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thelandofthelesser · 7 years

Text

Crimson Skulls and Spilled Ink

“You look nervous, Red.”

Matt Murdock looked up from the menu, across the table at the man sitting across him. “She’s a bit late.”

Frank Castle leaned back. “She’s always late. She’s got work this week, right?”

“You’re right,” he said and put the menu down. “This is a bit unusual, that’s all.”

“Feels right to me.”

“Kicking people’s heads in feels right to you. I don’t trust your judgement.”

Frank laughed, picking up his cup. “That’s why I love ya, Matty. That sense of humour you always keep hidden under the red leather and lawyer clothes.”

Matt paused and smiled. “You love me?”

“Don’t take it so personally. I love my dog, I love my barber… I got a lot of love to give. Hence,” he spread his arms wide, “the situation we’re in right now.”

Matt laughed and looked around the restaurant. It was expensive - not that it mattered. He wanted to get this right. He didn’t want to scare her away.

The waiter stopped by their table. “You two about ready to order?”

Matt looked at Frank, who nodded. “Might as well get a drink or something.”

“Okay, uh -” Matt flipped through the menu. “I don’t really know much about wines . . .”

“I’d recommend the Aldi Rosé. We’re offering a good price for it this week - and it’s a personal favourite.”

“That sounds great,” Matt said. “One bottle, please.”

“Do you have any hard stuff?” Frank asked.

“Oh, don’t mind him -”

“Reds don’t mix well with me,” he said and grinned. “Usually.”

He blushed and cleared his throat, realising the waiter was still standing there. “The bottle, and one shot of whiskey, please. Dealer’s choice.”

“Sure,” the waiter said, and walked off just as their date walked in and sat down on the table next to them.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” Karen Page said flusteredly, setting her bag down and pulling up the chair.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. We weren’t waiting long,” Matt said, shifting his weight in the seat awkwardly. Suddenly this seemed like a bad idea. He could hardly look her in the eye.

“I’m sure that’s true. Frank, how long were you guys waiting?”

“About -” he glanced at his watch. “Half an hour, I’d say.”

“Oh, goddammit. I’m really sorry, you guys. It’s just - work. There was a deadline I got real close to missing because some stories got shuffled around -” she stopped and ran a hand through her hair self-consciously. “But you guys don’t need to hear about that right now.”

“Nah, it’s alright. I told him it’d be cause of the job,” Frank said airily.

“Yeah,” Matt said and smiled awkwardly, meeting her eyes. “S’alright.”

“Well,” she said and looked at the two of them. “I don’t really know what to say anymore.”

“I was just telling Matt it’s an unusual situation,” Frank said. “I guess we’re all here just to see how you feel about it.”

“Just - if you’ve changed your mind -” Matt started.

“No, don’t be silly!” Karen interjected. “I haven’t changed my mind. It’s just, it’s all very new. I haven’t done anything like this before.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

“I have,” Frank said.

They looked at him. “When? With who?” Matt asked.

“A bunch of guys and girls I used to know. We never really took the whole - the whole relationship thing too strictly, you know? We just . . . dated around.”

“Interesting,” Karen said. “I never figured you the type.”

“College is the time for that kind of thing. You swing both ways, Miss Page?”

Matt kicked him under the table. “Rude!”

Karen laughed. “It’s alright. I don’t - I don’t really know? College was less of a time for experimentation and more of theater and keeping up with the rest of the class.”

“Theater?” Matt asked. “I didn’t know you did theater.”

“Oh sure, the usual stuff, the boring stuff, you know. Shakespeare, mostly. ‘I do love nothing in the world so well as you -’”

“‘- Is that not strange?’” he finished. “Much Ado About Nothing!”

“You did Shakespeare too?”

“Oh, well - It was a tough time reading the lines in Braille, but I made it work.”

Frank chuckled.

“What?” Matt asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” he replied. “Just - you guys are cute together.”

The wine arrived, the waiter pouring glasses for the Karen and Matt, and giving Frank a shot of whiskey.

Frank downed the shot almost immediately. “You know - I’m suddenly not feeling this restaurant anymore.”

“You wanna do something else?” Matt asked.

“Just itching for excitement, is all.”

“I don’t think beating up criminals makes for a good first date,” Karen said and laughed.

“Well, you’re only saying that because you’re not bored.”

“You’re bored?”

“I think there are . . . better places for a first date.”

“Such as?” Matt asked.

“Am I holding it right?” Matt asked, holding the gun up, pointing it forwards. He couldn’t quite tell if he was aiming directly at the mark.

“Pretty well,” Frank said, adjusting his aim. “I imagine you’ve handled guns before.”

“A few times. Didn’t go well.”

“Karen, you sure you don’t wanna have a go?” Frank asked. She was leaning against the wall of the shooting gallery. This time of night, no one else had ventured inside, leaving them the only ones in the room. Frank knew the owner, so they’d even gotten in for free.

She shrugged. “I’m not really eager to handle guns again, just yet. I’d love to see you both try, though.”

“Try? My man doesn’t try,” Frank said and clapped Matt on the back, who nearly fell over the counter. “Show her what you’ve got, Red.”

“Alright . . .” Matt said, biting his lip and aiming the gun. He focused on his hearing, tried to hone in on that one slip of paper that was swinging slightly in mid-air, tried to separate that sound from everything else in the room, and then emptied the gun magazine into it.

