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Foggy can’t sleep.
He’s in bed at a reasonable hour because he can do that now that he has clients who make appointments in advance, and minions to hand grunt work off to, and co-counsel that actually pulls their weight. It’s hard to get used to. And apparently his brain hasn’t gotten the memo that he neither has to work through the night nor patch up any wayward vigilantes who might come somersaulting into his apartment, because it’s pleading to stay up like a six-year-old who wants just one more bedtime story.
He sighs and rolls over. His brain will just have to deal. That part of his life is over, and it’s for the best.
Probably.
A soft scraping noise from the fire escape has him freezing, halfway onto his side. Visions fill his head: the Punisher, back for revenge over his botched trial. Vengeful ninjas. An ordinary burglar, here to steal his TV now that he actually has a decent one. Damn. He loves that TV.
But the sound fades, or was never there at all, and after a minute Foggy’s heart stops racing and he lets himself flop back properly against the mattress. Too much time around Daredevil - around Matt. His imagination’s gone totally haywire. Without Matt in his life, no one’s out to get him. Everything is normal. Everything is safe.
Everything is fine.
It’s another hour and a half before he manages to fall asleep.
*
Four nights later he hears what’s unmistakably a booted foot on the metal slats. He curls a hand around his cell phone, ready to call 911, and waits for the window to creak open or the glass to shatter, but nothing happens. Well, nothing except Marci telling him he looks like shit when he crawls into work the next morning on no sleep.
*
The third time it happens it’s two nights later, and Foggy has cunningly left the curtains half open because he is a deductive mastermind and also because he thought What Would Karen Do and went from there. It’s enough to catch a glimpse of someone actually on his fire escape - someone in dark, form-fitting clothes.
And a pointy-horned helmet.
Jesus. Foggy lets his head flop back against the pillow and rolls his eyes. He should have guessed.
*
“You know, if you’re going to keep me awake by stomping all over my fire escape while I’m trying to sleep, you might as well knock on the window and tell me exactly what’s going on,” Foggy says a few nights later. He doesn’t bother to raise his voice. Matt will hear him.
There’s a pause. Then a knock on the window.
Foggy swings his feet out of bed, winces at how cold the floor is, and pads over to push the window open. A blast of cold air makes his breath catch - or maybe it’s Matt, hunched on the fire escape, the familiar curve of his mouth and his cheek and his jaw. Matt, who he hasn’t seen in six weeks. They’ve never been apart that long, not for the whole of their adult lives.
He tries not to think too hard about what his heart must be doing right now. He can’t control it anyway, and if Matt can’t figure out if Foggy’s nervous or angry or relieved or thrilled, well, that just means they’re in the same boat.
“Sorry I woke you up,” Matt says.
“I wasn’t asleep yet.”
“I know.”
“Creepy,” Foggy says without any real heat, but Matt ducks his head anyway. “What’s going on?”
“Oh. I was just. Uh.” Matt’s voice is gravelly, like he hasn’t been getting enough sleep, and - no. No, Foggy’s done worrying about him. “Just following a lead. This is the quickest way to get over to the next building, so…”
“So it’s just a coincidence that it’s my fire escape,” Foggy finishes for him.
“Yeah.”
He’s lying to Foggy again, but Foggy supposes it doesn’t matter anymore. Nelson and Murdock are over.
“All right,” Foggy says. “Well, you’re welcome to it. Parkour away, bud--bro.”
There’s enough light from the street for him to see Matt’s throat move beneath the protective mesh as he swallows. “Thanks. Thank you.”
“Sure,” Foggy says, and jerks his thumb towards his bed. “I’m gonna…”
“Yeah. Good night.” Matt straightens up.
“Night.” Foggy pushes the window back down but stands there with his fingers on it for a long moment before he adds, “Stay safe.”
*
“Parkour again?” Foggy asks as he pushes open the window a few nights later.
“Uh. No,” Matt says, shoulders hunched. Foggy hopes his suit is well insulated - it’s freezing out tonight. Then he remembers that Matt’s terrible choices aren’t his responsibility anymore. “I, uh. I wanted to ask you. Something.”
Foggy waits, and doesn’t let himself hope that he’s waiting for anything in particular.
“I’m, um, tracking some criminal activity on this block and I wondered if you’d seen anything suspicious.”
It’s laughably vague, and even more laughably transparent. “Suspicious, huh?” Foggy asks.
Matt nods.
Foggy sighs. “Uh. Well, I saw a guy clearly hiding a live squirrel in his coat the other day, but I don’t think that’s the kind of thing you’re talking about.”
Matt’s lips twitch, though not enough to call it a real smile. “Not so much.”
“Sorry, then.” Foggy shrugs. “Guess I can’t help you.”
“Yeah,” Matt says. He looks away, as if he’s hearing something in the distance - or maybe he just wants Foggy to think he does. “Well, sorry to bother you.”
Foggy swallows down it’s not a bother and why are you really here and nods. “Good night, Matt.”
*
“Now what did that deposition ever do to you, Foggy Bear?”
Foggy looks up. Marci is leaning in the doorway of his office, looking amused. “What?”
“You were glaring at that file like you wanted to blast a hole in it with your laser vision,” Marci says. “Wait, do you have laser vision? Jones claims she does but I think she’s full of it.” She walks in and perches on the edge of his desk. “You, though - I bet you’d make a cute superhero, in one of those little spandex numbers. What do you think?”
Foggy opens his mouth to tell her that it’s not spandex, it’s a kevlar weave, and some nights he still wakes in a cold sweat from dreams that it wasn’t enough. Then he catches himself. “I’m not really the hero type, Marce.”
“I’m sure there are a few dozen little old ladies in Hell’s Kitchen who’d say otherwise,” Marci says. “Listen, are you coming out for drinks tonight? I’ve finally managed to wheedle Jones into bringing Trish Walker with her, and I know you really want to be her friend.” She sings the last bit, with a big child star smile that’s hilariously out of place on her face before it subsides into a knowing leer.
“Uh. I think.” Foggy looks down at the deposition. “I think I’m gonna take some of this reading home and try to get to bed early. I’ve been kind of exhausted lately, so…” When he looks up, Marci’s eyebrow is practically touching her hairline. “What?”
