Disclaimer: the characters and concepts in this story are the property of Marvel and their related affiliates. This is an amateur writing effort meant for entertainment purposes only.
Summary: You know you've got problems when Frank Castle is lecturing you on the importance of friendship.
Or: how Matt's broken leg becomes the least of his concerns.
Warnings: Spoilers for season 2.
Author's Notes: Oh, my gosh, there's only two more chapters. Two. I can't believe it. I'm anticipating a finish date in mid-July, if all goes well.
Some music for this fic was a struggle to find. I scoured lyrics for the right words. Sometimes I searched strictly based on title. However, this track has been on my Spotify for months. It was one of those serendipitous finds from CBC Radio 2 (a station that never fails to supply songs for this fic). "Why We Fight" by the Fast Romantics speaks to so much of Frank and Matt's relationship. I've been itching to use this track, to write this chapter, for so long, and now it's finally happened, and there's only two more chapters after this oh, my God…
Readers, dears Readers, you are my sun and my moon. You are everything. I would never have made it this far without you. Thank you. Please, enjoy.
"Now every morning when I wake up,
I put another bullet in my coffee cup.
Oh, come on, darlin' –
There's a war on our t.v.
But it's alright: in our bedrooms, we are free.
Deep in the guts of me
I love you violently
Until the dawn's early light.
This is why we fight."
~The Fast Romantics, "Why We Fight"
Chapter Fifty-Two
Frank has eyes on the Queensboro Bridge, on the traffic blockades. He slipped through the police perimeter in a stolen uniform, passing himself off as one of the ESU snipers on the rooftops. Five that he can see. No, four. Three. Two.
None. The snipers vanish, snuffed out by shadows.
Frank pulls away from his scope. He slips his hand off the rooftop ledge towards his sidearm. Shot at her is worth a shitstorm with the NYPD, not that there will be one. Those snipers on the neighbouring rooftops didn't take themselves out.
If she sees him move, she doesn't do anything about it. Her eyes creep down his spine, a blade all their own. No footfalls, no puffs of breath. Only way to know she's creeping is from the chill rustling through him. "Flying solo tonight, Mr. Castle? Quelle surprise."
Frank steps back from the ledge, gun at the ready, to find Elektra standing pretty on the ledge to his left. The wind catches her ponytail, the panels of her armour. She draws the shroud from the lower half of her face revealing the cut of her smile and unleashing the furious hunt in her eyes.
He scans the shadows around them just to be certain, but he doesn't waste much time. Doesn't have to. Elektra tells him to relax: "Just you and me tonight. The Hand will mind the perimeter, make sure the NYPD doesn't interrupt. They're looking forward to this, particularly after I told them what you did to their brethren at the warehouse."
"More where that came from," Frank says, tensing his finger on the trigger. The Hand running interference means there's no reason to play it quiet: he isn't gonna kill the NYPD, but he is gonna lay waste to every ninja on the planet if it's the last thing he does.
Elektra hops off the ledge of the rooftop to take a stroll. "Would have thought Matthew would join you."
"He wasn't up to it."
She laughs. A wild gleam lights her eyes. Tonight is turning out better than she expected. "No, he wouldn't be, would he? Not after you got through with him."
Frank doesn't say anything, certainly not how after he got through with him, the devil couldn't stand. Couldn't talk. Couldn't move. Kept trying to do all those things, of course, rising only to fall. Knees snapping against the floor with every attempt to fight. Never gets easier, seeing a fighter like Red on the ropes, knowing you're the one that put 'em there.
Wonder if she ever felt like that. Like she broke something. Devil's never been played nice with a moment in his sad, sorry life, and she definitely dealt her fair share of blows.
Elektra raises a brow, intrigued. She passes a gaze around the surrounding rooftops. "Did you tie him up somewhere? I bet Matthew loved that. Nothing he likes better than being in knots." Her voice lowers to a conspiratorial whisper. "The tighter you hold him, the more he likes you. And you've been holding onto him very tightly."
"He's been holding on to me," Frank corrects her. Then, before she take another shot, "Jealous?"
She tosses her head, but there's a deliberateness to her movement that turns the action into a confession. "He wasn't holding onto you when you stormed my penthouse."
