreak out of their relationship like a normal person with normal feelings. It wasn’t like he had the bits for growing the man’s baby. Otherwise they might have had four or five kids already.
“We didn’t have sex a lot,” Frank said, thinking of Junior’s conception and how much he’d loved him despite everything. “... that was just our normal.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Matt breathed, tugging at his scarf like it was choking him and a bitter ass cold wind wasn’t blowing in off the river. “None of that was normal, even if it became a… a ‘habit’ or a, or a ‘chore’ for you. It wasn’t ‘just’ anything.”
“I made it work,” Frank grumbled, staring at the choppy waves hitting the bank. “M’fine. It was fine.”
Matt shook his head hard, clearly disagreeing with him, but he didn’t say anything else. Frank didn’t really know why. He’d made his peace with all of that years ago. Fuck, he’d made peace with his uncomfortable sex life with Maria as it was fucking happening, before it’d given him Junior. Aside from the fact she was dead, he didn’t see any reason to dwell on something so… miniscule in comparison to everything else.
"Marriage doesn't steal someone’s autonomy," Matt finally said. "Marital rape is real and being a man doesn't invalidate you or make it okay."
Yeah… Frank wasn’t so sure about that. He was a straight presenting caucasian male that just so happened to be a veteran too. Outside of losing his kids, he was socially privileged and perfectly aware of that. Whatever his problems might have been, were piss poor in comparison to a lot of other people. The closest he got to a struggle was when people found out he was proudly bisexual.
Frank refused to cry about things like that. He wasn’t going to draw attention away from the people with real problems just because he hadn’t wanted to get it up for his late wife. Talk about embarrassing. Of course that was in the imaginary world where he was willing to share something like that with more than just Matt.
“It was a long time ago,” Frank reminded him.
"It doesn’t matter!" Matt seethed, nearly snapped, with his jaw clenched. "She hurt you! Emotionally. I'd rather stitch you up for the hundredth time before having you suffer... suffer that."
Matt sneered and Frank noticed the tears suddenly sliding out from beneath his glasses. It made him mildly uncomfortable. Guilty, for burdening the man he loved with one of the most pathetic moments in his life. The dozens upon dozens of times that he’d failed, when he had no reason or excuse that didn’t make him sound weak as fuck.
Nowadays Frank was fine being seen as broken. He’d watched his kids be murdered in broad daylight having a nice time out together. Of course he was fucking broken.
"Goddamn Sunshine, don't cry over me," Frank mumbled, sitting up from where he’d been leaning back and he had to look away from Matt’s silent stream of tears. “It was just Maria. It was just sex. It was…”
"It wasn't just sex," Matt hissed, standing up and throwing his cane to the ground with all the anger of someone that wanted to hit something. "Your wife raped you! Repeatedly! I don’t know how to make you see that and that it was not just anything. The fact it happened years ago, doesn’t invalidate it either.”
“I… see it. I guess,” Frank muttered, knowing any other dismissal of the memory would probably upset Matt more.
The man was going through a whole slide show of emotions, when Frank looked up from his pacing feet. Matt had a hand on his hip, running his other hand smoothing down his hair repeatedly. It was the snapping point that he had figured would be coming sooner or later. Another reason, he hadn’t wanted to tell him anything. He was an emotional man.
“Your wife,” Matt repeated, like he just couldn’t wrap his head around it. “Who swore to love you in sickness and in health. Swore before God to stand by your side always. She did that to you, when you were in a vulnerable place and you needed to be taken care of. Forcing you to have sex, when you don’t want to is rape no matter who does it. Husband or wife. Actually, it’s illegal and has been since 1993.”
Frank kinda wanted to argue. He had plenty of defenses for Maria in his head. Over the years, it was how he validated everything. Unfortunately, that had never stopped the memories from manifesting as nightmares. Otherwise he wouldn’t be in this damn situation in the first place.