“I think that might be the first time I’ve ever heard you turn down drinks. Whatever happened to All Night Nelson?”
Foggy snorts. “He died in college. Poisoned, specifically, by whatever they were swilling out at that Kappa Delta party senior year.” It was true. They’d even held a ceremonial little funeral, him and Matt, burning Foggy’s beer-soaked “one tequila, two tequila” t-shirt in the dorm room bathroom until the smell drove Matt into the hall…
Shit. He can’t think about Matt right now.
Marci sighs. “Foggy. I know you miss him, but you gotta take off the widow’s weeds eventually.”
“That’s not funny. He’s not dead,” Foggy snaps, sharper than he meant to. He doesn’t bother to pretend he doesn’t know who she’s talking about.
“Yeah, but Nelson and Murdock is,” she retorts. “Look, you guys did some great work there. The Fisk case? Everyone knows that was brilliant. But where was he on the Castle case? Where was he when you were in the goddamn hospital?”
Foggy pinches the bridge of his nose. She’s not wrong.
“I know you two have been…you two for a long time. And I know how you felt about him.” The lift of her eyebrows tells him that’s entirely true, for all that he’s never said it out loud. “But you don’t need him, Foggy. You don’t. Look where you are.” She spreads her arms, gesturing to his huge office, the furniture time hasn’t knocked the shine off yet.
“Yeah,” he says.
Marci stands up and bends to kiss the top of his head. “It’s a good life, Foggy Bear, and you earned it,” she says. “Try to enjoy it.”
*
The next time Matt comes by, Foggy doesn’t have to catch him in the act - the first thing he hears is the knock on the window.
He gets out of bed, pushes the curtain aside, and opens up the window. “Yes?”
Matt holds out the bowl Foggy placed on the fire escape. “What’s this?”
“You can’t tell?” If the smell didn’t tip him off, the rattle of dry cat food in the bowl ought to.
“Let me rephrase: why is this?” Matt asks.
Foggy shrugs. “I figured if you were going to come hang around my window like a stray cat on a regular basis, I might as well make sure you were getting fed.” He is actually a little bit worried about that. Not enough that he thinks Matt needs to eat cat food, but the man frequently forgets to eat if Foggy doesn’t remind him, and he lives a life that burns a lot of calories.
Matt’s mouth twitches briefly into a full smile and for an instant it’s like they’re back, like he’s the Matt Foggy knows again - or at least the Matt he was coming to know. Then it flickers out like a match flame and the distance settles back between them.
“So, tomcat,” Foggy says, wrapping his arms around himself because it’s cold tonight, “what brings you by this time?” They both know he means what excuse.
“Just...working a case,” Matt says.
Foggy nods. “Sure.”
Apparently that’s all he’s getting tonight, because Matt goes silent again. Foggy sighs and reaches to close the window. “Well - ”
“I told Karen.”
Foggy blinks. “What?”
“I told Karen that I’m - who I am,” Matt says. “She deserved to know. It wasn’t - you were right. You were right.”
“Okay,” Foggy says, because he can’t - he can’t deal with all of what Matt might mean by you were right at this particular moment in time. “What did she - wait, are you two still…? Or, again…?”
“No, no,” Matt says. “We weren’t...we hadn’t talked in a while. Since the firm...since you and I...since everything.”
“Okay,” Foggy says again, and it’s petty, it’s so fucking petty of him to be so relieved. Watching Matt kiss Karen was bad enough, though - he’s not sure he can take knowing things between them are fine when things between him and Matt are done. Are - are probably done. “What did she say?”
“Uh.” Matt runs a finger under the part of the mask that cuts over his cheek like he’s scratching an itch. “Most of it was in words of four letters.”
Foggy can’t help his startled laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s Karen.”
“It’s nothing I didn’t deserve.” Matt shrugs. “Maybe she’ll come around. I’m letting her...she told me to stay the fuck away from her, so I’m letting her...process.”
“She'll come around,” Foggy says. “She always liked Daredevil better than I did.” He hates himself for every word of it.
“Yeah,” Matt says. “Anyway, I should let you get some sleep.”
He leaps away before Foggy can close the window. “Good night, Matt,” Foggy says anyway, though he's not sure Matt can still hear him.
*
He calls Karen. He should have done it ages ago, but for all his talk about still being her friend, it's been a little too hard to be around her the past few weeks. She reminds him of too much.
That's shitty, though. She deserves better than that.
They meet at a bar near Foggy’s new office, a nice one. Josie’s is too raw, still. At first they mostly talk about work. Karen's thriving at the Bulletin and Foggy's honestly thrilled; she should be somewhere that can put her talents to good use, somewhere that's not constantly on the verge of imploding.
Then he orders a second round, sighs, and says, “So, he told you.”
Karen takes a deep, steadying breath. “Yeah.”
“I'm sorry I lied to you,” Foggy says, and means it. “I hated doing it.”
“No, no, I know,” she assures him. “I get it. It wasn't your secret to tell. And he said - when he told me, he said that, that you wanted to tell me the whole time. Or at least for as long as you knew.” She knocks her knee into his, gently. “Thank you.”
“God, don't thank me,” Foggy says, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “I should have pushed him about it more. Especially when you two started dating, Christ, that wasn't fair to you at all.”
“I'm an adult, Foggy,” she points out. “I knew there was something going on with him. And I went for it anyway. Just because I didn’t have all the information doesn’t mean I wasn’t going into it with my eyes open.” She huffs a bitter laugh and takes a sip of her drink. “Ugh, it was so college of me, though. I saw the bruises, I heard the obvious lies, I was there when he missed meetings or showed up late or ran out early and I thought...I don’t know. I made better excuses for him in my head than he was making out loud. Maybe I thought I could change him.” She tilts a self-deprecating smile at Foggy. “That probably sounds stupid.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Believe me, I know from so college. I'm hardly gonna judge you for falling for that disaster too,” he says, then realizes what he’s just given away. Well, shit.
