Who: Frank and Matt What: Old friends back from the dead. When: Sunday early afternoon. Rating/Warning: Green (maybe some bad language from Frank)
Frank had been putting off one thing since he arrived here. He'd gone around and collected all of his weapons, checked his safe houses- he didn't know if he'd need them still, but it was good knowing everything was where he expected it to be. An odd piece of normalcy to cling to, sure, but everything else in this New York was messed up.
And in his old New York, apparently. Frank was still reeling from what Karen told him about Matt, as much as he was trying to play it off. His lawyer, his blind lawyer, was also his Red. Red. Not his. Daredevil. The pain in his ass. The man he'd told his whole life story to. Combined, now, Matt Murdock and Daredevil knew more about him than anyone else in the world. Except Micro, maybe, but given the choice Frank knew who he'd rather be locked in a room with.
They were still there. Their grave. He thought they would be, he hoped they would be, but it was still like a punch in the chest. Frank touched his fingers to the smooth marble of the headstone, and not for the first time he wondered why he wasn't in there with them. After everything, everything he'd been through, so many close calls, he should be with them-
One war was over. Another was starting. Round and round they went.