"But he came running right back. No matter how hard I try to get rid of him, the Devil always comes back to me. Hell," he tracks a gaze across on her zombie face, the better to see her expression twisting with disdain, "I killed the doctor and that didn't get rid of him. He do that for you? Come running back after you put someone in the ground? Don't tell me you've never done it."
"The doctor was nothing."
"Nobody's nothing to him, sweetheart. Figured you knew that by now."
Elektra scowls at him. Her eyes narrow to blades. Then she cools, stretching a long leg to move in a slow circle around him. Off the ledge, into the ring. "It's so easy, isn't it?"
She waits for him to ask what; Frank doesn't give her the satisfaction. He fires on her. The prongs of one sai wrap around his hand, dislodging the gun. He reaches with the other towards his ankle, but Elektra lobs a blow to his stab wound. Then to his neck. Then the gun's gone; Frank loses track of it in the blur of Elektra's movements.
"Matthew plays dumb, seems soft," she says as Frank kicks himself to his feet, catching her by the wrist before she can stab him. Elektra uses his momentum against him. She tugs him forward, twists, then flips him over her shoulders, back onto the roof. "He goes through life like the walking wounded. You can't decide if it's better to put him out of his misery or put him through more of it." They're grappling. She punctuates her sentences with blows to his head, his chest, his stab wound. Blood bursts under his vest, draining into the waist of his pants. Frank gets his licks in where he can, but fuck, she's fast. Faster than Red by half. "And he lets you do it. He lets you hurt him. So he must be stupid. He must be soft. And what's the use in destroying him?"
She wraps an arm around his neck and slips the point of the sai into his armpit, into that place where the vest stops. Delicately, patiently, she drives her point home. Frank tugs at her hair, her neck, her face, the white heat lancing through his chest.
"Wait long enough, you think," Elektra hisses in his ear, thoroughly unfazed, "and the world will destroy him. He lets it, just like he lets you."
Frank is fighting with her when she vanishes. She simply slips into the air, taking her weapon with her, and she doesn't reappear until he's back on his feet.
She doesn't kill him. The hell doesn't she kill him? Fuck, she came here to talk, didn't she?
"But he doesn't break." Guess they're talking. "Not ever. Not from you, not from the world. And the misery that once seemed so appealing no longer holds its sway. Best to stop it. To deflect the misery. He says not to kill-" Frank deflects a blow, "-so you don't." He punches her; Elektra lets the blood stream from her split lip, "He begs for mercy, and you give it. Suddenly, without even realizing, you're bending, you're breaking. And you're letting it happen. You're letting him do it."
She skids to a halt and turns, her delicate profile cutting a harsh line against the city. Battle-hardened eyes and cheeks like blades, brow relaxed in contemplation. Frank stops, his body numb despite the adrenaline, despite the pain, and something like hopelessness rises up inside him from tilting at this fucking windmill, from going to war with the ocean. He wanted to know if she felt it, that sense of being out to sea, adrift, and all the while she wanted to know if he felt like he could have, would have, should have destroyed the kid when he had the chance. Back when he believed the stupidity was just stupidity.
Frank half-expects Red to drop in at that moment. Make some smartass remark playing on his fucking nickname. The stillness that follows is disappointing. And it's disappointing that he's disappointed.
"I don't break," he says.
Elektra shoots him a sidelong glance. She's disappointed too. "That's what I thought too, before I died for him."
"So, what? That's why I'm here? To die for the Devil?"
The look on her face: the sour purse of her lips, the glint of steel in her eyes. Disappointment for a whole other reason. She's all but spelled it out for him, and he still doesn't know what the hell she's talking about.
The lights of Fisk's prison transport spark into view on the far side of the bridge. Elektra cools and eases back into the night, her head tilting towards the sniper rifle. Frank glances between her and the weapon, to the lights in the distance. Their shared resignation lingers. This war isn't a war at all. It's a fight to see who gets to drown the other before the Devil shows up to reap whoever's left.
Frank stalks forwards, dragging one foot behind him. Elektra on his left, Fisk approaching down the street to his right. She's too fast for him to take them both with the rifle, and Fisk's transport isn't going to wait for a fight. He gets one or the other.
"You're wrong," Frank says, taking up his post by the rifle.
"How so?" Elektra asks.
"Dying for the Devil - that's not breaking."
The tires of the police escort and the prison transport: he makes a good show of tracking them, counting. Matter of seconds till they're over the bridge. Two minutes till they've passed by his perch and are out of range.