“Oh,” Karen breathes, those big blue eyes wide and guilty. “Oh, oh Foggy…”
“Don’t,” he says, holding up a hand. She has nothing to apologize for, and he can’t take pity.
“I didn’t know,” she says. “I swear, Foggy, I didn’t know...I mean, you joked about it, sometimes, but I figured that meant that you didn’t…”
“Thus my brilliant strategy reveals itself,” he says, forcing a smile. “Seriously, it - you didn’t do anything wrong. It doesn’t matter. It would’ve had to have gone both ways for it to matter.” He takes a sip of his drink. Well, okay, maybe it’s more of a swig. “Besides, he’s kind of a shitty boyfriend.” Karen covers her mouth and lets out a muffled, choked kind of sound. “Too soon?”
She shakes her head, lets out a laugh that’s only slightly tinged with hysteria. “No,” she says. “No, I think this is exactly the right time.”
“Great ass, though,” Foggy adds.
This time Karen’s laugh is longer and more real. “Yeah. Great ass.” She drains her glass, leans over, and rests her head on Foggy’s shoulder. “Hey, let’s not get out of touch again, okay? I missed you.”
He wraps an arm around her and smiles into her hair. “Yeah,” he says. “Deal.”
*
Two nights later, Matt’s holding his arm funny.
“Hey, you okay?” Foggy asks, pointing at it.
“What? Oh. Yeah,” Matt says, and gives the arm a little swing, which is stupid, because he immediately winces. He always forgets how expressive his face is, even with half of it covered.
“Are you still going to Claire?” Foggy asks.
“Only when it’s really bad. I don’t want to bother her,” Matt says. Foggy must do something audible at that, or exude a disapproving smell or something, because Matt sighs and says, “It’s not dislocated or anything, Foggy, just strained,” as if Foggy’s the one being unreasonable and Matt has never shrugged off minor injuries like being shot in the head.
Foggy opens his mouth to retort, closes it, looks away.
“Nelson and Murdock is over, Foggy,” Matt says. “It’s not your job to worry about me anymore.”
“I didn’t worry because of work,” Foggy says, stung. “I - Matt, you probably don’t want to hear this, but I’m always going to worry about you. Even if we never talk again. That’s just…” He spreads his hands. “I’m never going to stop caring. I’m sorry if you don’t like it, but you’d be able to tell if I lied, so. There it is.”
Matt’s jaw does some impressive clenching for a long moment. Well, too bad. Foggy can’t turn it off. He wishes to God he could.
“I’ll be careful of the arm,” Matt says finally, and moves to the edge of the fire escape. “Get some sleep, Foggy.”
*
The truth is, Foggy doesn’t know why Matt comes around. His excuses are comically thin, and he never seems to have much to say. But he keeps coming - not every night, but a couple of times a week, every week.
If he’s looking for forgiveness, or some kind of apology, he can keep looking. Foggy feels guilty, sure, but he knows intellectually that he hasn’t done anything wrong. By the end, Matt all but shoved him in Jeri Hogarth’s direction. Foggy’s not going to apologize for not fighting back.
If he’s here to make his own apologies, well, he can start any time. But he doesn’t. Sometimes it seems like he wants to say something, but he always bites it back. Foggy doesn’t have the energy to push.
Maybe he’s just lonely. Foggy’s not sure he’s interacting with anyone but the criminals whose faces he’s punching in these days. But he was barely doing more than that in the last few weeks of Nelson and Murdock, so what would be the difference now? Foggy was sure as hell lonely then.
Foggy’s lonely now, too, but at least now it’s not under the guise of having a best friend.
Matt may not have turned out to be the person Foggy thought he was, but Foggy still knows him pretty well, and he knows it sometimes takes Matt weeks or even months of circling around what he wants to say before he up and says it. If all he’s going to do is stop by Foggy’s window every so often, well, that’s no great imposition, and it’ll keep Foggy from having to scour the news every morning to make sure Matt’s still alive.
(He scours the news anyway. He always will.)
Matt will say what he needs to say eventually. Foggy’s not going anywhere. But he’s not going to put himself through pushing the matter, either.
*
Matt’s sitting when Foggy opens the window, leaning his head against the side of the fire escape. It’s hard to tell with the mask on, but Foggy thinks his eyes might be closed. “Matt?”
“I’m fine,” Matt says. “Just a little tired.” His nostrils flare slightly. “You went somewhere nice for dinner.”
“Uh, yeah.” Foggy’s not sure what scent on him tells Matt that. Good wine? Good food? The cologne? It’s a mild one, purchased years ago when he realized Matt was sensitive to scents - though not just how sensitive - and gave him veto power over all his personal grooming products.
God, Foggy’s pathetic.
“Date with Marci?” Matt asks. His voice is very neutral.
“No, we’re not…” They’re just friends. For all their banter, he and Marci haven’t rekindled the sexual part of their relationship - but that’s a thing Foggy would tell his best friend and partner, not the vigilante who shows up on his fire escape at odd hours. “No. Dinner with the partners and some of the other lawyers from the firm.”
“Oh.” Matt pauses. “Do you like it there? Are you, are you ha--do you like it?”
Is he happy. Foggy’s glad Matt didn’t finish the question, because he has no idea how to answer it. “It’s interesting,” he says. “Really different from Nelson and Murdock, but it’s not really like Landman and Zack either. Although I guess there’d be a huge difference between any firm where you’re a partner versus being an intern.” He shrugs. “Less corporate, more wealthy individuals. Divorces and stuff. Not everyone’s a total shitweasel, which is nice.”
No one is a little old grandma who speaks only Spanish or Chinese, though, who kisses his cheek when her ten-year-old nephew translates that Foggy’s going to help her. No one is a teenage boy being railroaded by the cops, who Foggy can help get his life back. No one is a neighborhood institution or a long-time neighbor or a proud family friend.
“That’s - that’s good,” Matt says. “And hey, it’s law - there’s always going to be at least a few shitweasels.” He smiles, suddenly. “Remember Professor Huntington?”
“Our very first legal shitweasel! How could I ever forget?” Foggy asks.
Matt starts to laugh. “Remember when you called him an ableist fucknugget in front of the dean?”
