Sick 'n Tired

Chapter 3

"Red?" Frank hadn't meant to catch Matt off guard, so when he heard the thump of a body behind him, he was surprised. Normally Red was so nimble, a shove like that wouldn't even knock him off his balance. He turned around to face the man. When Matt didn't get up, concern set in.

"Hey," Frank's mouth went dry, "Murdock?"

Kneeling next to Matt, Frank quickly pulled off his cowl, and even in this dire scenario couldn't help but chuckle to himself, "A blind ninja in a devil costume, sick."

Any shred of humor drained from the Punisher when he saw what lay under the mask. Aside from Matt being unconscious, what really stood out was how he was drenched in sweat. The plastic red eyes in the mask were fogged up from the humidity trapped inside. The helmet acted as an oven, insulated so well that heat led to heat lead to heat. And all that heat ended up in the head of Matt Murdock. The sweat had completely soaked his hair, traveling down the side of his face and neck. It didn't take a genius to figure out that he had a fever. A bad one.

"Shit," Frank said. In one swift motion, he lifted up Matt bridal style with a grunt. "Heavier than you look, Red."

Matt didn't respond. Obviously, Frank thought. Another thing that struck him as concerning was how cold the rest of Matt's body felt compared to his head.

Frank realized the cowl was still on the ground, and knew it couldn't be left out in the open to be found by someone. Looking down at his full arms he sighed, grunting to put Matt back down. With a now free hand, he set the mask on top of Matt's stomach and silently prayed that it stayed put before hoisting up the dead weight that Matt was. Maybe that was a poor choice of words, Frank pondered, but it's damn accurate.

The next problem arose as soon as Matt was lifted again. Frantically, Frank looked around the rooftop. Where am I going to take him?

He spotted a roof access door and made his way over toward it. Although, as he got closer, it didn't look like the building's communal roof access door, but more like a residential one. Without many options and the clock ticking on how long Matt has been passed out from overheating, Frank kept on until he reached it. He leaned back to put more of Matt's weight on his shoulders and used his now open right hand to turn the handle. At the last second he mentally slapped himself for forgetting it could be locked, but continued anyway. It turned. Sighing in relief he carefully pushed the door open.

"Hello?" Frank asked the darkness that emanated from the door frame, "Anyone home?"

There was no response. That, coupled with the darkness of the interior, gave him enough reason to believe no one was home. He stopped leaning back and shifted the weight onto his arms again. Stepping inside the apartment and letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, he asked again, "Hello?"

Frank hoped nobody would walk in and see the Punisher with an unmasked Daredevil in his arms, he had no idea what he would do if that were to happen. Matt's face was exposed, his cover would be blown. Not to mention that the police would be called the instant Frank was recognized. This was bad. Really bad. Why did you have to go out tonight?

Frank didn't know whether he was asking himself or chastising Matt. Could be both, was his conclusion. There wasn't as much darkness to adjust to as he thought, a light radiated into the space from outside the large windows that were paneled across from what he now saw: "Fucking stairs."

Nowhere else to go, Frank descended into what he could make out to be an adequately sized apartment. Except a few things were off, he noticed as he grunted his way down each step. The apartment was a mess, there was glass on the floor, not to mention papers and clothes. The couch in the middle of the living room was off center from the coffee table that lay adjacent to it, a chair opposite was knocked over. Whoever lived here has some issues, clearly.

Frank, as gently as he could muster, laid Matt down on the couch. With Matt situated for the time being, Frank shuffled his way into the open kitchen. "Alright, Red, we're gonna cool you down, yeah?" he said over his shoulder. Not that Matt was listening. "Just need to get some ice..."

Opening the freezer was a let down. It was practically empty except for some freezer burned waffles and a frozen beer bottle. Damn.

Frank grabbed the two objects and closed the freezer door. "Okay, I'm going to run to the corner store and get some ice. What I need you to do," he said, putting the beer bottle under Matt's neck and the waffles on his forehead, "is not die just yet. 'Kay?"

Nothing.

"Good talk."

Just as he's about to leave he looks around the studio apartment again, a flutter of white on the kitchen counter caught his attention. Paper. With... bumps on it? He approached the stack of paper and started to flip through the pages. Bumps. Braille.

"You're fuckin' kidding me," Frank huffs, looking back at the couch behind him. "This your place, Red?" He sauntered over to where Matt lay, smugly checking out the place with much more intent than before. He rubbed the back of his tightly cut head, squinting his eyes as they passed over the the brightly lit billboard that lay just outside Matt's apartment. A glint of light caught his attention, a bead of sweat dripping off the slick mess of Matt's hair, still pushed down from being in a helmet. He noticed the man under that head of hair was shivering. Frank grimaced. There's gonna be a lot more cold where that came from.

With a light tap on Matt's shoulder and a click of the tongue, Frank left the apartment through the front door, "Hang in there, Murdock."