Fic: Stay In My Arms (If You Dare) [5/5]
Title: Stay In My Arms (If You Dare) [5/5]
Fandom: Daredevil (TV)
Rating: NC-17
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
“Explain to me again which part of this you thought was a good idea.” Matt’s heard Trish fed-up, impatient, and absolutely livid, but he’s not sure he’s ever heard her this angry before. “The part where you were attacking innocent men in the street, the part where you escalated a dangerous situation until your client was kidnapped, or the part where you were implicating this company in your illegal vigilantism?”
“You forgot the part where he’s hot for his client,” Jessica pipes up.
“Don’t,” Trish snaps. “I’m not happy with any of you for letting him pull this shit. Especially you, Rand.” Jessica snorts and folds her arms defensively, but Danny hangs his head. Luke’s not giving off enough data for Matt to read him.
Matt tries not to wince as Claire pulls an inch-long piece of glass out of his arm and starts cleaning the wound with antiseptic. The adrenaline hasn’t bled out of his system yet, not by a long shot, but it’s receded enough that he’s started to feel how he’s hurting: a bruise swelling at his temple from the Russian asshole, his split lip, glass all through his forearms. His knee’s not quite right where Hoffman kicked him, either.
It doesn’t matter. Every minute they waste is another minute Foggy’s in danger.
“Trish, I am sorry. I truly am,” he says. “I should have let you know that I was investigating Foggy - Mr. Nelson - when he came in for the demo. If you want me to quit, I will.”
He sits forward and Claire tsks at him as his arm moves. They’re all in Trish’s office - he took Mrs. Cardenas straight there, since with Blake and Hoffman in on this, he’s not sure who at the precinct or the hospital he can trust. Besides Claire, of course. This isn’t the first time she’s unofficially patched someone up in the office.
Malcolm is sitting with Mrs. Cardenas now, hopefully helping her to be less terrified, while Trish reads Matt and the others the riot act. Matt is perfectly willing to be yelled at or even fired - it’s no less than he deserves - but not right now.
“None of this is Mr. Nelson’s fault, though,” he continues. “I can’t trust the cops, I don’t know who’s dirty. Please let me take the others to find him before it’s too late, and then you can yell at me or fire me or turn me over to the authorities or whatever you think is appropriate. But don’t make Mr. Nelson pay for it.”
He can hear Trish grinding her teeth. “...Do you know where they're keeping him?” she asks finally.
“No,” Matt admits, and Trish makes a frustrated sound at him. “But I can track him, if…” If he has enough time before Foggy’s captors kill him, but he can't bear to say that out loud.
“I can see what I can shake loose,” Luke volunteers. “Me and Jess. Between us we should have enough contacts out there to get a lead.”
“I can ask around…” Danny starts.
“I doubt they're hiding him at the yacht club,” Jessica says in a tone that means she's rolling her eyes.
“Right,” Danny says. “Because no one at the yacht club knows Leland Owlsley.”
“Fine,” Trish snaps, cutting off the argument before it begins - which is good, because the longer they wait the more Matt wants to claw his own skin off. “Everyone see what they can find out and keep your phones on. The minute you get a lead, call it in. No one storms the castle until all five of us are there, you got that, Murdock?”
“All five of us?” Matt repeats just as Jessica says “You’re not going.”
“The hell I’m not,” Trish retorts, yanking her jacket off the peg on the back of her door and slipping it on. “We've seen the kind of judgment you four have without me. I'm not letting any of you get killed out there - or our client.”
*
As luck would have it, it's Danny who turns up the lead.
Matt scours the Kitchen for three hours, trying to catch a rumor, a hint, the barest glimmer of Foggy’s voice or scent or heartbeat. He leaves the shakedowns to Luke and Jessica in the streets below - he doesn't trust himself to hold back right now.
But Danny calls it in - a word from the financial advisor to a financial advisor to a shell company to a shell company and so on and so on, but the upshot is a surprising bidding war on some condemned riverfront property, with Wilson Fisk as the owner of record. They assemble three blocks from the building in question, once Matt's sure there are no lookouts in earshot. Matt’s in dark clothes that he can move in and he’s got his billy clubs on him, but he hasn’t bothered with the full mystery man look. The Defenders have a right to rescue their client, or at least Trish can badger Hogarth into arguing something along those lines if this ends up in court. Matt doesn’t need the mask right now.
Foggy doesn’t need the mask right now.
“How many?” Jessica asks, setting Trish down lightly before landing.
Matt’s already been all around the building, a crumbling warehouse, flitting by when the sentries weren’t looking and counting heartbeats. “Too many to know for sure,” he admits. “Thirty, forty maybe? But Foggy’s in there.” He’d know that heartbeat anywhere. It took everything he had not to burst in when he heard it, but getting himself killed by being reckless won’t do Foggy any good.
Trish cracks her knuckles. “Okay. How are we doing this?”
“I’m going straight for Foggy. You guys...make a distraction or something,” Matt says.
“And you’re not going in,” Jessica tells Trish sternly.
Trish rolls her eyes, but it’s Luke who speaks. “Make a distraction or something? Hell of a plan, Murdock. Let me and Jess go in first, hit ‘em hard. While they’re scrambling, you do your sneaky ninja shit. Dan’ll cover your back. Okay?”
Danny nods. Jessica and Trish are silent, and Matt assumes they’re having some kind of conversation via facial expressions, because Trish finally makes a frustrated noise and says, “Fine. I’ll stay out here in case you need to send Mr. Nelson out and cover your retreat. But if Danny uses the Fist I’m calling the cops and coming in.”
“Fine, fine.” Matt doesn’t have time to stand here and hash out these details. “Let’s go.”
“Find your center,” Danny suggests.
“I will hit you.”
Luke claps them both on the shoulder. “Be careful, tiny friends.” He looks at Jess. “Hey, babe? I think that building needs a skylight, what do you think?”
“Definitely.” Jessica picks Luke up and flies off, and Matt leads Danny and Trish closer to the warehouse, down side streets with no guards. Halfway there they hear a crash - presumably Jessica dropping Luke through the roof. Gunfire follows, and screaming.
“What language is that?” Trish asks as they break into a run.
Matt concentrates. “English, Russian...and Japanese?”
“Sounds like a party,” Danny says.
Trish pulls ahead, but Matt grabs her before she rounds the corner. “Two guards still at the door. Don’t let them see you before we take them out. Stay safe.”
She nods. “Use the Fist if you need backup, Danny. Murdock, you better haul that perky tush of yours out of there in one piece so that I can keep being mad at you.”
“Got it, boss.” Matt lets her go and he and Danny charge around the corner and across the street towards the warehouse. The guards are distracted by the chaos inside, and don’t notice Matt and Danny until they’re nearly on top of them. Matt sends his reeling with a punch, then knocks him out with a roundhouse kick to the head. Danny drops his with a single uppercut.
“I guess some guys need two hits to take out cheap muscle for hire.”
“You know what, Rand…”
Inside the warehouse is sheer chaos, and it takes a few seconds for Matt’s senses to sort it out into something he can process. Luke is tossing mooks around the room like they weigh nothing at all; Matt’s pretty sure he smells Blake’s rancid cologne as he goes hurtling by. Matt’s old friend, Anatoly’s Asshole Brother, shouts something unpleasant-sounding at Jessica until she clocks him in the head. There’s gunfire everywhere, but luckily it’s mostly targeted at Luke, who’s shrugging it off.
“Stop them, you idiots!” someone familiar yells. “There’s only two of them!” Whoever it is charges past Matt and Danny, bumping into Matt in his haste - and it’s Leland Owlsley, clutching something that smells like a briefcase in his arms. “Out of my way!” he demands without a flicker of recognition, and bolts out the door. Danny makes a grab for him, but Matt shakes his head.
“He’s harmless,” he says. “We need to find Foggy.”
He stops and concentrates, searching out Foggy’s heartbeat in the midst of the chaos. He’s dimly aware of Danny guarding him, punching out a couple of Fisk’s men who get too close, but he doesn’t focus on it. Danny won’t let anything through.
And there - there it is, the rapid, thready beat of Foggy’s frightened heart, across the main loading floor where the fight is raging and down a hallway stretching west, towards the river. “That way,” Matt says, pointing, and breaks into a run, Danny close at his heels.
No one seems to notice them running through the melee, especially after Jessica starts swinging part of an abandoned crane around. They’re almost at the hallway entrance when Matt hears a strange sharp whistling in the air, Danny yelling, “Matt, look out!” and then Matt screams as a blade tears through his lower back.
He stumbles and nearly falls, turning it into a crouch as he wheels to face this opponent. It’s a man, about his height and weight, his heart a steady metronome, as if he’s relaxing in an armchair instead of fighting a stranger in a warehouse with guns going off.
The other man takes a few steps to the side, reeling in his weapon as he does. From the sound, it’s a hooked blade on the end of a long chain - a blade that now reeks of Matt’s blood. He moves like Danny - like Stick did, sometimes. Ninja, Matt thinks, or something very like it.
“You are with the others,” the ninja says. “But they are just a distraction, I think. I am not like the Russians or the Americans, easily tricked by loud noises. You will go no further.”
Matt straightens up, gets his arms up in a defensive position, but Danny steps in front of him. “I recognize that form. You were trained by Lei Kung the Thunderer.”
The ninja inclines his head. “For a time.” The chain jingles as the blade swings. “There are not many who know the name of the Thunderer. You must be the Immortal Iron Fist.”
“The what?” Matt whispers.
“Don’t worry about it,” Danny whispers back.
The ninja ignores this back and forth, and bows. “It will be an honor to slay you, Iron Fist. Perhaps I shall teach you what true immortality is.”
“Super creepy, dude,” Danny says, but he bows in turn anyway. “Matt, go!”
“But - ”
The blade whistles through the air again and Danny leaps out of the way. “I got it, man, go save your boy!”
Matt goes.
He tries to keep the fight on his radar as he heads down the hall, but it’s moving too fast for him to keep track of - the whirling blade, Danny leaping and spinning just out of reach. Besides, the hallway’s not empty. Matt runs into three guards on his way. Normally they’d be easy to put down, but he’s hurting - he can feel blood dripping hot down his back, and his leg still isn’t as reliable as he’d like. He’s tired, too.
But Foggy’s heart is getting closer.