Foggy can’t help laughing too. “I admit I may have lost my temper.”
“You shouted for four full minutes. I timed it.” There’s something fond and admiring in Matt’s voice, in his smile, and for a minute it feels like the last six months never happened, like Foggy could invite Matt in for a beer and let him crash on the couch and then go to work with him in the morning.
But he can’t, and they both seem to remember it at once. “Well,” Foggy says, looking down.
“Yeah.”
“I should...it’s late, I should sleep,” Foggy says, jerking a thumb back at his bed, and Matt nods.
“Yeah, I’ve got...I’ve got stuff.” He straightens up, balances on the edge of the fire escape railing.
“Night, Matt,” Foggy says, and it’s only when he’s closing the window and Matt’s feet are leaving the railing that he realizes he never even asked what Matt’s excuse for hanging around was tonight.
*
The next time Foggy hears Matt on the fire escape, it’s less of a scuff or a knock and more of a crash.
“Shit!” Foggy says, scrambling out of bed, because that can’t be good. Sure enough, Matt’s hunched over on himself, pale in the light from Foggy’s bedroom, and there’s blood streaming out from under his helmet.
“Sorry,” Matt says. His voice is a rasp. “Sorry, I just needed to rest, I’ll get out of your hair…”
“Are you insane?” Foggy asks. “Get in here and take your stupid helmet off.” Matt pauses. “Matthew.”
He’s forgotten that he doesn’t have the right to boss Matt around anymore, but Matt makes a guilty-dog face and slinks over the sill and into Foggy’s bedroom just the same. “I’m okay,” he says as he tugs the helmet off. “It’s not like - ” He bites his lip. “Not like last time.”
Foggy has a flash of memory - the August sun beating down on his back as he cradled Matt’s head in his lap, begging, begging him to wake up - and shakes it away. Matt’s not trembling or visibly drifting, and the blood is a thin trickle and not a gush. “Sit,” he says, pointing to the bed. “I’ll get the first aid kit.”
It’s...ample, a big plastic kaboodle from Target with various compartments and sliding drawers and whatnot, all tricked out with everything Foggy had thought might be useful and a few things Claire had recommended, back when… Back when he thought Matt might come to him for this.
In the bedroom Matt looks lost, turning the helmet over and over again in his gloved hands. The bleeding’s coming from a cut high on his temple and Foggy tsks as he tilts Matt’s head to a better angle. “Don’t move,” he says.
“You don’t have to…”
“Quiet.” Foggy dampened a washcloth with warm water on his trip to the bathroom and he uses that to clean the blood away from Matt’s wound, from the rest of his face. The cut starts oozing blood again as he does, and Foggy presses the cloth to it to staunch the flow.
“It’s not deep,” Matt says after a minute. “I think just a butterfly should do it.”
“And some antiseptic spray, I hope, you walking tetanus risk,” Foggy mutters.
“Sure,” Matt says, and actually tries a devil-may-care grin at him, the asshole - and that’s when Foggy notices how gaunt his face is.
“Uh,” he says, putting the washcloth aside and reaching for the antiseptic. “Matthew. Are you eating?”
“Of course I - ” Matt starts, and Foggy lets loose with the spray without warning because Matt is a filthy liar.
“Shit,” Matt hisses very quietly, but that's it. Foggy puts the spray aside and reaches for a butterfly, turning Matt's head to a better angle with a hand at his jaw. It's easy to see, now, the violet hollows beneath Matt's eyes, the thinness of his face.
“How much are you eating?” he asks, trying to keep both his hand and his voice steady as he applies the bandage.
“Enough,” Matt says, and that's no kind of answer Foggy likes.
He swallows. He's finished with Matt's wound but his other hand is still on Matt's jaw. “Do you...have cases? Clients?”
“I can pay the bills, if that's what you're asking.”
Foggy's not sure if he's more scared by the thought that Matt can't afford food, or that he can, he's just depriving himself of it for some reason. “I guess you can always ask Elektra to float you another ten thousand if you need it,” he says, trying for levity. He's not sure he manages to keep the bitterness out of his voice, though. Last time around he had to practically rebuild Matt from scratch after Elektra was done with him. Now she's taken Matt away from him entirely.
But Matt looks stricken, and Foggy's suddenly afraid. “What?”
“Elektra’s.” Matt swallows hard, jaw clenching. “Elektra’s dead.”
“What?”
“The night Karen was kidnapped,” Matt says. His eyes are never focused but they're very far away now. “She...the Hand wanted her and Nobu almost...but she got in the way and I, I couldn't, Stick, we couldn't…”
“Stick,” Foggy says. “The old guy who trained you?” None of this makes sense. Matt had said something about Elektra being into the same kind of shit Daredevil was into while they were screaming at each other in a courthouse bathroom, but Foggy had never been able to picture it. Elektra was a debutante, a gorgeous spoiled wisp of a girl who should be spending her weekends joyriding in Daddy's Porsche, not fighting deadly ninjas. In Foggy's mind she was still nineteen, whispering things into Matt's ear in the library and laughing when they made him turn crimson. How could she be dead?
“He hid the body,” Matt says. “Hid it until we could get the papers, until we could bury her properly, without questions that we couldn’t...that her parents couldn’t...that.” He makes a choked noise. “She’s dead, Foggy. She’s gone and Stick’s gone and you’re gone and I’m - I can’t - I - ”
He grabs for his helmet, suddenly, and starts to rise, but Foggy’s seen the tears starting, and no force on Earth could stop the “Matty” that breaks out of him, or the hand that reaches for Matt’s arm.
And Matt -
Matt shatters.
It’s barely human, the howl that breaks out of him as he curls in on himself. Foggy reaches for him, pulls him in, and Matt clings to him as he sobs, tears soaking through the thin T-shirt Foggy sleeps in. He smooths his fingers over Matt’s hair, rocks him back and forth as he shushes him, and forgets for a moment that they aren’t friends anymore, because Matt needs him right now, and nothing Matt’s ever done to him has ever hurt as badly as seeing Matt in this much pain.
