Red n' Black. (Daredevil x Punisher)

Chapter 1 - The call

Frank wasn't a stranger to self-destruction. He'd seen it presented in foes, people he'd call family if he could, and dear friends who couldn't recognize it. He recognized it in himself and embodied it with a vengeance. Without a doubt, he'd tell you he could lose himself in war, and proof of it lied in the dog tags just beneath his shirt. The justice he'd tried hard to fight for, and felt as if he'd fallen short of. On his side of the world—which was really just the other side of New York City—it felt like the Avengers didn't exist. Sometimes he wondered if they were off partying in Queens. Not that it mattered, really, as he held down fort many times. Count on him to be the jack of all trades, and not exactly go by the book but follow it semi-closely. He walked along the side of the pavement closest to the railing and water, taking it upon himself to call Matt. Soon, it would start to snow here. Soon, he'd probably hate the fuck out of the happy-go-lucky Christmas decorations in the center of it all. 

Matt sat at home watching TV. Well, not really watching, he just liked to listen to the news. It was one thing to hear about wars overseas or to listen to some random politician talk shit; this was different. It was a bit odd, hearing himself being talked about on screen; being talked about with such conviction and clarity, without Matt present to defend himself or even acknowledge his existence. He sighed, standing up and walking to the door. He was sick of this bullshit. As he made his way out the door, he stretched for a minute, taking a deep breath to savor the crisp autumn air. The weather had been getting colder recently, and while he hated the cold, he couldn't deny enjoying how nice it felt against his skin after hours training. Luckily, he took his walking stick with him to help him with directions. Eventhough he didn't need it, he wanted people to be more comfortable around the blind man who can use ecolocation. And maybe he enjoyed the feeling of a stick in hand, as much as the feel of a gun under his shirt.

Frank contemplates it, he does, but to no avail he finds himself stuck between a rock and a hard place. He never called Matt—not these days—after all the shit that had went down in the Military and the corruption he'd witnessed amongst some ally, some foe. He had a problem regarding trust. Frank huffs, whipping out his phone and dialing the man's number. He leans against the railing with his free hand, other bent at the elbow so he can hold the phone to his ear. Looking off into the cool, dark water that appears ink black in the midst of night, he's calm.
Matt almost immediately answers his phone, whipping it out of his pocket. 

"Hello?" 

Since he was a lawyer he always kept his phone on him, not knowing who was on the other end as he didn't look at the contact name. He leans against a wall behind him, his cane sitting next to him.

Frank remains calm as Matt's voice greets his ears after what may just be years. Whilst mostly lackluster in his words, the man holds a lot more meaning to the few that he does spew. He welcomes him, like it were any other day and their friendship didn't fall apart before age eighteen. "Hey, Red." There's no nervousness to his voice, certainty in his words, doesn't remember Matt sounding like that. Had it really been that long? Had they developed different voices and builds over what felt like such a short time?

"It's Frank." He states, clarifying.

"Oh, hey Fr--." His sentence is cut short by a coughing fit. A sign of distress and or discomfort that he hadn't realized was there until now. Matt sounds a little better when he speaks again, but his breathing still comes out in ragged pants. "What's wrong? Why have you decided to call me after all these years? Need a lawyer or something?" trying not to make it too obvious that his voice sounded hoarse. His foot begins twitching now, tapping on the spot. 

The man chuckles warmly. "Nope." He pops the 'p', seemingly speaking less loud than he would if he were normally talking to someone. He remembers how Matt is, the hypersensitivity the man experienced. "I wanted to hear your voice." He boldly admitted to such, "You free? Given you just coughed your lungs up on a vowel." Frank stares off at the lit buildings.