Matt finds him in a room at the end of the hall. The door’s locked and Matt bruises his shoulder knocking it down, but it doesn’t matter, because Foggy’s there, Foggy’s there and he’s alive and only bleeding a little, he smells like pain and fear but Matt can fix that, Matt can save him.
“Foggy,” he says, rushing forward, and Foggy says something - too muffled to make out, he’s tied to a chair and he must be gagged, too - and Matt’s reaching for the gag, all his focus on Foggy, when there’s a step and a crack and Matt screams again as a bullet tears through his shoulder.
“Have I gotten your attention, Mr. Matt?”
Matt turns, right arm dangling. Blood’s running down it but the bullet seems to have gone through clean; it hurts to move but it’s not out of commission, not yet.
Wesley’s hand on the gun doesn’t shake, though his heartbeat is fast. “Make no mistake: I have excellent aim. I didn’t shoot you in the head because frankly, you’ve pissed my employer off, and I think he’d prefer to kill you himself. Perhaps after we’ve learned exactly how much confidential information Mr. Nelson here has squirreled away. You’ve stuck with him so loyally, I’m sure you’ll want to be with him at the end.”
Matt slides a billy club out of its holster. It’s awkward with his left hand, but he manages.
Wesley huffs an amused sound. “Commendable, really, very commendable. When I told Mr. Nelson the Defenders were the best in personal security, I had no idea you’d go this far.” The click of the gun’s hammer. “Drop it.”
Matt lets the billy club fly. It hits Wesley in the head. He crumples to the ground.
“I’ll have them put your endorsement in the brochures,” Matt says, and turns back to Foggy. As quickly as he can with his arm half-deadened and one glove slick with blood, he loosens the gag enough to pull it out of Foggy’s mouth. “Foggy, are you okay?”
“Well, I wasn’t just shot, so I’m doing better than you are. They didn’t have a lot of time to start questioning me. Pretty sure my arm is broken, though,” Foggy says. “Mrs. Cardenas?”
“She’s safe. She’s with Malcolm and - and a nurse friend. She’s okay.”
“Well, that’s something,” and oh, there’s banked anger in Foggy’s voice. Matt deserves it, he knows he does. Maybe it’ll burn the guilt out of him.
“Foggy, I never meant for anything like this to happen...” he starts as he frees Foggy’s wrists - carefully, carefully, if Foggy’s arm is broken he doesn’t want to make it worse.
“Which part?” Foggy asks. “Working as Fisk’s hired thug or making me think you actually cared about me?”
Matt feels his jaw drop. “I - I didn’t - I wasn’t working for Fisk. I never worked for Fisk!”
“You attacked me!” Foggy says, even as Matt frees his ankles. “That was you the first night, right? Who’d you get the time you ‘saved’ me? That guy you did the flippy little demo with? Great trick, by the way. I really thought - fuck. It doesn’t matter. Kidnap me, rescue me, whatever. I can’t even tell anymore.”
“Foggy…” Matt says, but then he hears it. A heart like a bass drum, pounding fast and coming closer. “Fisk. He’s coming. Stay back.”
“What are you - ” Foggy starts to say, but Matt’s already rising, tucking Foggy behind him as Fisk bursts into the room. It hurts to stand, the wound at his back gaping open as he moves.
“Wesley!” Fisk says, looking towards Wesley’s heaped form on the floor.
“He’s alive,” Matt says. “Though he may wish he wasn’t when he’s serving out his life sentence for helping you.”
“Murdock,” Fisk says. “You did this.”
“Just defending my client,” Matt says. No need for Fisk to know he’s the man in the mask if he hasn’t put it together already.
Rage rolls off of Fisk in a wave. “I should have send more men after you when the Russians failed. I should have killed you both!”
Matt shrugs his uninjured shoulder. “Probably. Now did you want to call the police to arrest you for kidnapping and assault, or should I?”
Fisk lets out a bestial roar and charges him. Normally Matt would sidestep, use his greater speed and agility to let Fisk tire himself out with wild swings, but he can’t do that here. Foggy could get hurt. He has to stay in front of Foggy.
Instead, he meets the charge head on, ducking under Fisk’s blow and punching him in the ribs with his good arm. It’s like hitting a sack of wet cement. Fisk catches him on the backswing, backhanding Matt across the face and sending him sprawling.
“Matt!” Foggy cries.
Matt scrambles to his feet. Stupid as it is, he’s buoyed by Foggy’s voice. Foggy can’t totally hate him, if he’s worried.
“Stand down,” he says, and kicks Fisk in the side. Fisk shouts in pain and slams a fist into his head. Matt’s ears ring as he staggers. “Stand down,” he says stubbornly, and kicks again.
It’s a mistake - it’s the bad leg and he’s slow. Fisk evades, grabs his injured shoulder in one huge paw and, while Matt’s trying not to howl in pain, hits him in the face, twice, three times, Matt loses count. Fisk throws him and he falls.
“No,” Foggy says. Matt pushes himself to his feet.
“I’ll kill you!” Fisk roars. Lucky for Matt. His senses are rattled but he know where that roar is.
He ducks. Spins. Takes a blow to the ribs. Something cracks. He gets his other billy club free, hits Fisk across the head. Fisk yells and slams him to the ground again.
No. Up. Up. Foggy needs him. He stands. He’s bleeding. He can’t feel his right arm; tries to swing it anyway. Fisk grunts so it must have connected.
Billy club. He’s still got it in his other fist. Swings it, hits - no, Fisk has his wrist, no, that’s - Matt cries out as his fingers break. There’s blood in his mouth. He can’t stop.
He’s down again. He’s - did Fisk hit him again? He’s on the floor. He can’t - where’s Foggy’s heartbeat, he’s got to get between Fisk and Foggy’s heartbeat. He won’t let anything hurt Foggy. Never again.
“You’re dead, Murdock!” Fisk says as Matt pushes himself back up. “Lie down, you stupid son of a bitch! You’re dead!”
“No,” Foggy says, and the gun fires again.
Fisk roars, a wounded animal, and turns on Foggy. No, no, nonono Matt leaps on him, billy club across his throat cutting off his air, Fisk is thrashing and there’s blood pouring from his side and Matt can’t feel his arm or his leg and his mouth is full of blood but he can’t let up, can’t - can’t -
Fisk’s heartbeat slows, slows, slows.
He drops.
Matt tilts his head towards Foggy. “Guess that’s one I owe you now,” he says, and the world goes sideways.
*
The last time Matt woke up in the hospital, he’d just been blinded and his father was by his bedside. Jessica drinks the same bottom-shelf scotch Jack Murdock did, so it’s disorienting to say the least to wake to that smell while on a hard mattress under scratchy linens.
But no, his senses work it out after a minute - it’s Jessica curled in a chair half-asleep, draped in a too-big jacket that smells like Luke. She doesn’t stir, which gives Matt a minute to work back the tears threatening to fall.
“Jess?” he says when he thinks he can trust his voice. It’s scratchy, but that’s okay. Matt doesn’t know how long he’s been asleep.
Jessica sits up. “Hey, stupid. Welcome back.”
“Foggy?”
“He’s fine.” Jessica stands up and picks up a cup of water with a straw, feeds him little sips through it. He’s grateful it’s her. It’s easier to be helpless in front of Jessica, who he knows will literally never ask him how he feels about...well, anything. “He’s in a room down the hall, actually, he’s got a broken arm and they’re keeping him for observation, but he’s fine.”
“Thanks.” Matt sinks back against the pillows and catalogs the extent of the damage. Both arms and one leg feel pretty well immobilized, but he can wiggle all his toes and most of his fingers, so he’s not too worried. His back hurts, his face feels pretty swollen, and breathing in too deeply makes him gasp in pain, but it could be worse. Foggy’s okay. “How long?”
“About a day. We’ve been watching you in shifts. The cops got Fisk and that weasely suit who works for him and like thirty others, but you never know.” There’s a fizzy sound as she pops a soda. “Danny was fighting this crazy ninja guy and we don’t know what happened to him. The ninja, I mean.”
“Danny’s okay, though?”
“Everyone’s okay but your stupid ass,” Jessica assures him. “Our delicate little pretty-boy. Oh, and Trish got to punch out Leland Owlsley as he fled the scene with a briefcase full of incriminating evidence, so she’s in a good mood and you probably won’t even be fired. Everything’s coming up Murdock!”
“Sure.” Matt tries to smile, but it hurts his lip. Foggy will most likely never speak to him again, and he’ll have to quit the Defenders if Trish won’t fire him, but. But.
The only one who was badly hurt was Matt. They even brought Fisk down.
It’s the best he has any right to hope for.
*
Sure enough, the others do guard him in shifts, which is nice of them, though Matt’s asleep for most of the next twenty-four hours so he’s not great company. Luke and Jessica are blessedly silent; Danny chatters happily without needing any real input from Matt, which is just as good. Malcolm, Matt’s savior, brings Matt some of his extra-soft clothes to provide some respite from the awful hospital sheets.
Trish stops by the day after, when Matt's more alert, and places a small vase of lilies-of-the-valley on his nightstand. “To mask the smells,” she explains. “I know it's a little cloying for you, but I figure it's better than bedpans. How are you doing on sounds?”
“Fine,” Matt says. He doesn't tell her he's been focusing on Foggy's heartbeat down the hall to block out the rest of the noise of the hospital.
She brushes a lock of hair off his forehead. “Oh, look at you. You better heal up, Matt, those cheekbones of yours pull in like thirty percent of our clientele.”
Matt sighs. “It's okay, Trish. I quit. You don't have to feel bad about firing me. You shouldn't, anyway, but still. I quit.”
“Nope.”
“Trish…”
“He's not suing,” Trish says, sitting on the edge of the bed. “He didn't ask me to fire you. Not that I would have just because he wanted me to, you know how stubborn I am.”
Matt swallows and nods. He's not sure what it means, that Foggy's not suing. Foggy should sue. Matt was meant to keep him safe and instead he put him in danger.
“You know, it's funny,” Trish goes on. “You'd think, after so many encounters with him, that Mr. Nelson would have some idea of who the man in the mask is. But if he does, he didn't mention it in his statement to the police.”
Matt's been too tired and heartsick to consider why he's not currently handcuffed to his hospital bed, but...oh. Oh. Foggy covered for him. Foggy kept his secret.
Why would he do that?