Alright, Frank didn’t actually want to argue. All he wanted was for the conversation to be over and for them to head home. Ideally, pretend this hadn’t happened and maybe stop at Nelson’s Meats for an easy take home lunch. Afterwards, they could stop at the new bakery next door to grab some warm pastries. Supporting small local businesses had become a big thing of theirs.
“Couples, married or not, are supposed to always take care of each other,” Matt said sharply. “The way we do. Every bad day, or bruised rib… it’s what you do when you love someone.”
It was so sappy. It was so domestic. It was a dream and Frank could have cried if he let himself, because he was fucking ruining it.
"Fuck," Frank cursed, feeling stupid tears trying to form in the corner of his eyes and he rubbed at them with his own gloves fiercely. "I'm sorry."
"You don't apologize to me," Matt said, suddenly by his side on the bench again, cupping his face and encouraging him to look at him directly. "You’ve never apologized for anyone else's actions before, don’t start now. Your feelings were, are, real and valid. You have nothing to apologize for."
Frank let out a self-depreciating laugh, ignoring the tears that stubbornly formed again. He tried to look away from Matt, noticing the man’s breathing growing kind heavy. Maybe torn on what to say or what he wanted to do, thinking about storming off to go figure out how he felt about him now. The Punisher wasn’t just a mess to clean up, so was the actual Frank Castle. Simple father and husband.
God, Frank hated how his stupid heart actually worried Matt was considering leaving him. Forget exactly where they were in the city, but as a boyfriend. Wiping his nose on his wrist, he told himself it was because of the cold. Maybe this was the kind of shit you shared before establishing a relationship.
“I'm the one that's sorry,” Matt said, letting go of his face in favor of holding his hands and bowing his head. “I do think differently of you now.”
“Great,” Frank huffed, without enough energy to pull away. “Do I get to say I told you so already?”
“I don’t think differently of you in the way you’re worried and I know you’re stressed about it,” Matt said and fuck him very much for knowing him. “I’m just amazed that you went through your wife abusing you, neglecting you, and the whole time remained a kind, loyal, faithful, husband and father. I think, respect, so much more of you.”
Frank didn’t have much or anything to say to that. He supposed the summary was positive, but he was tapped out on talking about it. It was done, over and he wanted a goddamn red raspberry scone.
“You have such a big heart. You feel so much,” Matt said, sounding in awe and Frank nearly wrinkled his nose because that was laying it on a bit thick. “I love you more every day and I want to experience that forever. I will take care of you, beyond my dying breath.”
“Can we go now?” Frank asked, lifting his cap to scratch his head. “You’re doing that sappy thing again where it starts to sound like a certain something.”
Matt smiled at him. The soft, understanding one that was sweet and he usually kissed silly. Frank briefly worried, the confession might change their physical relationship. He hadn’t stopped to consider that, but thankfully the man didn’t hesitate to lean forward and kiss him deeply.
“I love you,” Matt told him, as he got back to his feet.
Frank took all of that as a good sign and he stood up while Matt went to fetch his cane from where it’d landed a few feet away when he threw it. The drama queen. A thought that made him smile for the first time all day. He’d be edgy for a few days, like usual after any rehashing, but he was inclined to think things were all clear.
“Sap,” Frank teased him, feeling a little bit better. “I love you too. Now I’m gonna get ice in my beard soon, so let’s go.”
“I’m glad you told me,” Matt continued, walking over and offering him his arm to take. “Thank you.”
The ‘thank you’ at the end of every confession never stopped being weird. Matt always said it. Thanked him for telling him about his nightmares because that was fun or something. It was a bonding thing, he knew that, so Frank had gotten used to it.
Frank was pretty sure, that was that. He had no more dismissed memories to talk about that he could recall as he thought about it. Hopefully, Matt and him could just be them from here on out. No more pain that wasn’t current, beating on the door of his subconscious that no one knew about. Ideally a reality, more than a dream with the man pressed up against his side as they walked into the brightening sun warmed day.
