Chapter Text
It had been a slow day. By four in the afternoon, Frank was ready to call it a day, despite the fact that he still had an hour to go. It didn't help that a few of the guys from his old unit had dropped by around lunchtime.
They'd gotten some digs in, Russo in particular. Frank got it. This wasn't what guys did. Definitely not Marines who had lived and breathed a warrior culture grounded in displays of masculinity for three long tours.
Marines didn't get stateside and open flower shops. Frank did. The guys hated it and thought it was soft, uncomfortably feminine perhaps. Frank didn't give a shit. He liked it. Symmetry. Aesthetics. Art. Beauty.
It was something he hadn't had a lot of in the last few years: beauty. He liked making something people could enjoy with his hands, instead of using them for more bloody violence. After three tours, he'd had enough of war. His wife had too; only, she hadn't stuck around to tell him that, just left him divorce papers and an empty house.
He used to think he'd care about something like that. It hurt, just not as much as he'd thought. They'd drifted apart with years of long distance and things left unsaid. He was lonely, but not because he missed her, because it was quiet in the house, and he hadn't known what to do with himself for months.
Now he knew. And things were going fine. He liked the work, and the customers were nice for the most part. The small business loan he'd taken out was steadily getting repaid, and he was even making enough returns off the business to hire an assistant florist: Karen.
She was nice. New to the city. Not keen on talking about her personal life. No family or partner as far as Frank knew. But professional. She could turn on the charm for the customers when it was needed, and if outside of that, she preferred to keep to herself, that wasn't really Frank's concern.
Things were going fine. That was Frank's last thought before five guys in balaclavas, armed with guns, burst into the shop, yelling and gesturing with their handguns. All the color drained from Karen's face and she ducked for cover behind the counter at the same time as Frank leaped over it. It was just instinct. Well honed ones that had kept him alive in a war zone.
He wrestled a gun from the nearest thug, slamming it into his head, and kicking a second in the chest, before knocking him out cold. He vaguely registered the fact that most of the few customers had thrown themselves on the floor and were cowering with their hands over their heads, save one: a man in a dark suit, who held a white cane in one hand and a bouquet of peace lilies in the other.
He didn't realize the danger he was in. That horrifying realization made Frank lose a valuable second of focus that cost him dearly, shouts, threats, and a gunshot sending him diving for the floor. Before he could move, he had a weapon trained on his chest, and he froze, knowing that any movement on his part would mean death, if his resistance hadn't guaranteed it already.
His eyes followed one of the remaining thugs, who had started towards the register, when a flash of white fluttered through the air. Peace lilies, he realized. Absurdly, to Frank's mind, the blind man had thrown them in the face of the thug nearest him, who stumbled back in surprise, only to receive a fist to the face, followed by a knee to the diaphragm.
Frank watched, stunned, as the man dispatched the remaining two thugs with only his fists, seeming to instinctively know where they were, and how to anticipate them, putting them down without one of them landing a single blow on him.
Frank got slowly to his feet, his gaze flickering to the unconscious men and the flowers that littered his floor. The blind man hadn't turned around yet. The moment he did, the two shaken customers still cowering on the floor looked at him at once, with immediate suspicion, the way a pack of dogs glared suddenly at the cripple in the herd.
"You should call 9-1-1," the man who had saved his life and theirs told him.
"Yeah," Frank mumbled as Karen slowly reappeared from behind the counter, her face ghostly pale. "How did you… do that?"
The man shrugged. "Self defense classes. Adrenaline. Luck. Take your pick. Have you seen my… I think I dropped — "
"Here," Frank said, leaning down to pick up the cane and setting it in his hand. "I'm Frank, by the way."
"Matt," came the warm reply.
"Well, thanks, Matt," Frank said appreciatively.
He felt awkward all of a sudden, in a way that he'd rarely been before. Mostly it was Matt, his quiet confidence and unexpected hand to hand combat skills. That was more than self defense, Frank knew. Clearly he'd done martial arts of some kind before. Maybe it was the blindness thing, and he just didn't want people jumping to conclusions about any residual vision he possessed. He found his gaze drifting over the heads of peace lilies that decorated the floor, crushed and squished flat, petals spreading like white fungus over the previously pristine surface.
"I actually just came in for some lilies for my dad," Matt admitted, drawing Frank's attention away from the ruined flowers and shattered illusions of safety.
"I can sort that out while my assistant calls the cops, I think," Frank offered, chancing a glance at Karen, who gave a faint nod, not relinquishing her white knuckled grip on the counter. "Here, let me get you a fresh bouquet. Any particular theme?"
"Memorial," Matt admitted, his lips tightening in a way that Frank associated with poorly suppressed emotion.
"I'm sorry," he said, moving behind the counter and giving Karen's shoulder a comforting pet, casting a wary look at the still out of it thugs as he started to quickly wrap a selection of peace lilies and silver dollar eucalyptus for Matt.
"How much do I owe you?" Matt asked, but Frank shook his head, refusing to take any money from him.
"Nothing," Frank said quickly. "I mean, I… consider it a thanks."
Matt smiled. "Okay then."
His calm demeanor helped steady Frank's own frayed nerves as he rolled the flowers in silver paper, secured with black ribbon. He could feel Karen watching him as he worked, the familiar process seeming to calm her too, even as one of the thugs stirred, making one of the two remaining customers shriek with fear before Matt turned and oh-so-casually kicked the firearm out of the man's reach, grinding the man's fingers under the heel of his leather dress shoe as he did so, making him whimper in protest.
"Are you gonna stick around for a few minutes?" Frank asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.
Matt shrugged. "I'm legally obligated to."
"Cute," Frank muttered, clearing his throat when the word came out huskier than he intended and turning to his assistant. "Karen, are you alright to call 9-1-1?"
"Fine," Karen said quickly.
Her fingers shook as she dialed emergency services on her cell phone, but Matt's didn't. His were wrapped around the black handle of his cane with not even a tremor. Unlike the two customers who had finally gotten up off the floor and looked shaken as all hell. Matt moved to supervise the halfway to conscious thugs, while Frank collected the guns and stowed them safely behind the counter until the police arrived. He wasn't taking any more chances. Blind ninja standing guard in his shop or not.