“According to all official and public accounts, then, Mr. Nelson was saved from attacks on his person on three different occasions by his personal Defenders bodyguard,” Trish says. “Moreover, when he was kidnapped, after leaving his home unaccompanied against the advice of his bodyguard, and with the official forces compromised by parties currently awaiting indictment, his bodyguard mustered all available Defenders agents to mount a daring rescue, at great personal danger and despite sustaining significant injuries.” She pats Matt’s thigh through the blanket and drops the formal tone. “Heck of a story, Matt. It’ll play great with future clients. Not so great if the hero of the hour gets fired at the end, though.”
“I endangered my client,” Matt says. “I acted illegally and endangered my client, and my colleagues, and the reputation of the Defenders...I, I compromised the integrity of - ”
“Oh, you’re on probation,” Trish says, cutting him off. “You’re on such probation, you have no idea. No one-on-ones for the next six months. All the shitty jobs. And we will be having a serious discussion about what you’re doing in that mask once you’re back on your feet, because stopping purse-snatchers is one thing, but this…” She shakes her head. “Table that. Rest up for now.”
“But I…”
“Hush.” Trish stands up. “I’m only being nice because you look like you fell down every flight of stairs in New York. I’m still mad at you, don’t worry. But I’m not going to cut you loose just because you were tried to do the right thing and it got out of hand.” She kisses his forehead and politely ignores his tears. “You’re family, Murdock. This is how it works.”
*
Despite Foggy’s overwhelming graciousness in not having Matt arrested or fired, Matt wasn’t actually expecting Foggy to come see him.
Luke’s sitting with him, watching the football game on TV and occasionally providing additional narration when the commentators haven’t made the action clear enough, when Matt hears Foggy’s heartbeat drawing closer. He figures Foggy’s just going for a walk, or maybe being discharged - but then Foggy’s in his doorway, knocking on the frame. “Can I come in?”
There’s a frozen, awkward pause. Luke stands up. “I’m, uh, gonna go get some coffee. I’ll be...I’ll just...yeah.”
Luke practically flees the room, and Foggy walks in. He doesn’t sit. He’s holding his arm close to his body, and Matt can smell plaster and fiberglass - a cast. “How’s...” Matt’s voice comes out a whisper. He swallows and tries again. “How’s the arm?”
“I’ll live,” Foggy says. He smells like painkillers and chocolate pudding and the faint reek of being stuck in a hospital for two days with no proper shower. Matt still wants to bask in it.
“Thank you,” he says. “You probably saved my life.”
Foggy gives a short nod. “You definitely saved mine. I’m just glad I didn’t kill him. I was aiming to wound, but...first time holding a gun. And last, hopefully.”
“And. And thank you for not...for not telling the police that I…” Matt trails off. Foggy’s silent, and Matt sighs. Foggy’s not going to save him from this one. “That I’m the man in the mask.”
Foggy’s heart speeds up a little, but his voice, when he speaks, is still very calm. “You said you never worked for Fisk, and I believe you. So what were you doing?”
“I was trying to stop him,” Matt says. “Putting on the mask...it was only about stopping street crime, at first, because I could hear people being hurt, and I knew I could stop it. But everything seemed to lead back to him, and you - you seemed like the weak link. You were his lawyer, you had to know something incriminating, and if I just leaned on you…” He hates himself more with every word. “Anyway, that was - that was why. The first night.”
“How’d you swing the Defenders thing?”
“Coincidence,” Matt says. “I swear, I had no idea you’d go looking for a bodyguard, much less with us. I didn’t even realize the demo was for you until you were already in the office. And then...well, then I asked the others to throw it, because I wanted you.” He feels his face heat up. “As a client. So that I could...if you trusted me, I could find out what you knew about Fisk, and. Well.”
“Put me in jail right alongside him,” Foggy finishes.
“I didn’t know you, then,” Matt says, a little pathetically. “I didn’t know yet that you weren’t involved. That you would never be involved.”
“And you still didn’t know that by the time I started talking about letting you go, huh?” Foggy asks. “So you got your buddy to dress up as you and send me running straight back to your arms. That’s...Jesus Christ, Matt. That’s dedication, I guess.”
“I. I wasn’t sure. I had to be sure,” Matt says, even though he doesn’t even know if that’s a lie anymore. Was he still trying to get information on Fisk by that point? Or did he just not want Foggy to send him away?
Foggy lets out a long, slow breath through his nose. “But the rest were real, right? The rest were Fisk.”
“The rest were Fisk,” Matt agrees. “Well, I don’t know who poisoned the benefit. I don’t think that was him, I don’t think he would have risked Ms. Marianna that way. But the Russians, and those two detectives who went after Mrs. Cardenas...that was Fisk.”
“Yeah,” Foggy says, which gives Matt nothing. He walks to the window, looks out, walks back. Pacing. Thinking.
Matt waits. He’s not brave enough to ask Foggy to cut to the chase. If he does, Foggy will leave, and even Foggy standing here hating him is better than that.
“So here’s my question,” Foggy says finally, and Matt tries not to cringe visibly, because he’s heard Foggy in court, he knows that tone. That’s Franklin Nelson cross-examining a hostile witness. “Was all the flirting because you were trying to get me to trust you, or were you just doing it because you thought I was a crime-abetting scumbag who deserved to be made into a laughingstock?”
Matt wants to say it was neither, but he owes Foggy the truth. “At first I was trying to get you to let your guard down around me,” he says. “And then I just…” Fell for you. “...liked you. It was a gradual thing, I can’t pinpoint exactly when it started to be real. But it was real by the end, Foggy, I swear.”
Foggy’s heart is beating like a wild thing, but he just stands there for a long moment. “Well,” he says finally, “that doesn’t do either of us a lot of good now, does it?”
Matt tells himself not to be disappointed. He doesn’t have the right. “I guess not.”
“Goodbye, Matt,” Foggy says, and turns to go.
Matt licks his lips. “You were the best thing.”
Foggy stops. “What?”
“You asked me, once. We were talking about my senses, and you asked, you asked if the subway was the worst thing I could hear, and I said no, crying was the worst.” Matt’s babbling. He can’t stop. He doesn’t expect this to make Foggy stay, but - but he wants him to know. “And then you asked me what the best thing was, and I didn’t have an answer. It was you, Foggy. You were the best sound in the city.”
Foggy pauses, hand on the doorway. He still hasn’t turned around to face Matt. “See, the thing is, Matt, I don’t have super hearing,” he says. “I don’t know what it sounds like when you’re telling the truth.”
He walks out.
Matt tells himself not to cry, not again. He doesn’t have the right to that, either.
*
Matt can’t quite bring himself to stop listening for Foggy’s heartbeat, which is how he knows that Foggy checks out of the hospital the next day. Not, however, before Karen comes to see him - and brings a reporter named Ben Urich to Matt’s room, telling him in a tone of spiteful glee that Matt will be happy to answer as many questions as Ben has about the fall of Wilson Fisk, for as long as Ben wants. Karen may not know all of what happened, but she knows enough to be pissed at Matt, clearly.
Matt’s got three more days in the hospital after Foggy leaves. He has a sneaking suspicion Claire may have pulled some strings to get him a longer stay than was strictly necessary, just because she can actually make him stay down for once. The extra days of enforced bed rest probably don’t do his body any harm, to be fair, but stuck in the hospital like this he’s got nothing to do but think over his actions of the past few weeks, and they don’t really bear much contemplation.
Meditation’s difficult. He gives up without Foggy’s breathing nearby to match his own to.
Claire visits, too, between shifts. The first time, she gives him an extremely graphic rundown of just how much damage he’ll do if he doesn’t let this particular round of injuries heal properly, before smoothing down his hair and telling him she’s glad he’s okay. The other times, she just sits with him. It’s nice. Matt’s not sure how to handle nice right now, but he doesn’t tell her to go away, either.
Finally he’s released, with dire warnings and a strict physical therapy regimen from Claire and his doctors. Matt's only too glad to leave - the doctors keep calling him a hero, and he knows all too well how far he is from that. Luke helps him home, where someone - probably Malcolm - has stocked the fridge and put fresh sheets on the bed.
It still feels cold and empty by himself. Matt wonders how long it'll take him to get used to it again.
A week goes by. Two weeks. A month. Matt does his physical therapy, slowly regaining a full range of motion as he heals. He goes back to the office - he's not up for taking on clients yet even if he weren't on probation, but he can consult. He meditates with Danny. Agents come in and out of assignments. Trish fields a call from Sam Wilson, an actual Avenger, about a relevant case. Jessica takes a brief job guarding some pop star from her ex-boyfriend and comes back with lots of stories about how annoying famous people are.
Life goes back to normal. It's good. It tells Matt that eventually he will, too.
It just might take a while.
He's at Fogwell's, working through his PT regimen on his healing shoulder, when the approaching sound of a familiar heartbeat startles him so badly that he misses the bag entirely.
“Whoa,” Foggy says as Matt stumbles and catches himself. “Sorry. Didn't meant to throw you off like that.” He’s wearing something cottony and soft-sounding. His arm is still in a sling and he smells like home.
“What are you doing here?” Matt blurts out, then catches himself. “I mean. Sorry. Hello. I, um...how did you…?” He waves a wrapped hand at the gym in general bewilderment.
“Oh, uh.” Foggy sounds a little embarrassed too. “I called the office and Malcolm told me where I could find you. After I promised not to yell at you.”
Matt can’t decide if he’s thrilled or furious with Malcolm. He feels sweaty and red-faced and off-balance...but Foggy’s here. “You can, if you want. Yell at me, I mean.”
“I keep my promises,” Foggy says. It’s a little too sharp; Foggy must think so too, from the way he sucks in air afterwards. “Sorry. That was...unnecessary.”
“It’s okay,” Matt says. “If you’re mad at me. You’ve already been more generous than I deserve.”
“Oh, for the love of - would you stop playing the tragic martyr for five seconds?” Foggy says, throwing his good hand up in the air. “I didn’t come here for that. And if you apologize for apologizing too much I will kick you in the shins, I swear to God.”
Matt’s obediently silent. Foggy sighs. “Okay, so. Why am I here. Like I said, it’s not to yell at you. Or to...to tell you I’m suing, or making Ms. Walker fire you, or anything like that. Which she told me in no uncertain terms she wouldn’t do, by the way. I didn’t ask her to, but - she’s good people.” He huffs a little laugh. “You got a better boss than I did.”
Matt tries a tentative smile. “Yeah? Just wait until I take down her criminal empire.”
Foggy laughs again, a real one this time, and Matt relaxes fractionally. He still doesn’t know why Foggy’s here, but he made Foggy laugh. That has to be a good sign.