“Shhh, Matty, baby, it’s okay,” he murmurs, nonsense he’d be embarrassed by if he thought Matt was in any state to make out the words. “I’m here, Matty. I’ve got you.”
Matt goes limp once he’s cried himself out. Foggy takes a shuddering breath and presses his cheek to Matt’s hair. His back hurts from hunching over like this for so long, but he’s not moving until Matt does.
It’s a few minutes later that Matt shifts, straightens, pulls away. His face is red and blotchy and embarrassed as he drags the back of his hand across it. “I,” he says. His voice is hoarse. “Sorry. I. I should go.”
“You don’t have to,” Foggy blurts out as Matt stands and turns towards the window.
Matt freezes.
“I mean.” Foggy’s pretty sure his own face is red, too. Matt probably has some way to tell. “It’s late, and you…someone should probably check on you in a few hours, make sure you don’t have a concussion. Hell’s Kitchen needs Daredevil in fighting shape, right?”
Matt slowly turns back to him, and Foggy can’t, he just can’t look at Matt’s face right now. Not when it’s like that.
He stands up too, crosses to the dresser and tosses a shirt at Matt. Matt snags it out of the air. “Just this once,” he says. “What’s a little co-sleeping between former business partners, right?”
“I…” Matt says, holding the shirt like he’s not sure what it is.
Foggy swallows. Part of him thinks this is a bad idea, but he can’t bear the thought of sending Matt back out into the night. Not in this state.
“It’s okay, Matt,” he says. At least he catches himself before it turns into Matty this time. And then, again, “Just this once.”
Matt pauses, then nods jerkily. “Just this once,” he says.
Foggy closes the curtain as Matt washes his face, but he waits to turn out the light until Matt’s come back to change out of the suit, so that he can covertly evaluate what Matt’s been doing to himself lately. There are no more scars or bruises than usual, but the skin seems tighter over Matt’s ribs, and he moves like everything hurts.
Once Matt’s in the T-shirt, Foggy shuts out the light, and feels the mattress shift as Matt crawls into bed behind him. He stares into the darkness ahead of him and tries to force himself to relax. After everything they've been through - everything they no longer are - the half-hopeful adolescent anxieties sharing a bed with Matt would normally raise in him seem awfully petty.
And yet.
Maybe Matt can hear Foggy's heart racing, because he reaches out and presses his fingers to Foggy’s spine. “Thank you,” he says, barely audible.
“Get some sleep,” Foggy says, because he's afraid that you're welcome or no problem will read like lies.
*
In the morning, the borrowed T-shirt is folded neatly on the extra pillow, and Matt and the costume are gone.
*
It's over a week before Foggy sees Matt again, and it's not on his fire escape. It's at the courthouse.
In retrospect, it was inevitable. Foggy doesn't specialize in Hell’s Kitchen anymore - in fact, he doesn't have a single client who lives there these days - but he still lives four blocks away from Matt, and they're still in the same profession. Running into each other was bound to happen.
In fact, maybe Matt's rubbed off on him, because he hears the cane before he sees him. He goes still, making Marci cut herself off in the middle of a sentence and go, “What? What’s wrong?”
Foggy turns - and there's Matt, dapper in a dark gray suit and with his hair actually combed. After everything, Foggy didn't expect this to hurt, but. But.
This is the Matt Foggy used to see every day, trim and collected and whip-smart. Not Matt dressed like the world’s most obvious metaphor, or shaking and bleeding and weeping in Foggy's arms. Everyday Matt. Normal Matt.
This is the Matt Foggy thought he'd grow old with.
Marci follows his gaze. “Oh, joy. This asshole.”
Matt doesn’t look at them, not really, but his head turns slightly, and Foggy knows he’s heard. Out of range of normal hearing means nothing to Matt. “Marci, don’t…”
“You’re going to defend him?” she asks. “For which part? Tanking the Castle case or abandoning you after you were shot?” Foggy doesn’t say anything, too aware that Matt can hear them - too aware that Marci’s right - and she sighs. “Fine. But someday you’re going to have to stop being a sucker for Matt Murdock.”
“I know.” Boy, does he know.
Marci rolls her eyes. “You want to go say hi?”
That’s a conversation Foggy doesn’t know how to have - not in front of Marci, not after Matt was crying in his arms a week ago. “No. No, that’s okay.”
“Good.” Marci gives him a rare sympathetic smile. “Hey. You can do this. You got over me, didn’t you?”
Foggy grins. “No one ever gets over Marci Stahl.”
“Smart boy.” She pats his arm. “Come on, you can’t be in love with him forever.”
Far across the courthouse vestibule, Matt’s jaw goes slack, and the bottom drops out of Foggy’s stomach. He can’t even pin this one on Marci, not really. Matt probably would’ve thought she was kidding if Foggy’s heart hadn’t started racing.
“Foggy?” Marci asks. “You okay? You look super clammy and gross all of a sudden.”
“Uh,” Foggy says. “Yeah. I’m...yeah. I’m fine.” He licks his lips. Matt’s turning to face them now, mouth open and stunned, and Foggy grabs Marci’s arm. “Come on, we should get to the courtroom.”
He can die of humiliation later. He’s got a client right now who needs him.
*
Foggy gets home late to find it freezing in his apartment. He realizes why when he makes his way to his bedroom and finds Matt already there, sitting on the sill of his open window, helmet in hand. His hair is a bird’s nest and his eyes are hooded, exhausted. Foggy can’t decide if he wants to push him backwards out the window or swaddle him in blankets and call him muffin.
He settles for ignoring Matt while he hangs up his jacket, removes and puts away his tie, and toes off his shoes. “So we’re breaking and entering now?” he asks, finally turning to look at the wayward vigilante perched in his window like Peter Pan.
“Sorry,” Matt says.
Foggy rolls his eyes heavenward. “This, I get an apology for.”
“You’re mad at me.”
“This is not a new development.” Foggy’s being an asshole. He knows he’s being an asshole. But his heart’s lying raw and vulnerable on the floor between them, ever since Marci casually tossed it there this morning, and being an asshole is the closest he thinks he can get to regaining some dignity here.