"One batch, two batch; penny and –"
Frank whips the rifle around to where Elektra's standing. She's advancing on him with a drawn sai.
CRACK.
The rifle slams to the side, bullet firing into the darkness. Sparks fly from where a metal rod makes contact with the gun barrel. The Billy club ricochets, slapping into Elektra's flying sai before soaring back to the shadow falling from the adjacent rooftop.
Elektra's joy lights up the rooftop and fuck, she gives the kid a lead-in with, "Speak of the devil."
The Devil lands in a crouch, rising. His horned silhouette blots out the stars in the sky. The red of his armour beams from the streetlight bouncing off the snow. "And he shall appear," he says.
Frank can't even be bothered to roll his eyes. He's disappointed again, differently this time. Less acutely. "Fuck, of course he does." Then he grabs Elektra and they start on each other.
The Billy slams back into the rooftop near Frank's feet. He ignores it – a mistake. The club flies back to Red, but the wire, the God damn wire, lopes around his leg and rips him off his feet. Frank skids across several feet of rooftop, scrambling for purchase, for Elektra. He abandons his efforts, rolling, turning his attention back to Red.
The kid strides across the rooftop on two feet, weight balanced evenly. No sign his limbs have ever been broken. Frank spots the hardware running between his left ankle and knee because he knows to look for it. Red's armourer does good work. The piece he constructed fits over the Devil suit, splints running up both sides of the leg held in place with several bands. Solid enough for Red to walk, but the kid still favours his fists when he dives into the fight. He battles Elektra back with punches and blocks, finally getting the better of her with a kick to the chest she doesn't anticipate.
Frank takes his time coming up behind the kid, gauging. He tests a few blows, bolstered by Red's staggered reaction time. "Looking a little tired there."
Red grabs him, wraps around him, and they drop like a tonne of bricks. Can't see what his eyes are doing through the mask, but Red's hands are shaking at his sides, struggling to remain fists. "I'm managing."
Elektra springs from the side; Frank tugs Red down and out of the way before she pounces on them. "Not well enough."
Red tears himself out of Frank's grasp, catching Elektra when she makes a dive for Frank. Shit, they're mirror images of each other. Less a fight than a fucking conversation. And just like in a conversation, the kid draws her in, draws her in, draws her in, till there's no one else but them on the rooftop. Till her attention is fixed on him.
Frank double times it across the roof. He latches onto the rifle. Lines up a shot on the first cruiser in Fisk's convoy. He doesn't say it, doesn't give Red a chance to break from his shit with Elektra. It's a silent one batch, two batch, penny and dime; a faint, "NO, FRANK!" from behind him, then three shots in rapid succession.
Tires blast out from under vehicles. One cruiser whips into the other. The armoured vehicle slams into the escort vehicles. If Fisk had guys on the street, they'd be rushing out in the open now; no one does. The Hand has the whole route under lockdown.
Darts bring the officers down. The ninjas ensure he's got no competition from other snipers to worry about. Air support's fluttering back around. He hasn't got much time. Less when Red gets to him, grabs him by the back of his vest and rips him around. Frank punches him, knocks him back. The kid doesn't give much ground. Not that there's much to give when Elektra thrusts herself back into the fray.
Immediately, Frank switches tactics. And so does Red. They're on her, one running offence while the other runs defence. Frank's efforts to kill Elektra thwarted by Red; his efforts to deflect Red thwarted by Elektra. At one point, Frank has the dynamic ninja duo in his grip; Elektra has one hand in Red's face and the other on Frank's neck; Red's grabbing her and Frank's arms.
"For fuck's sake, this is the dumbest –"
"Then stop," Red tells him.
"You'd better," Elektra says joyfully. Her eyes dart around Frank to the street. A loud pounding echoes from the vehicle. "Sounds like Wilson's about to make his escape. You don't go fast, the Hand will have no choice but to do your job for you."
"Frank, no."
"Frank, yes."
"Oh, Jesus…" the two of them. Frank gets the fight going again by kicking Elektra. Red immediately intervenes; Frank swings the kid's ass around till his boots hit the rooftop ledge.