“So,” Foggy says. “I've been doing a lot of thinking. About the things you told me, and the things you did for me, and...okay, so by my count you attacked me, or had someone else do it, twice.” Matt winces. “But you also saved my life three times, and I’ve gotta think that a real save counts for more than a staged attack.”
“You saved my life, too,” Matt points out. “And I lied to you.”
“And I lied right back. I knew Fisk was up to something sketchy, even if I wouldn’t admit it.”
“Attorney-client privilege,” Matt argues. “You were doing your job. Besides, your life wouldn’t have needed saving in the first place if it hadn’t been for me…”
“I was on retainer for a criminal mastermind, Matt, that was never going to end well,” Foggy says. “I’m trying to give you a pass here, would you just take it?” Matt falls silent, even though he doesn’t agree. “Don’t make that face at me just because I’m not being mean enough to you.”
Matt picks at the wrap on his left hand. “So...you came here to tell me that? That we’re even?”
“No. I mean, not just…” Foggy sighs. “Look, I don’t really care about the math, okay? I don’t know how you quantify the past couple months. I don’t know how to look at you when I can see the scar on your shoulder from the bullet you took for me, and decide that you have or have not earned enough forgiveness points or whatever. I don’t...I…” He rubs the back of his neck. “I’m here because I miss you.”
Matt’s heart lurches. “You do?”
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” Foggy says. “And I’ve got a lot of extra free time to think these days. And you...you said it was real.”
“It was,” Matt says, quickly, too frantically. “It is. For me, it is.” His heart is thundering in his ears, but not loud enough to drown out Foggy’s.
“Say it,” Foggy says.
Matt swallows. He feels flushed and a little dizzy. “I want to be with you. I think you’re wonderful. I know I don’t deserve it, but I’d do anything for another chance.”
“...Wow,” Foggy says, very soft. “That’s...that’s some good saying it. You should’ve gone to law school with me, you would’ve killed it in public speaking.”
“I meant it,” Matt says.
“Yeah,” Foggy says. “I think you did. Heads up, I’m gonna kiss you now, okay?”
“Okay,” Matt says, a little too eagerly, but it doesn’t matter because Foggy’s already taken the four or five steps to him and then Foggy’s kissing him and Matt couldn’t care about anything else in the world right now. He has his hands cupping Foggy’s face before he can stop himself, but Foggy doesn’t seem to mind - just kisses Matt like he means it until they’re both grinning too hard to keep it up.
Matt tips his forehead against Foggy’s and traces the edges of his face with his thumbs - the smile lines around his eyes, the scratch of sideburns, the curve of his jaw. “So I take it the feeling’s mutual?” he asks.
Foggy huffs, amused. “Quit fishing. I’ve been hot for you since day one and you know it.”
“Oh,” Matt says, suddenly bashful.
“Annnd I like your inner beauty too, don’t worry,” Foggy says, and Matt swallows past a lump in his throat. He’s a mess inside, all wrath and pride and old resentments, but Foggy - Foggy’s not lying. He thinks Matt’s beautiful.
Matt’s too choked to come up with a proper response, so he kisses Foggy instead. Foggy doesn’t seem to mind.
“We should take it slow,” Foggy says when they break apart several breathless minutes later.
“Okay,” Matt says.
“Make sure there’s something there when we’re not - you know. Having heightened emotional responses to dangerous circumstances or whatever.”
“Yes.”
“Go on dates and hold hands and things. Like normal people.”
“Sounds good.”
“Are you just going to say okay to everything I suggest from now on?” Foggy asks, laughing.
Matt grins. “Probably.”
Foggy’s good hand settles on his hip. “Kiss me,” he says, and Matt’s grin widens.
“Okay.”
*
“Taking it slow” lasts the whole of a single date. Matt is good. He takes Foggy to a nice restaurant in the gentrified part of Hell’s Kitchen, and buys him the wine Trish recommended, and holds his hand as he walks him home and while he kisses him, sweet and chaste, outside his front door.
The second date is on a Friday, to celebrate Foggy’s cast coming off. The doorman recognizes Matt and lets him up to meet Foggy at his apartment door instead of in the lobby.
They don’t make it back out of the apartment until Monday morning.
“What are you doing?” Foggy laughs at some point on Sunday afternoon. Matt’s straddling him, running his hands over Foggy’s upper body, paths he’s traced again and again this weekend but still isn’t tired of.
“Well, I spent so long guarding it,” Matt says. “I want to make sure I did a good job.”
Foggy snorts. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You’re gorgeous,” Matt retorts, and leans down to kiss Foggy’s smile.
Foggy hums, pleased, against Matt’s mouth. “We should put on pants,” he says when Matt pulls back, though the hand running up and down Matt’s spine belies Foggy’s virtuous words. “Go outside. Rejoin the world.”
“Definitely,” Matt says, and kisses Foggy’s neck.
“You’re just humoring me.”
“No, no. Let’s go outside. We’ll go to the movies.”
“I’m not making out with you in the back of a movie theater, Murdock.”
“The park, then.”
“Or behind some bushes like a creep.”
“Then I guess we'll have to stay here,” Matt concludes triumphantly.
Foggy laughs. “I'm rolling my eyes at you.”
“So you’re saying you’re not interested?” Matt asks, rolling his hips languidly against Foggy’s. “Because I gotta tell you, it kind of feels like you are.”
“This smugness is very unattractive, you know,” Foggy says, walking a hand up Matt’s thigh.
“Really?”
“No,” Foggy says, and hooks his other arm around Matt’s neck to draw him down into another kiss, long and urgent. By the time they break apart, Matt’s breathless, and Foggy’s hips are rocking up, little movements that Matt wants to feel a whole lot more of right now.
He stretches past Foggy to snag the lube and a condom off the nightstand, where they haven’t bothered to put them away. “Can I…?” he asks, hesitating with his hands over Foggy’s dick, and Foggy nods.
“Please,” he says. His voice is just starting to have that shaky, needy edge Matt’s grown to love over the past two days, and it makes Matt eager and clumsy with his hands as he tears the little packet open and rolls the condom down Foggy’s length.
Foggy gives a little sigh as he opens the lube and hands it to Matt, who shifts up onto his knees to reach back. He’s still stretched from earlier, and two slick fingers sink in easily; three’s a pleasant burn. “I’m good.”
“Billy, don’t be a hero,” Foggy warns.
“I swear,” Matt assures him.
“You don’t have to rush.” From the warmth in Foggy’s voice, Matt’s sure he’s smiling. “I’m not going anywhere.” Matt has to kiss him at that; it’s the only way to shake the tight feeling out of his chest so that he can breathe again.
He’s generous with the lube when he sits back up because he knows Foggy will want him to be, and these sheets are in desperate need of a wash by now anyway. He hands off the lube to Foggy, who stretches up to toss it back onto the nightstand, and then Matt shifts up, forward, and he’s guiding Foggy into him and sinking down and yes, yes, the full hot feeling and the way Foggy’s heart pounds inside him is something he already knows he’ll never tire of.
“Fuck,” Foggy says as Matt bottoms out, his hands skating up over Matt’s abs.
“Yeah,” Matt agrees.
He shifts up and resettles - not a full thrust, but enough to make his breath hitch audibly, and Foggy pets at his stomach. “Hey, easy, don’t…”
“I’m okay,” Matt insists. He might have rushed it a little - he was impatient and Foggy’s wonderfully, delightfully big - but he likes it, the stretch and the pressure, the fullness, the burn he knows he’ll be feeling in his thighs in a minute. He likes feeling Foggy, visceral and unmistakable. He runs his hands over Foggy’s belly, his hips, and pushes himself up so that he can sink back down properly.
“God, Matt,” Foggy groans, hips twitching up, and Matt grins.
“Yeah? You good?” he asks, rocking up and back down again, deeper this time, setting up a slow and easy rhythm.
Foggy’s hands are moving again, palming Matt’s sides, stroking his thighs. Matt loves the way they feel, how Foggy’s always gentle - at least, until Matt asks him not to be. “So good,” Foggy assures him. “Fuck, Matt, you look so gorgeous like this.” Matt knows he shouldn’t preen, but he can’t help it. His reaction must be visible, because Foggy laughs. “Yes, yes, you’re very pretty, I could gaze at you forever and not get bored, you know all this already.”
“Mmm,” Matt sighs as he sinks down again. “You have been...rather poetic this weekend.” It’s the “forever” that’s catching on his heart, but he tries not to read too much into it. He knows how he feels, but Foggy’s given to playful hyperbole. It doesn’t necessarily mean anything.
Still, Foggy’s heart is steady.
“You’re my sexy muse,” Foggy says, rocking up to meet him. “At least - hh - until you make me forget how to talk entirely.”
Matt grins. “Don’t worry, I like that part too.” He moves his hips a little harder and tips his head back as he finds the right angle. “Fuck...Foggy, yeah, just like that.”
Foggy laughs again, more breathless this time. “You’re...you’re the one doing all the work,” he points out, even though his hips are rolling up steadily and his hands are helping to guide Matt down.
Matt shakes his head. “No,” he says, “it’s you, fuck, Foggy, you feel so good…” He trails off, moving faster, chasing the pleasure building low in his belly. His thighs are starting to ache but he loves it, loves how it keeps his senses pinned here, in the moment, with Foggy.
“Yeah,” Foggy groans, low. “God, Matt, don’t stop.” One of his hands finds its way to Matt’s dick and normally Matt would stop him, would try to draw this out, but it feels too good, and besides, he doesn’t have to ration this feeling. Foggy’s not going anywhere. Foggy keeps his promises.
“Foggy,” he sobs, riding Foggy faster, harder still, feeling Foggy match the rhythm of Matt’s hips with his hand, his other hand digging into the meat of Matt’s ass. Foggy’s heart is thunder in Matt’s ears and the air is thick with the smell of sweat and sex and it’s perfect, right here, it’s everything Matt didn’t realize he wanted from the moment he first crossed Foggy’s threshold. “Please.”
“I got you, baby, come on…” Foggy coaxes. Matt grinds down, breathless, mouth hanging open as Foggy’s hips snap up. “Matt…” and Foggy’s hand tightens, his heartbeat rumbles up Matt’s spine and Matt’s gone, coming with a hoarse shout.
He sinks forward as he comes down, curling in to rest his forehead on Foggy’s collarbone. Foggy’s hips still as he kisses Matt’s hair and strokes his clean hand down Matt’s sweaty spine. “Hey, baby.”