No, he can’t blame Marci. His heart’s been there for all to see - or hear, Murdock - since he was eighteen.
Matt nods like that’s fair. “How’d your case go?”
Foggy sighs. “Are we going to do this? Are we going to sit there and pretend that’s what you came here to talk about?”
“And what did I come to talk about?” Matt asks, finally looking irritated. It’s a relief. Foggy can’t - he can’t do pity right now. He can’t deal with Matt being kind.
The kindest thing to do would have been to stay away.
“I’m not an idiot, Matt,” Foggy says. “I know you heard Marci.”
“I already knew she thinks I’m an asshole.”
“Matt.”
“What?” Matt snaps. “What, Foggy? You’re already so sure you know what I’m going to say. Why don’t you tell me what it is?”
“Fine, I don’t know exactly,” Foggy shoots back. “Maybe you’ll ask me if it’s true. Maybe you’ll say you never meant to lead me on. You can’t be here to ask that it not affect our friendship, because we don’t have a friendship anymore.”
“That was your choice, not mine.”
“Bullshit!” Foggy’s shouting now, and he can only hope that his neighbors have their windows closed against the cold and can’t hear them. “I came over to patch things up and you all but told me to burn the office down and salt the earth!”
“Oh, please.” Matt can be magnificently withering when he wants to be. “You didn’t want to make up. You wanted me to beg forgiveness. You didn’t want to compromise, you wanted me to grovel, and when I wouldn’t, you bailed.”
“Grovel? I didn’t - ” Foggy stops. That’s - “grovel” is too strong a word, but maybe - maybe he can’t totally deny it without pinging a lie on Matt’s radar. He redirects towards a different part of the bullshit Matt’s shoveling. “Haven’t I compromised enough, Matt? The cases I carried, the lies I told, those weren’t compromising? When I dragged your concussed ass home before you got arrested or died, you think I wanted that to be my life? When I showed up for you, over and over and over again, and you never showed up for me?”
“When didn’t - ”
“I was shot, Matt!” Foggy’s hands are clenched into fists, his shoulders up around his ears. Matt’s standing, facing off, but he falters back at that. “I was shot and you left me with a hole in my shoulder, you left me bleeding on a stretcher and you never came to see me, not once, not the whole time I was...I was…” Shit. Shit, he’s crying, he’s crying and humiliated, but if Matt didn’t care when he was hospitalized, he won’t care now. “You were shot and I carried you home. I was shot and you didn’t care.”
“Foggy.” Matt’s face crumples and he takes a step forward, but Foggy flinches away.
“Don’t touch me.”
Matt freezes like a scolded dog. Foggy tries and fails to stop crying. “I was. I.” Matt swallows visibly. “I was on the roof.”
Foggy blinks. “What?”
“Of the hospital. When you were there.” Matt picks at the edge of the helmet in his hand. “I was there, listening to your - listening to you. To make sure you were okay.”
That’s - that’s not what Foggy expected Matt to say. He doesn’t know whether he’s touched or horrified, but at least he’s surprised enough that he stops crying. “That’s not what I wanted.”
Matt sighs. “I can’t be what you want, Foggy.”
“Oh, Jesus, I know that. I’m not asking you to jump into bed with me, Matt, that’s not on the table. I know you’re straight,” Foggy says. Matt frowns and opens his mouth, but Foggy keeps going. “I’m not going to ask you for anything unreasonable. I’m not going to ask you to be something you’re not.”
“You want me to stop being Daredevil,” Matt points out.
Foggy looks at the ceiling for a minute, as if divine intervention will provide him with answers. “Yeah. Okay? If we’re being honest, yeah, I don’t want you to be Daredevil. But that’s because I want this to be a world that doesn’t need Daredevil, because that’s the only way you’ll stop.”
“Come on. You hate this,” Matt says, holding up the helmet.
“Yeah, of course I do! Because it hurts you and that scares me!” Foggy says. “Because I don’t want you to die, Matt! But you’re not going to stop. I don’t think you can stop. And I - I’m getting used to it. I’m making my peace with it.” Matt looks skeptical. “I’m trying, Matt. I’ve known you ten years. I’ve only known Daredevil for one. It’s a process.”
“You never sounded like you were making your peace with it,” Matt says, and now he’s outright sulky.
“During which part?” Foggy asks. “When you were trying to shrug off a bullet to the head? Or when you left me to defend a mass murderer on my own because you were too busy doing - Christ, I don’t even know what you were doing.” He scrubs at his face. He feels sticky and tear-stained and exhausted, and he suddenly just wants this to be over. “It’s not black and white, Matt. It’s not a choice between not being Daredevil at all, or being Daredevil and doing whatever the hell you want until you get yourself killed. I’m not going to apologize for wanting to keep you alive.”
“So, that’s it,” Matt says. “That’s all you want from me. To be more careful.”
Foggy closes his eyes for a minute and exhales hard through his nose. “Okay, fine. Fine. You want to do this? Here’s what I want from you, Matt: I do want you to be more careful. I want you to get more sleep. I want you to remember to eat. I want you to try harder not to get injured, and I want you to let your injuries heal when you do get them. I want you to take painkillers because I don’t want you to be in pain, and no, Matt, I don’t think Jesus wants you in pain either.” Matt tilts his head back, his version of an eyeroll. Foggy ignores it. “I want you to live to grow old. I want to tease you when your hair goes gray and you still look like a movie star. I want...I don’t want Father Lantom coming to me next week, next month, next year, and asking for a eulogy.” Shit, not again. He blinks back more tears and pushes past the look on Matt’s face.
“I want Nelson and Murdock back,” he goes on. “Okay? Is that what you wanted me to admit? I have a great job and they respect me and it pays the bills, but fuck, Matt, you know I’m not happy. You can probably smell it. I want our little office back, with you and Karen and our small-time clients who pay us in cobbler and favors. But I can’t, I can’t…” He takes a ragged breath. “I want it to be what we talked about in college. What you promised me we’d have when we walked away from Landman and Zack. You and me as partners, Matt, not you talking me into cases I’m not comfortable with and then bailing on them. I want to know where you are when you can’t make it to court. I want to know you’re alive. I want you not to lie to me. I can’t - you can’t lie to me, Matt. I can’t bear it.”