—
Considering how the day had started over fourteen hours ago, Frank was feeling pretty damn good. The tiredness finally settling into his bones, be damned. It was Matt's fault for keeping him warm with his legs thrown over his under a blanket in their poorly insulated apartment.
Frank could taste the lard on the back of his tongue as he ate their desserts. It was masked in a sweet raspberry sauce, but there none the less. He knew that was part of why Matt had gotten the apple dumplings. The flavor, cinnamon and nutmeg, was strong in a more pleasant way for him.
The new bakery near them was Amish. Run by a young family that mostly looked like it consisted of sisters and brothers. All of which had left western Pennsylvania for New York City in favor of not living in the 1800’s.
Frank wondered if the family found any humor in the fact they now lived in ‘Hell’s Kitchen’. Matt thought so and they’d had a few fun conversations about it over the course of the day. As a lapsed Catholic that wanted to get his hands on god half the time, the topic of religion could be entertaining for him.
Luckily, Matt was a good sport about it. No doubt because he was brimming with Catholic built and inner conflict. So, he understood, sometimes even finding his own amusement in the topic. Particularly when it involved understanding a certain point of view but completely disagreeing with it in a modern sense.
“What do you want?” Matt suddenly asked him, pointing his full fork at him.
“It's cold as balls on ice near closing time or I'd say another scone,” Frank told him, taking a small bite and debating if he wanted them to watch the new Superman. “Maybe try the blueberry one next time.”
“Noted, but not what I meant,” Matt said.
“Wanna watch the new Superman and pretend we're not geeks?” Frank asked, digging around for the remote now that Blue Beetle was dwindling down. “I won't tell anyone. I hear it's hard to be a nerd and a geek.”
“I'm sorry, who is the one with the secret comic book obsession?” Matt asked, innocently but oh so mockingly with his face.
As revenge, Frank leaned over and picked up a piece of Matt's crumbled dessert for himself. It was just as good as expected. If he didn't work a manual labor job, he'd be concerned for his health if this was the stuff the new place was putting out.
“I mean, for the future,” Matt tried casually. “We stayed here because it was already my place. It's close to my work. I do my job and…”
“Where is this coming from?” Frank interrupted him, finding the search bar on the tv.
“I want to move. Not out of Hell's Kitchen, but I’d like to do more when it comes to us,” Matt elaborated. “So what do you want?”
Frank's stomach didn't sour, but he did pause his typing in the movie title. He'd gotten too confident, thinking he'd escape the day without some other kind of serious conversation. Matt never let anything go that easy.
“Whatever you want,” Frank deflected, admitted, after a beat and going back to his task.
Matt made a displeased noise. Frank saw him scrunch up his nose unhappily out of the corner of his eye. All he could do was try not to sigh or let it ruin their evening.
“If this is about this morning…” Frank started, not even sure where he was going with it.
“No,” Matt instantly went to defend before visually hesitating. “Maybe.”
“Good god,” Frank grumbled, not at all prepared for what the man could possibly be thinking about… and maybe a bit embarrassed that was still on his mind.
“I know we’ve talked broadly about things over the years, but I don’t know,” Matt said, pushing apart the flaking pastery. “It doesn’t feel like enough now.”
“It’s called Catholic guilt. I thought you’d be familiar with it,” Frank commented. “Now shut up and finish eating.”
“Do you want to stay a construction worker? Do you want another apartment or an actual house?” Matt started to ramble, predictably not listening. “We’ve joked about children, but is that something you actually want? What about marriage? I thought you wouldn’t be interested, that's why I’ve never asked.”
“I like, no, I need the physical labor,” Frank informed him, trying to ignore everything else like the idea of having kids with Matt and the guy proposing. “It keeps me focused.”
The words trailed off into a grumble, and Matt seemed content with that answer at first glance. Frank knew better. He was just figuring out what he wanted to say next, but considering his slew of questions, he didn’t know what hell else that could possibly be. Until he actually thought of one himself.