Matt tucks his face into the curve of Foggy’s neck and breathes him in. They’re both splattered with come and in about two minutes it’ll be disgusting, but right now Matt just feels glorious. And Foggy’s still hard inside him.
Matt clenches and smiles when Foggy gasps. “Go ahead,” he says, patting Foggy’s side aimlessly. “Finish.”
“You sure?”
Matt clenches again and Foggy lets out a noise halfway between a groan and a laugh. “Okay, okay, I get it,” he says, and starts rocking up into Matt again, both hands coming down to grab Matt’s ass. Matt shudders, nerve endings overstimulated and jangly, but it’s a good kind of too much.
“Yeah, come on,” he mumbles, and kisses Foggy’s neck. “Come on, do it.”
“So good, Matt, so fucking gorgeous…” Foggy sounds breathless and scattered. Matt loves it. Matt loves him, but it’s too soon to say it, so Matt just pushes his face into Foggy’s thrumming pulse and lets Foggy take him.
“Come on, Foggy,” he pleads, making it sweet. “Come on, I want to feel you…” and Foggy muffles his cry in Matt’s hair as he comes.
His arms slide up to wrap around Matt’s waist and Matt just stays there for a long moment, wrapped in the feel and scent of Foggy, until the stickiness and awkward position grow unbearable, and he has to shift up and off. “Oof,” Foggy says, and reaches up for the tissues, which he hands to Matt before removing the condom and tying it off.
“This isn’t really going to do the job,” Matt says, wiping first himself, then Foggy, as clean as he can while being guided mostly by smell.
Foggy tosses the garbage in the wastebasket near the bed and lets the tissue box fall to the floor, then pulls Matt back in to curl up against his chest. “You’re the one who wanted to stay in our filthy den of iniquity here instead of rejoining the human race.”
“I’m pretty sure you enjoyed that more than going to the movies,” Matt retorts, and kisses Foggy’s chest. Yeah, they’re both pretty gross. Matt’s a little shamefully into it. “Besides, we can always take a shower.”
“You just want another underwater blowjob.”
“I am not above multitasking,” Matt says airily, and Foggy laughs and kisses the top of his head.
“You know, eventually we will have to put on pants and go to work,” Foggy points out.
“I’m on probation and you’re not on retainer anymore.”
“I have other clients, Matt.” Foggy drums his fingers on Matt’s shoulder. “And, uh...Ms. Walker may have reached out to me about representing the Defenders. It seems Ms. Jones played a little rough on her last assignment and apparently your current legal counsel is tired of handling those cases.”
Matt tips his face up towards Foggy’s. “Wait, really? You’re going to work for us?”
“It seems likely, yeah. Is that too weird?”
“What? No, it’s great!” Matt’s pretty sure his smile is goofy right now, especially upside down, but doesn’t care. “You need a client who doesn’t pay you in pie, and we need New York’s most brilliant attorney. Jessica pisses off a lot of people.”
“You don’t have to flatter me to get into my pants, Matthew, we just had sex,” Foggy says, but he’s laughing. “Anyway, yes, I like non-pie-paying clients. And I’ll get to see you more.” His voice goes almost shy on that last bit, and Matt just has to lean up and kiss him. He’d walk into Hell for Foggy; of course he likes the idea of job that lets him see Foggy more often.
“Sounds perfect,” he says, and tucks his head back down against Foggy’s shoulder.
Foggy strokes his fingers through Matt’s hair. “Well, good,” he says, his voice warm and fond, and Matt thinks I love you, oh, I love you again. It’s still too soon to say it, just a little bit. But, he thinks, as Foggy’s arms tighten around him and his heart gradually slows down to a lazy, almost-napping pace, it won’t be too soon for long.
Matt can hardly wait.
Fandom: Daredevil (TV)
Rating: NC-17
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
“Explain to me again which part of this you thought was a good idea.” Matt’s heard Trish fed-up, impatient, and absolutely livid, but he’s not sure he’s ever heard her this angry before. “The part where you were attacking innocent men in the street, the part where you escalated a dangerous situation until your client was kidnapped, or the part where you were implicating this company in your illegal vigilantism?”
“You forgot the part where he’s hot for his client,” Jessica pipes up.
“Don’t,” Trish snaps. “I’m not happy with any of you for letting him pull this shit. Especially you, Rand.” Jessica snorts and folds her arms defensively, but Danny hangs his head. Luke’s not giving off enough data for Matt to read him.
Matt tries not to wince as Claire pulls an inch-long piece of glass out of his arm and starts cleaning the wound with antiseptic. The adrenaline hasn’t bled out of his system yet, not by a long shot, but it’s receded enough that he’s started to feel how he’s hurting: a bruise swelling at his temple from the Russian asshole, his split lip, glass all through his forearms. His knee’s not quite right where Hoffman kicked him, either.
It doesn’t matter. Every minute they waste is another minute Foggy’s in danger.
“Trish, I am sorry. I truly am,” he says. “I should have let you know that I was investigating Foggy - Mr. Nelson - when he came in for the demo. If you want me to quit, I will.”
He sits forward and Claire tsks at him as his arm moves. They’re all in Trish’s office - he took Mrs. Cardenas straight there, since with Blake and Hoffman in on this, he’s not sure who at the precinct or the hospital he can trust. Besides Claire, of course. This isn’t the first time she’s unofficially patched someone up in the office.
Malcolm is sitting with Mrs. Cardenas now, hopefully helping her to be less terrified, while Trish reads Matt and the others the riot act. Matt is perfectly willing to be yelled at or even fired - it’s no less than he deserves - but not right now.
“None of this is Mr. Nelson’s fault, though,” he continues. “I can’t trust the cops, I don’t know who’s dirty. Please let me take the others to find him before it’s too late, and then you can yell at me or fire me or turn me over to the authorities or whatever you think is appropriate. But don’t make Mr. Nelson pay for it.”
He can hear Trish grinding her teeth. “...Do you know where they're keeping him?” she asks finally.
“No,” Matt admits, and Trish makes a frustrated sound at him. “But I can track him, if…” If he has enough time before Foggy’s captors kill him, but he can't bear to say that out loud.
“I can see what I can shake loose,” Luke volunteers. “Me and Jess. Between us we should have enough contacts out there to get a lead.”
“I can ask around…” Danny starts.
“I doubt they're hiding him at the yacht club,” Jessica says in a tone that means she's rolling her eyes.
“Right,” Danny says. “Because no one at the yacht club knows Leland Owlsley.”
“Fine,” Trish snaps, cutting off the argument before it begins - which is good, because the longer they wait the more Matt wants to claw his own skin off. “Everyone see what they can find out and keep your phones on. The minute you get a lead, call it in. No one storms the castle until all five of us are there, you got that, Murdock?”
“All five of us?” Matt repeats just as Jessica says “You’re not going.”
“The hell I’m not,” Trish retorts, yanking her jacket off the peg on the back of her door and slipping it on. “We've seen the kind of judgment you four have without me. I'm not letting any of you get killed out there - or our client.”
*
As luck would have it, it's Danny who turns up the lead.
Matt scours the Kitchen for three hours, trying to catch a rumor, a hint, the barest glimmer of Foggy’s voice or scent or heartbeat. He leaves the shakedowns to Luke and Jessica in the streets below - he doesn't trust himself to hold back right now.
But Danny calls it in - a word from the financial advisor to a financial advisor to a shell company to a shell company and so on and so on, but the upshot is a surprising bidding war on some condemned riverfront property, with Wilson Fisk as the owner of record. They assemble three blocks from the building in question, once Matt's sure there are no lookouts in earshot. Matt’s in dark clothes that he can move in and he’s got his billy clubs on him, but he hasn’t bothered with the full mystery man look. The Defenders have a right to rescue their client, or at least Trish can badger Hogarth into arguing something along those lines if this ends up in court. Matt doesn’t need the mask right now.
Foggy doesn’t need the mask right now.
“How many?” Jessica asks, setting Trish down lightly before landing.
Matt’s already been all around the building, a crumbling warehouse, flitting by when the sentries weren’t looking and counting heartbeats. “Too many to know for sure,” he admits. “Thirty, forty maybe? But Foggy’s in there.” He’d know that heartbeat anywhere. It took everything he had not to burst in when he heard it, but getting himself killed by being reckless won’t do Foggy any good.
Trish cracks her knuckles. “Okay. How are we doing this?”
“I’m going straight for Foggy. You guys...make a distraction or something,” Matt says.
“And you’re not going in,” Jessica tells Trish sternly.
Trish rolls her eyes, but it’s Luke who speaks. “Make a distraction or something? Hell of a plan, Murdock. Let me and Jess go in first, hit ‘em hard. While they’re scrambling, you do your sneaky ninja shit. Dan’ll cover your back. Okay?”
Danny nods. Jessica and Trish are silent, and Matt assumes they’re having some kind of conversation via facial expressions, because Trish finally makes a frustrated noise and says, “Fine. I’ll stay out here in case you need to send Mr. Nelson out and cover your retreat. But if Danny uses the Fist I’m calling the cops and coming in.”
“Fine, fine.” Matt doesn’t have time to stand here and hash out these details. “Let’s go.”
“Find your center,” Danny suggests.
“I will hit you.”
Luke claps them both on the shoulder. “Be careful, tiny friends.” He looks at Jess. “Hey, babe? I think that building needs a skylight, what do you think?”
“Definitely.” Jessica picks Luke up and flies off, and Matt leads Danny and Trish closer to the warehouse, down side streets with no guards. Halfway there they hear a crash - presumably Jessica dropping Luke through the roof. Gunfire follows, and screaming.
“What language is that?” Trish asks as they break into a run.
Matt concentrates. “English, Russian...and Japanese?”
“Sounds like a party,” Danny says.
Trish pulls ahead, but Matt grabs her before she rounds the corner. “Two guards still at the door. Don’t let them see you before we take them out. Stay safe.”
She nods. “Use the Fist if you need backup, Danny. Murdock, you better haul that perky tush of yours out of there in one piece so that I can keep being mad at you.”
“Got it, boss.” Matt lets her go and he and Danny charge around the corner and across the street towards the warehouse. The guards are distracted by the chaos inside, and don’t notice Matt and Danny until they’re nearly on top of them. Matt sends his reeling with a punch, then knocks him out with a roundhouse kick to the head. Danny drops his with a single uppercut.