“Foggy - ”
Foggy shakes his head. “I want to know you care, even a little. I don’t need you to want me back. I’ve never needed that. I just want to know that I matter to you. That’s all.” He swipes at his cheek. “And yeah, okay, fine, full disclosure: I’ve been in love with you since I was eighteen. That’s beside the point. I’m never going to ask you for something you can’t give.”
Matt’s crying now, too; not the ugly crying of the other night, but silent tears streaming down his face, his chin trembling like a leaf. Foggy wishes it didn’t affect him. Matt walks closer and Foggy stiffens, but Matt doesn’t reach for him. He just sits on the edge of the bed, helmet in hands, unfocused stare straight ahead.
“I want you to come home,” he says, very quietly. “Home to Nelson and Murdock. Where you belong. It’s so empty without you, Foggy. There’s no point.” He turns the helmet over in his hands. “I want you to understand that this is who I am. You’re right that I can’t stop. I won’t stop. And I can’t promise that I won’t...that you won’t need that eulogy sooner than you like. I can only promise to try and stave it off as long as I can.
“I want you to listen when I try to explain this stuff to you. I know I don’t always do a very good job, but I’ve never had someone to talk out loud to about it, either. I want you to believe that I don’t take cases for the hell of it or to make you miserable - I take them because I believe in them. I want you to only take cases you believe in, too. I want you to use your good heart in the service of the law and not just your good brain.”
That is some patronizing bullshit right there, but Matt let Foggy have his say, so Foggy keeps his mouth shut while Matt continues. “I want you to be patient with me,” Matt says. “Maybe it’s not fair to ask for more patience when you’ve already given me so much, but I’m not...I don’t...I’m not like this because it’s fun for me. I’m like this because I’m like this. I get angry and I keep secrets and I don’t always think things through. But I was trying, for you. I want you to let me keep trying.”
The corner of his mouth turns up. “And as long as we’re being honest, I’ve been in love with you since I was eighteen, too.”
Foggy takes a step back. “No. No, you don’t get to say that to me.”
“Foggy - ”
“No, Matt! Fuck you! I don’t - this isn’t a joke! I was honest with you!”
“I’m being honest with you, too,” Matt protests, standing up again. “I’ve always loved you, I have since we were kids. I just didn’t know what it was for a long time.”
“Oh, my fucking Jesus, and no, I’m not apologizing for that.” Foggy puts his face in his hands for a minute. “You can’t just - you don’t have to talk yourself into this because you feel guilty, Matt. You’re straight. I know you’re straight.”
Matt shakes his head. “I’m not.”
“Matt - ”
“I’ve been with men, Foggy.”
That’s...news to Foggy. Probably sends his heart into even more overdrive than it already was, too, judging by the way Matt cocks his head. “And you just…never said anything?”
“It took me a while to be comfortable with it.” Matt shrugs a shoulder, looking embarrassed. “I wasn’t president of my high school’s GSA like you, Foggy. I didn’t even know I liked boys until...until I met you.”
Foggy tries to think his way through this strange new world. Matt liking men is not the same thing as Matt loving Foggy. “So when you were with all those girls in college, and after, and Claire, and - God, Matt, you expect me to believe that when Karen was finding Elektra in your bed you were really in love with me?” He’s not positive it was Elektra, but he’s made an educated guess, and Matt’s face confirms it.
“Believe it or not, I’ve gotten a lot of practice being in relationships with other people when I couldn’t be with you,” Matt snaps. “It’s not like you haven’t dated, and more seriously than I have. You were talking about moving in with Marci instead of me after undergrad, remember?”
“There’s a difference!”
“Why?”
Because Matt is Matt, and everyone falls in love with him. “Because you knew about me!” Foggy says. “You had to know. You had to suspect. You can hear my heart, Matt!”
“It doesn’t beat in Morse code!” Matt retorts. “Yes, I knew you were attracted to me. That doesn’t mean you wanted anything else.”
“And you never tried asking?” Foggy knows he’s being unfair, now. He doesn’t care.
“I didn’t want to lose you!” Matt says. “What if I was wrong? What if I was right, and we started dating, and I fucked it all up? You’ve seen how I am in relationships. My longest one was with Elektra, and when we broke up we didn’t speak for ten years, and now…” His chin trembles again until he masters it.
“You didn’t want to lose me,” Foggy says, dully. “So instead you lied, and you lied again, and you told me to close up shop.”
Matt hunches his shoulders. “I knew you’d leave me eventually, and you did. You did leave. Once when you found out, and...and again after the Castle case. You left me.”
“Because you told me to, Matt.” Foggy stares at him. He’s known Matt for a decade, but suddenly it’s like he’s never seen him before. “I know it’s not Morse code, but couldn’t you tell all I wanted was for you to give me a reason to stay?”
Matt shakes his head. “I don’t have one. You have a better job without me. You have a better life.”
“I told you I wasn’t happy.”
“I can’t make you happy.” Matt turns the helmet over in his hands again. “That’s not what I do.”
“You did.” Foggy’s not sure why he’s arguing for this, after all the pining and the lying and the tears and the fights. But it’s not a lie. “You did for ten years. You don’t have to talk yourself into wanting me to make me - ”
“Goddammit, Foggy!” Matt snaps, drops the helmet on the floor and marches over - and then his gloved hands are on Foggy’s face and he’s kissing him. He’s urgent and furious and he tastes like salt, and Foggy’s so stunned he doesn’t move until Matt pulls back and lets him go.
“You can hate me,” he says. “You can kick me out right now and never speak to me again. Hell, you can tell the world I’m Daredevil, I can’t stop you. But stop saying I’m lying about this. I’m not lying. I love you.”
There’s something on Foggy’s chest, something heavy and tight. It’s hard to breathe.
Matt loves him.
“Foggy?”
“I don’t hate you.” Foggy’s sounds distant to his own ears. “I never hated you, Matt. I couldn’t. Not ever.”