“Fine, if you want to go through this, then I’ve got a question for you,” Frank decided to bite the bullet, apparently feeling a lot more comfortable now that Matt knew everything. “Is this going to put a wrench in our sex life or something? If it is, we’re gonna have a problem. I don’t know if you’ve paid attention, but I like fucking. A whole damn lot.”
Frank didn’t know a whole lot about, fuck him for actually saying it, rape recovery. It wasn’t like he’d ever looked things up or thought about in regard to himself. He’d been busy being at war and being a dad to worry about something that mundane in his own life. One thing he did know broadly, was that some victims became off put by sex.
Maybe the fact it didn’t bother him was further evidence he was broken. If anything, Frank found he liked sex with Matt more than he ever had in life. It was shameless, raw, real and pretty fucking wild. The way he’d always thought sex should be. Actually, starting to think about it, he questioned if he even found women genuinely attractive anymore.
God, cause that was what he needed. A sexuality crisis on top of all Matt’s mother-henning that was on the horizon. Frank found it didn’t sound as strange to think of himself as gay instead of bisexual as he'd thought it would.
All the Pride’s Frank had gone to with Matt now, he had learned sexuality was a spectrum or whatever. Fuck, maybe he’d always just been gay. Maria and him had gotten married young. Frank elbowed all of those thoughts in the gut to shut them the hell up.
“You’d tell me no right?” Matt asked quietly, looking pained and he started to pull his legs off his lap.
“Ugh,” Frank groaned, snatching his legs to keep them in place. “Yes, I’d tell you. I have told you. You’re not… you’re not her okay? It’s different, in literally every way possible. So, please, don’t worry about it.”
“Promise?” Matt asked hopefully, and Frank sighed, rubbing his shins soothingly.
“Yes,” Frank said, exhaustion creeping up on him. “I’d rather talk about having kids than this. It’s behind me, okay? I promise. Can you just let it go?”
“We could adopt from the orphanage,” Matt suggested, and Frank pinched his nose because he’d walked right into that one. “Surrogacy can be difficult, but I’m not opposed to it.”
“You’re Daredevil dumbass,” Frank reminded him flatly. “You really think we should be bringing kids into our life?”
“I don’t think it’d be a problem if they’re a little older. Maybe between six and ten?” Matt threw out there, finally eating his food again, but it didn’t do anything to shut him up. “I think we should find something with three bedrooms just in case. A spare room is nice and maybe we’d want two.”
“How about we start with a dog?” Frank countered, completely over serious conversations for the day especially when he was starting to really entertain them. “I kinda miss Max. It was nice having him around. Dogs are just… happy. You can’t not feel that, and it was nice.”
A smile grew on Matt’s face. Frank waited to be teased or something. Surprisingly, it didn’t happen and he watched the man just lean over, putting his empty plate on the coffee table.
“I think it’d be really good for you,” Matt agreed, moving around to lean against him and the domesticity smacked Frank in the face when he put an arm around the man. “Now, I’m not implying or suggesting they’d be a service dog, but I can imagine that it’d help.”
“Okay doc, you feel better now?” Frank asked, squeezing him tight and going back to finding the new action movie because who cared if it was about a superhero.
“Yeah,” Matt answered and Frank almost let out a huge breath of relief. “You want to start searching for a place tomorrow? Maybe think about shelters?”
Frank finally began to feel at ease again. Content. Maybe even happy and god help him, hopeful. He rested his head against Matt’s, prepared to deal with the neck ache he’d get later for it.
“Sure thing, Sunshine,” Frank said, starting to yawn. “It sounds perfect.”
Matt hummed. Frank felt pleasantly warm all over. Fulfilled from his scone, the man’s body and maybe even the conversation. He realized then, that there was no way they were going to last the movie after the day they’d had. A tiresome, but much needed one because for the first time he had the vivid image of a real future that never ended with his boyfriend in his head. Something he was pretty sure; he’d get to openly dream about now without the torment of his past blocking the door.