“I guess some guys need two hits to take out cheap muscle for hire.”
“You know what, Rand…”
Inside the warehouse is sheer chaos, and it takes a few seconds for Matt’s senses to sort it out into something he can process. Luke is tossing mooks around the room like they weigh nothing at all; Matt’s pretty sure he smells Blake’s rancid cologne as he goes hurtling by. Matt’s old friend, Anatoly’s Asshole Brother, shouts something unpleasant-sounding at Jessica until she clocks him in the head. There’s gunfire everywhere, but luckily it’s mostly targeted at Luke, who’s shrugging it off.
“Stop them, you idiots!” someone familiar yells. “There’s only two of them!” Whoever it is charges past Matt and Danny, bumping into Matt in his haste - and it’s Leland Owlsley, clutching something that smells like a briefcase in his arms. “Out of my way!” he demands without a flicker of recognition, and bolts out the door. Danny makes a grab for him, but Matt shakes his head.
“He’s harmless,” he says. “We need to find Foggy.”
He stops and concentrates, searching out Foggy’s heartbeat in the midst of the chaos. He’s dimly aware of Danny guarding him, punching out a couple of Fisk’s men who get too close, but he doesn’t focus on it. Danny won’t let anything through.
And there - there it is, the rapid, thready beat of Foggy’s frightened heart, across the main loading floor where the fight is raging and down a hallway stretching west, towards the river. “That way,” Matt says, pointing, and breaks into a run, Danny close at his heels.
No one seems to notice them running through the melee, especially after Jessica starts swinging part of an abandoned crane around. They’re almost at the hallway entrance when Matt hears a strange sharp whistling in the air, Danny yelling, “Matt, look out!” and then Matt screams as a blade tears through his lower back.
He stumbles and nearly falls, turning it into a crouch as he wheels to face this opponent. It’s a man, about his height and weight, his heart a steady metronome, as if he’s relaxing in an armchair instead of fighting a stranger in a warehouse with guns going off.
The other man takes a few steps to the side, reeling in his weapon as he does. From the sound, it’s a hooked blade on the end of a long chain - a blade that now reeks of Matt’s blood. He moves like Danny - like Stick did, sometimes. Ninja, Matt thinks, or something very like it.
“You are with the others,” the ninja says. “But they are just a distraction, I think. I am not like the Russians or the Americans, easily tricked by loud noises. You will go no further.”
Matt straightens up, gets his arms up in a defensive position, but Danny steps in front of him. “I recognize that form. You were trained by Lei Kung the Thunderer.”
The ninja inclines his head. “For a time.” The chain jingles as the blade swings. “There are not many who know the name of the Thunderer. You must be the Immortal Iron Fist.”
“The what?” Matt whispers.
“Don’t worry about it,” Danny whispers back.
The ninja ignores this back and forth, and bows. “It will be an honor to slay you, Iron Fist. Perhaps I shall teach you what true immortality is.”
“Super creepy, dude,” Danny says, but he bows in turn anyway. “Matt, go!”
“But - ”
The blade whistles through the air again and Danny leaps out of the way. “I got it, man, go save your boy!”
Matt goes.
He tries to keep the fight on his radar as he heads down the hall, but it’s moving too fast for him to keep track of - the whirling blade, Danny leaping and spinning just out of reach. Besides, the hallway’s not empty. Matt runs into three guards on his way. Normally they’d be easy to put down, but he’s hurting - he can feel blood dripping hot down his back, and his leg still isn’t as reliable as he’d like. He’s tired, too.
But Foggy’s heart is getting closer.
Matt finds him in a room at the end of the hall. The door’s locked and Matt bruises his shoulder knocking it down, but it doesn’t matter, because Foggy’s there, Foggy’s there and he’s alive and only bleeding a little, he smells like pain and fear but Matt can fix that, Matt can save him.
“Foggy,” he says, rushing forward, and Foggy says something - too muffled to make out, he’s tied to a chair and he must be gagged, too - and Matt’s reaching for the gag, all his focus on Foggy, when there’s a step and a crack and Matt screams again as a bullet tears through his shoulder.
“Have I gotten your attention, Mr. Matt?”
Matt turns, right arm dangling. Blood’s running down it but the bullet seems to have gone through clean; it hurts to move but it’s not out of commission, not yet.
Wesley’s hand on the gun doesn’t shake, though his heartbeat is fast. “Make no mistake: I have excellent aim. I didn’t shoot you in the head because frankly, you’ve pissed my employer off, and I think he’d prefer to kill you himself. Perhaps after we’ve learned exactly how much confidential information Mr. Nelson here has squirreled away. You’ve stuck with him so loyally, I’m sure you’ll want to be with him at the end.”
Matt slides a billy club out of its holster. It’s awkward with his left hand, but he manages.
Wesley huffs an amused sound. “Commendable, really, very commendable. When I told Mr. Nelson the Defenders were the best in personal security, I had no idea you’d go this far.” The click of the gun’s hammer. “Drop it.”
Matt lets the billy club fly. It hits Wesley in the head. He crumples to the ground.
“I’ll have them put your endorsement in the brochures,” Matt says, and turns back to Foggy. As quickly as he can with his arm half-deadened and one glove slick with blood, he loosens the gag enough to pull it out of Foggy’s mouth. “Foggy, are you okay?”
“Well, I wasn’t just shot, so I’m doing better than you are. They didn’t have a lot of time to start questioning me. Pretty sure my arm is broken, though,” Foggy says. “Mrs. Cardenas?”
“She’s safe. She’s with Malcolm and - and a nurse friend. She’s okay.”
“Well, that’s something,” and oh, there’s banked anger in Foggy’s voice. Matt deserves it, he knows he does. Maybe it’ll burn the guilt out of him.
“Foggy, I never meant for anything like this to happen...” he starts as he frees Foggy’s wrists - carefully, carefully, if Foggy’s arm is broken he doesn’t want to make it worse.
“Which part?” Foggy asks. “Working as Fisk’s hired thug or making me think you actually cared about me?”
Matt feels his jaw drop. “I - I didn’t - I wasn’t working for Fisk. I never worked for Fisk!”
“You attacked me!” Foggy says, even as Matt frees his ankles. “That was you the first night, right? Who’d you get the time you ‘saved’ me? That guy you did the flippy little demo with? Great trick, by the way. I really thought - fuck. It doesn’t matter. Kidnap me, rescue me, whatever. I can’t even tell anymore.”
“Foggy…” Matt says, but then he hears it. A heart like a bass drum, pounding fast and coming closer. “Fisk. He’s coming. Stay back.”
“What are you - ” Foggy starts to say, but Matt’s already rising, tucking Foggy behind him as Fisk bursts into the room. It hurts to stand, the wound at his back gaping open as he moves.
“Wesley!” Fisk says, looking towards Wesley’s heaped form on the floor.
“He’s alive,” Matt says. “Though he may wish he wasn’t when he’s serving out his life sentence for helping you.”
“Murdock,” Fisk says. “You did this.”
“Just defending my client,” Matt says. No need for Fisk to know he’s the man in the mask if he hasn’t put it together already.
Rage rolls off of Fisk in a wave. “I should have send more men after you when the Russians failed. I should have killed you both!”
Matt shrugs his uninjured shoulder. “Probably. Now did you want to call the police to arrest you for kidnapping and assault, or should I?”
Fisk lets out a bestial roar and charges him. Normally Matt would sidestep, use his greater speed and agility to let Fisk tire himself out with wild swings, but he can’t do that here. Foggy could get hurt. He has to stay in front of Foggy.
Instead, he meets the charge head on, ducking under Fisk’s blow and punching him in the ribs with his good arm. It’s like hitting a sack of wet cement. Fisk catches him on the backswing, backhanding Matt across the face and sending him sprawling.
“Matt!” Foggy cries.
Matt scrambles to his feet. Stupid as it is, he’s buoyed by Foggy’s voice. Foggy can’t totally hate him, if he’s worried.
“Stand down,” he says, and kicks Fisk in the side. Fisk shouts in pain and slams a fist into his head. Matt’s ears ring as he staggers. “Stand down,” he says stubbornly, and kicks again.
It’s a mistake - it’s the bad leg and he’s slow. Fisk evades, grabs his injured shoulder in one huge paw and, while Matt’s trying not to howl in pain, hits him in the face, twice, three times, Matt loses count. Fisk throws him and he falls.
“No,” Foggy says. Matt pushes himself to his feet.
“I’ll kill you!” Fisk roars. Lucky for Matt. His senses are rattled but he know where that roar is.
He ducks. Spins. Takes a blow to the ribs. Something cracks. He gets his other billy club free, hits Fisk across the head. Fisk yells and slams him to the ground again.
No. Up. Up. Foggy needs him. He stands. He’s bleeding. He can’t feel his right arm; tries to swing it anyway. Fisk grunts so it must have connected.
Billy club. He’s still got it in his other fist. Swings it, hits - no, Fisk has his wrist, no, that’s - Matt cries out as his fingers break. There’s blood in his mouth. He can’t stop.
He’s down again. He’s - did Fisk hit him again? He’s on the floor. He can’t - where’s Foggy’s heartbeat, he’s got to get between Fisk and Foggy’s heartbeat. He won’t let anything hurt Foggy. Never again.
“You’re dead, Murdock!” Fisk says as Matt pushes himself back up. “Lie down, you stupid son of a bitch! You’re dead!”
“No,” Foggy says, and the gun fires again.
Fisk roars, a wounded animal, and turns on Foggy. No, no, nonono Matt leaps on him, billy club across his throat cutting off his air, Fisk is thrashing and there’s blood pouring from his side and Matt can’t feel his arm or his leg and his mouth is full of blood but he can’t let up, can’t - can’t -
Fisk’s heartbeat slows, slows, slows.
He drops.
Matt tilts his head towards Foggy. “Guess that’s one I owe you now,” he says, and the world goes sideways.
*
The last time Matt woke up in the hospital, he’d just been blinded and his father was by his bedside. Jessica drinks the same bottom-shelf scotch Jack Murdock did, so it’s disorienting to say the least to wake to that smell while on a hard mattress under scratchy linens.
But no, his senses work it out after a minute - it’s Jessica curled in a chair half-asleep, draped in a too-big jacket that smells like Luke. She doesn’t stir, which gives Matt a minute to work back the tears threatening to fall.
“Jess?” he says when he thinks he can trust his voice. It’s scratchy, but that’s okay. Matt doesn’t know how long he’s been asleep.
