Sick 'n Tired

Chapter 4

Cold.

Cold.

Cold, cold, cold, cold,

"Cold!" Matt shot up like a bullet, teeth chattering, breathing heavily, and absolutely cold. The word wouldn't leave his mind, as if his brain kept a running alert until it could figure out what was going on.

"Easy, Red," the gruff voice was like a knife that cut through the air, radiating a source of clarity that Matt hung onto long enough to pull him back to reality. There were no complex thoughts, just what he was feeling in the moment of his current predicament. The predicament that found him in his bathtub soaking in an ice bath. The pain finally set in, the ice water freezing him to the core, which overrode any and all thoughts other than to get himself out.

"Frank," he didn't know why he said it, he wasn't trying to get the guy's attention. It had slipped out as his brain put the voice and identity together. Matt placed a hand on either side of the tub and began to rise from the water. He could feel the drag of clothes, a plain tee shirt and some sweats that he didn't remember having on, pulling down on him as the water tried to follow the pull of gravity to the ground. His legs felt like tree trunks, heavy and thick, difficult to move. Standing on them was even more difficult, his balance fragile.

"I got you," one hand was placed on his right shoulder, another on the back on his left arm. A gentle lifting pressure told him he was being helped out of the tub. Too weak to protest, he complied, allowing the assistance. Once out, Matt just stood there, arms crossed and shivering. While he knew that he should be doing something to help himself, he couldn't quite figure out where to begin.

"Get out of those wet clothes, there are dry ones on the counter to the left of the sink. I'll be outside the bathroom door, I don't need to see you naked," The click of a door signaled to Matt that he was alone in the bathroom. His bathroom. How did we end up back here?

There was no time to ponder as a draft gave him the chills and forced Frank's instructions back to the front of his mind. Slower than he wanted to, but as fast as he could muster, Matt carefully removed his shirt, pants, and underwear. They fell to the stone floor with a wet flop, the sound echoing in the fairly stark room. As quick as he could manage, he put the clothes left out for him on, not bothering to find out what exactly he was wearing, for as soon as he picked up the shirt, a warmth radiated into his frozen body. They had been in the dryer. There were no socks in the given ensemble, so once he was dressed and finished relishing in the warm garments, he exited the bathroom and entered his adjacent bedroom, making a beeline for one of his dresser drawers.

"What are you doing?" he heard Frank ask.

"Hold on," Matt mumbled, not really caring if he was heard or not. He grabbed what he needed and sat on the unmade bed. Water still dripped off his hair and onto his face. It rolled down his cheeks and left water marks as they made contact with his silk sheets. As he bent over to put on his socks, making sure to tuck the legs of his sweatpants into them, he finally felt enough mental clarity to properly think. Things started to fit together again, make sense. There was still a bit of a haze, but it was less than before...

Before, on the rooftop. They were on the rooftop. Frank told him to go home. Anger. Why was he angry? Then, falling. Or, rather, not falling. Frank saved him. Then... the cold.

"What... what happened?" Matt finally spoke. His voice was still hoarse.

"You passed out," Frank's normally harsh voice was softer now, this wasn't the hard Punisher who could kill without a flinch. This was different. Genuine. Matt liked it. Luckily for him, Frank kept talking, "You collapsed on the roof after you almost fell off of it like a dumbass."

Matt could hear the smile in his voice and couldn't help but smirk himself, "Thanks for that."

"Yeah, well, you should be thankin' my back for haulin' you in here," Frank continued.

"About that... How did you find my place? You've never been here before."

"Sheer luck. You should really lock that roof access door of yours, Red. Wouldn't want just anyone to come in here."

"Well, in this case I'm glad it wasn't," Matt smiled and vaguely turned his head towards Frank who was still standing by the bathroom door. It was times like this that Matt wondered where his eyes fell. How close was his gaze to Frank's feet, was he just staring dumbly at the concrete floor? While his eyes couldn't see, they were still something he tried to be conscious of. Matt became acutely aware that he didn't have his glasses on, which in turn made him acutely aware of the vulnerable position he was in. In typical Murdock fashion, Matt steeled himself, This is the Punisher, in my home, and I am incapacitated. Not the most ideal situation to be in. He attempted to clear his throat, instead inciting a heavy cough. A sign that the mucus was making itself known and expressing that it won't go down without a fight. 

"You alright in there?" the bed shifted beside Matt, Frank's weight causing a depression in the mattress. His posture was relaxed as opposed to the stiffness of Matt's. "You're pretty damn sick. Don't want you passing out on me again."

Matt could feel the warmth that radiated off the man next to him, hear the steadiness of his breath, how relaxed he was sitting next to him. Matt could melt into it, believe there was nothing strange about the two of them being in such close proximity. That there was someone there for him. But he couldn't allow for that.

"You don't have to do this," Matt responded, getting up from the bed and exiting his room.

"Do what?" Frank trailed slowly, lingering by the bedroom door while Matt continued to the kitchen table, grabbing his glasses.

"Help me," He put them on, causing any insight into the man without fear to become hidden once again.

Frank clicked his tongue in response and crossed his arms tightly over his chest."I save your life, and this is the thanks I get?"

"I didn't ask you to save me," Matt's voice was low, strained.

"Is-Is that why you got mad out there, Red? Why you almost got yourself killed?"

Matt remained silent.

"Because you think you don't need help? Or that you don't deserve it? Is that it? God, you really are as dumb as I thought."

Matt's brow furrowed. "I... I don't, that's not what I..."

"You put yourself in these positions, yeah? Ones where you need saving. Then you bitch about getting saved from them. All because, what? You didn't ask to be saved? That's a bunch of bullshit and you know it."

The following silence was thick, almost palpable. It constrained Matt's throat, forbidding his mind to form sentences and threatening to choke him outright. His fists were clenched, knuckles white.

Frank must have noticed, "What're you gonna do? Hit me? You can barely keep yourself upright, you really wanna go head to head with the Punisher?" he scoffed.

"Just leave," Matt forced out, releasing his fists. His voice was tired, mirroring exactly how he felt. "I'm not gonna fight you."

Leaving the spot he was standing at by the kitchen table, and feeling as if he left a dent in the floor from how heavy his body felt, he walked past Frank back into his bedroom and crawled into his bed. Matt positioned himself in his silk sheets so that his back was facing Frank. He could sense the utter disbelief the other man was experiencing from the double take and the uncertainty of his next moves. He could feel the shift in Frank's breathing pattern as if he were going to say something. For a minute, no words came. All the while, Frank's temperature crept up.

Anger, Matt thought. It was an automatic connection, thanks to years of practice. He was too tired to actually care about the feelings of the unwanted man in his apartment.

"Are you always like this?" Frank almost yelled before turning on his heel and storming out of the apartment. Before he slammed the door behind him, Matt caught a "fuckin' Christ," muttered under his breath.

With nothing but sickness induced apathy to keep him company, Matt quickly fell into a deep sleep.