“Frank, will you just come in and get some rest?” The vigilante had stumbled to her and Matt’s place—and probably meant to get Matt’s help, but was now stuck with the overprotective forensic specialist who fussed just as much over vigilantes that weren’t Matt as she did her boyfriend. “At the very least, take a hot shower.”
His breathing’s ragged, mouth bleeding so bad that there’s a near-constant spill of red dripping from it, flecks of it flying when he breathes, speaks, moves. He doesn’t want to rest. Doesn’t really want to be here in the first place, crawling to Red, but this is how it is and he’s too fucking tired to change his mind now.
“No thanks,” Frank rasps. As a rule, he tries not to be rude to a woman who’s never done him any harm. It’s hard, sometimes, when she fusses like a hen- like he isn’t a grown fucking man who’s been taking care of himself for years- but he keeps a leash on himself, for her sake. She hangs around Red long enough she’ll see her fair share of assholes, and he’d like to not count himself among them for a little while longer even if he’s still, truly, an asshole at heart.
Red’s gonna smell the blood everywhere when he gets back, Frank realises. Which isn’t really Frank’s problem, so whatever. Let him suffer.
“Tell me somethin’, Red, he uh- you tell him to take, take a shower, rest, he ever uh, he take you up on that?”
He sincerely doubts it.