Jessica sits up. “Hey, stupid. Welcome back.”
“Foggy?”
“He’s fine.” Jessica stands up and picks up a cup of water with a straw, feeds him little sips through it. He’s grateful it’s her. It’s easier to be helpless in front of Jessica, who he knows will literally never ask him how he feels about...well, anything. “He’s in a room down the hall, actually, he’s got a broken arm and they’re keeping him for observation, but he’s fine.”
“Thanks.” Matt sinks back against the pillows and catalogs the extent of the damage. Both arms and one leg feel pretty well immobilized, but he can wiggle all his toes and most of his fingers, so he’s not too worried. His back hurts, his face feels pretty swollen, and breathing in too deeply makes him gasp in pain, but it could be worse. Foggy’s okay. “How long?”
“About a day. We’ve been watching you in shifts. The cops got Fisk and that weasely suit who works for him and like thirty others, but you never know.” There’s a fizzy sound as she pops a soda. “Danny was fighting this crazy ninja guy and we don’t know what happened to him. The ninja, I mean.”
“Danny’s okay, though?”
“Everyone’s okay but your stupid ass,” Jessica assures him. “Our delicate little pretty-boy. Oh, and Trish got to punch out Leland Owlsley as he fled the scene with a briefcase full of incriminating evidence, so she’s in a good mood and you probably won’t even be fired. Everything’s coming up Murdock!”
“Sure.” Matt tries to smile, but it hurts his lip. Foggy will most likely never speak to him again, and he’ll have to quit the Defenders if Trish won’t fire him, but. But.
The only one who was badly hurt was Matt. They even brought Fisk down.
It’s the best he has any right to hope for.
*
Sure enough, the others do guard him in shifts, which is nice of them, though Matt’s asleep for most of the next twenty-four hours so he’s not great company. Luke and Jessica are blessedly silent; Danny chatters happily without needing any real input from Matt, which is just as good. Malcolm, Matt’s savior, brings Matt some of his extra-soft clothes to provide some respite from the awful hospital sheets.
Trish stops by the day after, when Matt's more alert, and places a small vase of lilies-of-the-valley on his nightstand. “To mask the smells,” she explains. “I know it's a little cloying for you, but I figure it's better than bedpans. How are you doing on sounds?”
“Fine,” Matt says. He doesn't tell her he's been focusing on Foggy's heartbeat down the hall to block out the rest of the noise of the hospital.
She brushes a lock of hair off his forehead. “Oh, look at you. You better heal up, Matt, those cheekbones of yours pull in like thirty percent of our clientele.”
Matt sighs. “It's okay, Trish. I quit. You don't have to feel bad about firing me. You shouldn't, anyway, but still. I quit.”
“Nope.”
“Trish…”
“He's not suing,” Trish says, sitting on the edge of the bed. “He didn't ask me to fire you. Not that I would have just because he wanted me to, you know how stubborn I am.”
Matt swallows and nods. He's not sure what it means, that Foggy's not suing. Foggy should sue. Matt was meant to keep him safe and instead he put him in danger.
“You know, it's funny,” Trish goes on. “You'd think, after so many encounters with him, that Mr. Nelson would have some idea of who the man in the mask is. But if he does, he didn't mention it in his statement to the police.”
Matt's been too tired and heartsick to consider why he's not currently handcuffed to his hospital bed, but...oh. Oh. Foggy covered for him. Foggy kept his secret.
Why would he do that?
“According to all official and public accounts, then, Mr. Nelson was saved from attacks on his person on three different occasions by his personal Defenders bodyguard,” Trish says. “Moreover, when he was kidnapped, after leaving his home unaccompanied against the advice of his bodyguard, and with the official forces compromised by parties currently awaiting indictment, his bodyguard mustered all available Defenders agents to mount a daring rescue, at great personal danger and despite sustaining significant injuries.” She pats Matt’s thigh through the blanket and drops the formal tone. “Heck of a story, Matt. It’ll play great with future clients. Not so great if the hero of the hour gets fired at the end, though.”
“I endangered my client,” Matt says. “I acted illegally and endangered my client, and my colleagues, and the reputation of the Defenders...I, I compromised the integrity of - ”
“Oh, you’re on probation,” Trish says, cutting him off. “You’re on such probation, you have no idea. No one-on-ones for the next six months. All the shitty jobs. And we will be having a serious discussion about what you’re doing in that mask once you’re back on your feet, because stopping purse-snatchers is one thing, but this…” She shakes her head. “Table that. Rest up for now.”
“But I…”
“Hush.” Trish stands up. “I’m only being nice because you look like you fell down every flight of stairs in New York. I’m still mad at you, don’t worry. But I’m not going to cut you loose just because you were tried to do the right thing and it got out of hand.” She kisses his forehead and politely ignores his tears. “You’re family, Murdock. This is how it works.”
*
Despite Foggy’s overwhelming graciousness in not having Matt arrested or fired, Matt wasn’t actually expecting Foggy to come see him.
Luke’s sitting with him, watching the football game on TV and occasionally providing additional narration when the commentators haven’t made the action clear enough, when Matt hears Foggy’s heartbeat drawing closer. He figures Foggy’s just going for a walk, or maybe being discharged - but then Foggy’s in his doorway, knocking on the frame. “Can I come in?”
There’s a frozen, awkward pause. Luke stands up. “I’m, uh, gonna go get some coffee. I’ll be...I’ll just...yeah.”
Luke practically flees the room, and Foggy walks in. He doesn’t sit. He’s holding his arm close to his body, and Matt can smell plaster and fiberglass - a cast. “How’s...” Matt’s voice comes out a whisper. He swallows and tries again. “How’s the arm?”
“I’ll live,” Foggy says. He smells like painkillers and chocolate pudding and the faint reek of being stuck in a hospital for two days with no proper shower. Matt still wants to bask in it.
“Thank you,” he says. “You probably saved my life.”
Foggy gives a short nod. “You definitely saved mine. I’m just glad I didn’t kill him. I was aiming to wound, but...first time holding a gun. And last, hopefully.”
“And. And thank you for not...for not telling the police that I…” Matt trails off. Foggy’s silent, and Matt sighs. Foggy’s not going to save him from this one. “That I’m the man in the mask.”
Foggy’s heart speeds up a little, but his voice, when he speaks, is still very calm. “You said you never worked for Fisk, and I believe you. So what were you doing?”
“I was trying to stop him,” Matt says. “Putting on the mask...it was only about stopping street crime, at first, because I could hear people being hurt, and I knew I could stop it. But everything seemed to lead back to him, and you - you seemed like the weak link. You were his lawyer, you had to know something incriminating, and if I just leaned on you…” He hates himself more with every word. “Anyway, that was - that was why. The first night.”
“How’d you swing the Defenders thing?”
“Coincidence,” Matt says. “I swear, I had no idea you’d go looking for a bodyguard, much less with us. I didn’t even realize the demo was for you until you were already in the office. And then...well, then I asked the others to throw it, because I wanted you.” He feels his face heat up. “As a client. So that I could...if you trusted me, I could find out what you knew about Fisk, and. Well.”
“Put me in jail right alongside him,” Foggy finishes.
“I didn’t know you, then,” Matt says, a little pathetically. “I didn’t know yet that you weren’t involved. That you would never be involved.”
“And you still didn’t know that by the time I started talking about letting you go, huh?” Foggy asks. “So you got your buddy to dress up as you and send me running straight back to your arms. That’s...Jesus Christ, Matt. That’s dedication, I guess.”
“I. I wasn’t sure. I had to be sure,” Matt says, even though he doesn’t even know if that’s a lie anymore. Was he still trying to get information on Fisk by that point? Or did he just not want Foggy to send him away?
Foggy lets out a long, slow breath through his nose. “But the rest were real, right? The rest were Fisk.”
“The rest were Fisk,” Matt agrees. “Well, I don’t know who poisoned the benefit. I don’t think that was him, I don’t think he would have risked Ms. Marianna that way. But the Russians, and those two detectives who went after Mrs. Cardenas...that was Fisk.”
“Yeah,” Foggy says, which gives Matt nothing. He walks to the window, looks out, walks back. Pacing. Thinking.
Matt waits. He’s not brave enough to ask Foggy to cut to the chase. If he does, Foggy will leave, and even Foggy standing here hating him is better than that.
“So here’s my question,” Foggy says finally, and Matt tries not to cringe visibly, because he’s heard Foggy in court, he knows that tone. That’s Franklin Nelson cross-examining a hostile witness. “Was all the flirting because you were trying to get me to trust you, or were you just doing it because you thought I was a crime-abetting scumbag who deserved to be made into a laughingstock?”
Matt wants to say it was neither, but he owes Foggy the truth. “At first I was trying to get you to let your guard down around me,” he says. “And then I just…” Fell for you. “...liked you. It was a gradual thing, I can’t pinpoint exactly when it started to be real. But it was real by the end, Foggy, I swear.”
Foggy’s heart is beating like a wild thing, but he just stands there for a long moment. “Well,” he says finally, “that doesn’t do either of us a lot of good now, does it?”
Matt tells himself not to be disappointed. He doesn’t have the right. “I guess not.”
“Goodbye, Matt,” Foggy says, and turns to go.
Matt licks his lips. “You were the best thing.”
Foggy stops. “What?”
“You asked me, once. We were talking about my senses, and you asked, you asked if the subway was the worst thing I could hear, and I said no, crying was the worst.” Matt’s babbling. He can’t stop. He doesn’t expect this to make Foggy stay, but - but he wants him to know. “And then you asked me what the best thing was, and I didn’t have an answer. It was you, Foggy. You were the best sound in the city.”
Foggy pauses, hand on the doorway. He still hasn’t turned around to face Matt. “See, the thing is, Matt, I don’t have super hearing,” he says. “I don’t know what it sounds like when you’re telling the truth.”
He walks out.
Matt tells himself not to cry, not again. He doesn’t have the right to that, either.
*
Matt can’t quite bring himself to stop listening for Foggy’s heartbeat, which is how he knows that Foggy checks out of the hospital the next day. Not, however, before Karen comes to see him - and brings a reporter named Ben Urich to Matt’s room, telling him in a tone of spiteful glee that Matt will be happy to answer as many questions as Ben has about the fall of Wilson Fisk, for as long as Ben wants. Karen may not know all of what happened, but she knows enough to be pissed at Matt, clearly.