He should stop. But even as the thought's occurring to him, Frank can't. He pushes, and the kid lets him push, and God damn, the fucking minx's voice is in his head: he lets you do it. Red lets him push, so Frank pushes. He pushes past the rage for the fucking Devil and the people that make him, the people that define him. The city, Red's city. This fucking city. The same God damn city that took his wife and kids, that took Red's dad, that took Red's girl; that damn near took Red a couple of times. The city opens up beneath Frank, a great gaping maw that narrows to a pinprick in the centre of Red's snarling face.
A hand on his bicep, an arm around his neck. Frank pushes and Red lets him push, lets him push until Frank feels his centre of gravity tilting the slightest bit forward. Then the Devil's face dips. Light hits the glassy red sockets of his eyes. His left foot hits the rooftop ledge.
Red smirks.
He kicks.
He takes Frank over the ledge.
Frank goes with him.
The fall doesn't come immediately. There's a moment's hesitation when Frank's feet leave the ground but gravity has yet to take hold. Red's hands are occupied. He has no defences against broken bones, nothing. He'd sooner take the fall than risk anyone's safety.
Even Frank's.
Frank tells himself it's the ease of the attack. When that doesn't work, he thinks of the mission. By the time he runs out of excuses, time's caught up with him. The city has them both and drags them straight down towards the concrete. Frank shifts a hand around the back of Red's neck; he thrusts the other into Red's chest, striking the soft spot under the shoulder instead of sternum.
Red looses the arm from the back of his neck and gives Frank a firm shove. His Billy zips into action, clanging against something above them. Gravity tears Frank off Red, slamming him into the concrete; the Devil swoops overhead, dropping into a crouch a short distance away.
Frank doesn't waste time unpeeling himself from the pavement. Doesn't think about pain, ignores the blood running down the back of his neck, the twisting of his guts. He throws himself at the fucking Devil. Fists and feet, anything to break through the kid's lightning quick defences. Nothing works. "Couldn't just let me have him. Couldn't just lie your ass down." Frank finally lands a blow to the kid's stomach, earning a satisfying gasp in response. Red falls limply into Frank's grasp, winded and disoriented. Frank leans in close. "Couldn't just stay with Nelson."
A smirk: bloody, dazed. "He drove me. Couldn't wait to leave."
"Makes two of us."
Red laughs. "That what you called him? So he'd get rid of me?"
"So I could get rid of you." Frank tears his hands off the kid, scalded. Stained. Fuck, the Devil. The fucking Devil. Took him straight to the ground. Makes it more satisfying, then, when the kid's smirk vanishes. Frank sees it clearly in his mind's eye, the face under the mask. Sees the twist of hurt, of betrayal, of guilt. Worse than a broken leg, than a murdered doc. All of it directed at Frank.
Guess his heartbeat didn't give him away this time. Tell the kid his real reason for calling Nelson, Frank knows exactly where all the rage is gonna point itself, and he wants the Devil all for himself.
The expression comes back into the kid's face: resolve, this time. He launches into Frank's chest as metal screeches over brickwork. Elektra hits the dumpster and tumbles into the fray, and fuck if it isn't a repeat of the rooftop. Killing blows interspersed with defensive manoeuvres. Elektra's quick jabs, Red's punches and blocks. She loses one sai to the kid but manages to keep the other. Frank navigates their motions with brute force; it's his only advantage against all the ninja shit.
It works for the most part. Red's reserves eventually give out. Frank gets him in the jaw and Elektra sweeps his legs, knocking him out of the fight. She takes his place, fast enough and strong enough to make up for Red's absence. Her sai cuts through his vest, slashing open the skull. Frank boots her sai-wielding hand into the brick hoping to break it; Elektra grabs him by the back of the head with her remaining hand and slams him into the same wall.
Frank recovers to a throbbing skull, a bloody brow, and Elektra's claw under his jaw. He whips the sai away. Elektra laughs. "You point that at me, you better be willing to use it."
She bares her teeth when she smiles. "Oh, I am willing. But I already told you." She leans in, lowers her voice to a whisper, and this time, now that he's not being stabbed, Frank hears her loud and clear: "I'm going to watch him destroy you."
Heat rushes up through his chest like a fucking hydrogen bomb. "Keep watching," he dares her.
She's about to, but a yell suddenly breaks from the street. A yell they both recognize.
Frank's whole body goes cold.
"Matthew," Elektra whispers.
They both take off running.
Happy Reading!