He’s a little dizzy. He sits down on the edge of the bed. Matt pauses awkwardly, then sits down next to him.
“So now what?” Foggy asks. “What do we do now?”
Matt laughs. It’s not a happy sound. “You’re the one with the plans.”
“I can’t just leave my job, Matt. I made a commitment.”
“I know.”
“And I don’t want to be your rebound girl.”
Matt snorts. “I don’t think you’re in danger of that.”
“I’m serious. I don’t know if this is a good idea. You just got out of...two relationships? One and a half?” Matt tilts his head, an acknowledgement. “You’re not in a good place right now, Matty.”
And yeah, that’s Matt’s face when he’s trying not to smile. “What?” Foggy asks.
Matt ducks his head. “Matty.”
“Oh my God.” Foggy can’t help smiling as Matt tucks his head into the crook of Foggy’s neck. He grabs Matt’s hand, pulls the glove off and entwines his fingers with Matt’s. “You are such a sap.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Matt butts his forehead against Foggy’s jaw gently and seems to consider that enough of an argument. Foggy sighs and rubs his thumb against the back of Matt’s hand.
“We’ll take it slow,” he says finally. “I’m not leaving my job, not yet. I want to make sure that we can - that this works. That we can make this work again. And we still have a lot to talk about.”
“Okay,” Matt says.
“You can tell me about the Daredevil stuff,” Foggy continues. “And I’ll work harder on listening. But I need you to give me something to listen to, Matt.”
“Okay,” Matt says again.
“...We can try some more of that kissing thing.”
And that’s Matt smiling against his neck. “Definitely okay.”
Foggy opens his mouth to say something else, but yawns instead. Matt pulls back. “You should sleep,” he says, with a truly hilarious level of concern from someone who looks like he hasn’t been this close to a pillow in seventy-two hours. “I should go.”
He stands up, but Foggy doesn’t let go of his hand. “Stay,” he says, and feels a sudden flush up the back of his neck. “Just to sleep, I mean. But. Stay.”
It’s worth the minor embarrassment, because Matt beams. Foggy didn’t know until he saw that smile how scared he was he’d never be the cause of it again. “If you want me to.”
“Yeah. But close the window, would you? It’s freezing in here.” Foggy heads for the dresser while Matt obeys, and pulls out the same shirt Matt wore the other night. He pauses when he hears the window thump shut. “Hey. Why did you - you know what, never mind.”
“What?” Matt asks, pulling off his other glove.
Foggy hesitates, but he has spent all night talking about honesty. “Why did you really come by here, that first night?”
“Uh.” Why does Matt suddenly look mildly panicked? “I don’t, um. Is that important?”
Foggy feels his eyebrows go up. “Judging by your reaction, it might be.”
“It’s not bad. I don’t think,” Matt says quickly. “But it’s. It’s. I don’t want you to be mad at me again.”
He says that last in a tiny voice, and Foggy is still, after everything, a sucker for Matt Murdock. Pushing this won’t help, not right now. “All right,” he says. “Why don’t you tell me when you’re ready?”
Matt gives a relieved nod, and catches the shirt Foggy throws at his face. Foggy busies himself changing for bed, brushing his teeth and making sure the front door is locked and the lights are out. By the time he returns to the bedroom Matt is a twisted little ball of sad handsome under the covers.
Foggy’s heart does something that’s got to be audible, it’s so strong. They aren’t fixed, not by a long shot. And even if things between the two of them get better, there’s still Karen’s feelings to consider, and Nelson and Murdock, and the fact that Matt could still die a violent death any night no matter how careful Foggy asks him to be.
But right now Matt is here, in his bed, waiting for Foggy.
Foggy shuts out the bedroom light and slides under the covers. Immediately Matt curls into him, his head tucked against Foggy’s shoulder and his hand flat on Foggy’s chest. “Is this okay?”
“Yeah, buddy.” This is a good third of Foggy’s most pathetic fantasies over the past decade. It’s more than okay.
He lets out a long sigh and closes his eyes. It’s been an exhausting night.
“It wasn’t the first time.” Matt, very quiet.
Foggy turns his head. “Mm?”
“That night, that first night on your fire escape. It. It wasn’t the first time I came by,” Matt says. His hand is trembling on Foggy’s chest. “You never heard me. I never intended for you to hear me.”
Foggy opens his eyes and frowns into the darkness. Why would…? “Shit,” he says, realizing. “Ninjas or the Punisher?”
“What?”
“Is it ninjas after me, or the Punisher?”
“What? No, no one’s after you. I don’t think.” Matt’s fingers clench in Foggy’s T-shirt. “I told you I came to the hospital, to listen to you. To know you were okay. That’s. That’s what I was doing here.”
Foggy blinks. “You were just...sitting there in the cold? Listening to me?”
“And. And smelling.” When Matt speaks again, his voice is a little frantic. “Foggy, we lived together. And the dorms were loud, and chaotic, and...I don’t know, I got used to using your heart to tune it out. And even when we didn’t live together, we spent all day together, and...I’d never gone so long without listening to your heart. I missed it.”
“Wait. Hearts sound different to you?” Foggy asks. “You can recognize mine specifically?”
Matt nods against his shoulder. “It’s my favorite.”
“How…” Foggy licks his lips. He doesn’t even know what that means, not really. It should unsettle him more than it does. “How long would you have gone on doing that, if I hadn’t caught you?”
An uncomfortable silence, and then Matt shifts away. “If it’s weird, I can leave…”
Foggy latches onto his wrist. It is weird. It’s probably too weird.
But Matt told Foggy to move on because he was better off without Matt, and then spent God knows how many nights crouched in the cold, just to be close to Foggy.
Foggy pulls Matt back down, so that his head is resting on Foggy’s chest, Foggy’s arm around his shoulders. “Is it too loud for you like that?”
Matt’s hand flutters uncertainly before curling around Foggy’s ribs like he’s never letting go. “No,” he says, a little hoarse. “It’s perfect.”
Foggy combs his fingers through Matt’s hair. “Then we’re good,” he says.
They’re not. Not yet. But it’s close enough to true that he’s pretty sure Matt will let it slide.