BANG.

“Holy hell, Red.”

Matt turned and looked at them. “What, did I do well? Did I get the target?”

“You kinda missed all of them,” Karen said, laughing her head off.

“It was a good attempt - we’ll chalk it up to beginner’s bad luck.” Frank reloaded the gun and got behind him, placing the gun in his hands and holding them together tightly. Matt could feel his chest on his back, his warmth.

It felt nice.

“Just hold it steady here - and squeeze tight, alright? Look - there, you can do it.”

BANG.

“That was better!” Frank said and let go of him. Matt smiled at him sweetly.

“I have a good teacher.”

They turned back to see Karen grinning at them.

“What?” Frank demanded.

“Nothing,” she replied, beaming. “You guys are just cute together.”

Matt laughed and Frank stepped forward. “Alright, har har, Miss Page. Your turn. No excuses.”

“Okay, okay,” she said and took position.

BANG.

“Damn,” she said, squeezing the trigger. “Forgot to reload.”

“If this were a fight,” Frank said, taking the gun from her, “you’d be dead.”

“No, I wouldn’t. You’d save me.”

“Damn straight I would. Regular action hero, that’s what I am, constantly saving the damsel and her, ah, sidekick.”

“Was that a jab at me?” Matt asked, feigning offense.

“You take it how you will, Red.”

Matt grinned and leaned over, his hand reaching around Frank’s back and pulling him closer. “Promise?”

“Talking about a nightcap, Murdock? In front of Miss Page over here?”

Matt looked at her. “Nightcap, Karen?”

She tilted her head and smiled. “Are you making a move on me, Matt?”

“Well, uh - I’d definitely understand if you think this is too soon.”

“No. No, this is, um . . .” she pressed a hand against his chest. “This isn’t too soon.”

Matt turned to Frank. “We should get outta here.”

“Yeah,” Frank said quickly, and led the three of them out of the gun shop. They took a cab home together and offered to split the bill - but Matt refused and paid it in full.

They were his guests for the night, after all. What kind of host would he be if he didn’t take care of them?

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thelandofthelesser · 8 years

Text

A Phone Call

“Yo, shut the fuck up!”

Eddie turned around, hammer in hand, leaning against the car. “What?”

Mickey waved his hand and gestured to the phone in his hand. “Taking a call! Cut that shit out for a minute, will ya?”

Eddie sighed and let the hammer drop to the floor. “Whatever.”

He looked at the phone and let it ring for a minute. He knew that number. He picked it up and held it to his ear anyway. “Yeah?”

“Mickey?”

He sighed exasperatedly, walking to a corner of the shop. “Don’t say my fucking name over the phone, Gallagher!”

“Oh, sorry.”

He couldn’t help it. He was smiling a little. Just a little. “Been a while.”

“Yeah. I got the message you sent me.”

“Just wanted you to have my number. In case you ever wanna . . .”

Silence.

“Talk,” Mickey finished. “That was two weeks ago. You’re late.”

“Took me a while. To, uh, call.”

“Yeah.” There was a short silence. “You still with – whoever the fuck?”

“Trevor? No, fucked that one up.”

“Oh –”

“When I went away with you.”

He laughed. “Trevor didn’t like that, huh?”

“He really didn’t,” Ian said, laughing.

“Sounds like a little bitch. Didn’t know you were into that.”

“He was stable, Mick. He was good for me.”

“So, what – I wasn’t stable? I’m not good for you?”

“Is that . . . Jealousy? Mickey Milkovich, jealous?”

“Oh, fuck off. You know what I meant.”

“Look, I’m not calling to get into anything.”

“So what are you calling me for?”

“I just – I don’t know.”

“Where are you, Ian?”

“Nowhere. Bathroom.”

“Where? Gallagher household?”

“Yeah.”

His voice sounded different now. Something was off.

Mickey hesitated. “Something wrong, Ian?”

“Nothing,” Ian said, looking at all the pills swimming around the toilet bowl. “I’m good.”

“Ian –”

“I’m fine, Mickey.”

“You don’t sound it.”

“I’m –”

“Spare me the bullshit, okay? Ian, I’m in fucking Mexico. What're you afraid of, huh? You can tell me whatever the fuck you want, I’ve got no one to tell it to. Talk to me, damn it.”

Ian stared at the pills. The bottle that used to hold them was still in his hand. “I tossed my pills.”

“Pills? Hang on, you tossed your meds?”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck, Ian –”

“Mickey –”

“You know how you get without them. You get all fucked up –”

“You’re wrong,” Ian almost growled. How could Mickey know? How could Mickey berate him for this, when he was so far away?

“No, I am wrong. You don’t know. You don’t know what it’s like when you’re like this. You told me yourself – you don’t feel it when you’re manic. That’s what they call it, right? Manic? That what this is?”

“I shouldn’t have called you. I’m sorry,” he said and cut the call.

“Ian? Ian? Fuck!” he pocketed his phone. “Eddie? Eddie!”

Eddie poked his head back into the garage. “What the fuck?”

“Get me one of those less shiny fucking cars,” he said determinedly.

“Personal delivery?”

“No, we’re going somewhere. Chicago. South side.”

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