Matt’s got three more days in the hospital after Foggy leaves. He has a sneaking suspicion Claire may have pulled some strings to get him a longer stay than was strictly necessary, just because she can actually make him stay down for once. The extra days of enforced bed rest probably don’t do his body any harm, to be fair, but stuck in the hospital like this he’s got nothing to do but think over his actions of the past few weeks, and they don’t really bear much contemplation.
Meditation’s difficult. He gives up without Foggy’s breathing nearby to match his own to.
Claire visits, too, between shifts. The first time, she gives him an extremely graphic rundown of just how much damage he’ll do if he doesn’t let this particular round of injuries heal properly, before smoothing down his hair and telling him she’s glad he’s okay. The other times, she just sits with him. It’s nice. Matt’s not sure how to handle nice right now, but he doesn’t tell her to go away, either.
Finally he’s released, with dire warnings and a strict physical therapy regimen from Claire and his doctors. Matt's only too glad to leave - the doctors keep calling him a hero, and he knows all too well how far he is from that. Luke helps him home, where someone - probably Malcolm - has stocked the fridge and put fresh sheets on the bed.
It still feels cold and empty by himself. Matt wonders how long it'll take him to get used to it again.
A week goes by. Two weeks. A month. Matt does his physical therapy, slowly regaining a full range of motion as he heals. He goes back to the office - he's not up for taking on clients yet even if he weren't on probation, but he can consult. He meditates with Danny. Agents come in and out of assignments. Trish fields a call from Sam Wilson, an actual Avenger, about a relevant case. Jessica takes a brief job guarding some pop star from her ex-boyfriend and comes back with lots of stories about how annoying famous people are.
Life goes back to normal. It's good. It tells Matt that eventually he will, too.
It just might take a while.
He's at Fogwell's, working through his PT regimen on his healing shoulder, when the approaching sound of a familiar heartbeat startles him so badly that he misses the bag entirely.
“Whoa,” Foggy says as Matt stumbles and catches himself. “Sorry. Didn't meant to throw you off like that.” He’s wearing something cottony and soft-sounding. His arm is still in a sling and he smells like home.
“What are you doing here?” Matt blurts out, then catches himself. “I mean. Sorry. Hello. I, um...how did you…?” He waves a wrapped hand at the gym in general bewilderment.
“Oh, uh.” Foggy sounds a little embarrassed too. “I called the office and Malcolm told me where I could find you. After I promised not to yell at you.”
Matt can’t decide if he’s thrilled or furious with Malcolm. He feels sweaty and red-faced and off-balance...but Foggy’s here. “You can, if you want. Yell at me, I mean.”
“I keep my promises,” Foggy says. It’s a little too sharp; Foggy must think so too, from the way he sucks in air afterwards. “Sorry. That was...unnecessary.”
“It’s okay,” Matt says. “If you’re mad at me. You’ve already been more generous than I deserve.”
“Oh, for the love of - would you stop playing the tragic martyr for five seconds?” Foggy says, throwing his good hand up in the air. “I didn’t come here for that. And if you apologize for apologizing too much I will kick you in the shins, I swear to God.”
Matt’s obediently silent. Foggy sighs. “Okay, so. Why am I here. Like I said, it’s not to yell at you. Or to...to tell you I’m suing, or making Ms. Walker fire you, or anything like that. Which she told me in no uncertain terms she wouldn’t do, by the way. I didn’t ask her to, but - she’s good people.” He huffs a little laugh. “You got a better boss than I did.”
Matt tries a tentative smile. “Yeah? Just wait until I take down her criminal empire.”
Foggy laughs again, a real one this time, and Matt relaxes fractionally. He still doesn’t know why Foggy’s here, but he made Foggy laugh. That has to be a good sign.
“So,” Foggy says. “I've been doing a lot of thinking. About the things you told me, and the things you did for me, and...okay, so by my count you attacked me, or had someone else do it, twice.” Matt winces. “But you also saved my life three times, and I’ve gotta think that a real save counts for more than a staged attack.”
“You saved my life, too,” Matt points out. “And I lied to you.”
“And I lied right back. I knew Fisk was up to something sketchy, even if I wouldn’t admit it.”
“Attorney-client privilege,” Matt argues. “You were doing your job. Besides, your life wouldn’t have needed saving in the first place if it hadn’t been for me…”
“I was on retainer for a criminal mastermind, Matt, that was never going to end well,” Foggy says. “I’m trying to give you a pass here, would you just take it?” Matt falls silent, even though he doesn’t agree. “Don’t make that face at me just because I’m not being mean enough to you.”
Matt picks at the wrap on his left hand. “So...you came here to tell me that? That we’re even?”
“No. I mean, not just…” Foggy sighs. “Look, I don’t really care about the math, okay? I don’t know how you quantify the past couple months. I don’t know how to look at you when I can see the scar on your shoulder from the bullet you took for me, and decide that you have or have not earned enough forgiveness points or whatever. I don’t...I…” He rubs the back of his neck. “I’m here because I miss you.”
Matt’s heart lurches. “You do?”
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” Foggy says. “And I’ve got a lot of extra free time to think these days. And you...you said it was real.”
“It was,” Matt says, quickly, too frantically. “It is. For me, it is.” His heart is thundering in his ears, but not loud enough to drown out Foggy’s.
“Say it,” Foggy says.
Matt swallows. He feels flushed and a little dizzy. “I want to be with you. I think you’re wonderful. I know I don’t deserve it, but I’d do anything for another chance.”
“...Wow,” Foggy says, very soft. “That’s...that’s some good saying it. You should’ve gone to law school with me, you would’ve killed it in public speaking.”
“I meant it,” Matt says.
“Yeah,” Foggy says. “I think you did. Heads up, I’m gonna kiss you now, okay?”
“Okay,” Matt says, a little too eagerly, but it doesn’t matter because Foggy’s already taken the four or five steps to him and then Foggy’s kissing him and Matt couldn’t care about anything else in the world right now. He has his hands cupping Foggy’s face before he can stop himself, but Foggy doesn’t seem to mind - just kisses Matt like he means it until they’re both grinning too hard to keep it up.
Matt tips his forehead against Foggy’s and traces the edges of his face with his thumbs - the smile lines around his eyes, the scratch of sideburns, the curve of his jaw. “So I take it the feeling’s mutual?” he asks.
Foggy huffs, amused. “Quit fishing. I’ve been hot for you since day one and you know it.”
“Oh,” Matt says, suddenly bashful.
“Annnd I like your inner beauty too, don’t worry,” Foggy says, and Matt swallows past a lump in his throat. He’s a mess inside, all wrath and pride and old resentments, but Foggy - Foggy’s not lying. He thinks Matt’s beautiful.
Matt’s too choked to come up with a proper response, so he kisses Foggy instead. Foggy doesn’t seem to mind.
“We should take it slow,” Foggy says when they break apart several breathless minutes later.
“Okay,” Matt says.
“Make sure there’s something there when we’re not - you know. Having heightened emotional responses to dangerous circumstances or whatever.”
“Yes.”
“Go on dates and hold hands and things. Like normal people.”
“Sounds good.”
“Are you just going to say okay to everything I suggest from now on?” Foggy asks, laughing.
Matt grins. “Probably.”
Foggy’s good hand settles on his hip. “Kiss me,” he says, and Matt’s grin widens.
“Okay.”
*
“Taking it slow” lasts the whole of a single date. Matt is good. He takes Foggy to a nice restaurant in the gentrified part of Hell’s Kitchen, and buys him the wine Trish recommended, and holds his hand as he walks him home and while he kisses him, sweet and chaste, outside his front door.
The second date is on a Friday, to celebrate Foggy’s cast coming off. The doorman recognizes Matt and lets him up to meet Foggy at his apartment door instead of in the lobby.
They don’t make it back out of the apartment until Monday morning.
“What are you doing?” Foggy laughs at some point on Sunday afternoon. Matt’s straddling him, running his hands over Foggy’s upper body, paths he’s traced again and again this weekend but still isn’t tired of.
“Well, I spent so long guarding it,” Matt says. “I want to make sure I did a good job.”
Foggy snorts. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You’re gorgeous,” Matt retorts, and leans down to kiss Foggy’s smile.
Foggy hums, pleased, against Matt’s mouth. “We should put on pants,” he says when Matt pulls back, though the hand running up and down Matt’s spine belies Foggy’s virtuous words. “Go outside. Rejoin the world.”
“Definitely,” Matt says, and kisses Foggy’s neck.
“You’re just humoring me.”
“No, no. Let’s go outside. We’ll go to the movies.”
“I’m not making out with you in the back of a movie theater, Murdock.”
“The park, then.”
“Or behind some bushes like a creep.”
“Then I guess we'll have to stay here,” Matt concludes triumphantly.
Foggy laughs. “I'm rolling my eyes at you.”
“So you’re saying you’re not interested?” Matt asks, rolling his hips languidly against Foggy’s. “Because I gotta tell you, it kind of feels like you are.”
“This smugness is very unattractive, you know,” Foggy says, walking a hand up Matt’s thigh.
“Really?”
“No,” Foggy says, and hooks his other arm around Matt’s neck to draw him down into another kiss, long and urgent. By the time they break apart, Matt’s breathless, and Foggy’s hips are rocking up, little movements that Matt wants to feel a whole lot more of right now.
He stretches past Foggy to snag the lube and a condom off the nightstand, where they haven’t bothered to put them away. “Can I…?” he asks, hesitating with his hands over Foggy’s dick, and Foggy nods.
“Please,” he says. His voice is just starting to have that shaky, needy edge Matt’s grown to love over the past two days, and it makes Matt eager and clumsy with his hands as he tears the little packet open and rolls the condom down Foggy’s length.
Foggy gives a little sigh as he opens the lube and hands it to Matt, who shifts up onto his knees to reach back. He’s still stretched from earlier, and two slick fingers sink in easily; three’s a pleasant burn. “I’m good.”
“Billy, don’t be a hero,” Foggy warns.
“I swear,” Matt assures him.
“You don’t have to rush.” From the warmth in Foggy’s voice, Matt’s sure he’s smiling. “I’m not going anywhere.” Matt has to kiss him at that; it’s the only way to shake the tight feeling out of his chest so that he can breathe again.
He’s generous with the lube when he sits back up because he knows Foggy will want him to be, and these sheets are in desperate need of a wash by now anyway. He hands off the lube to Foggy, who stretches up to toss it back onto the nightstand, and then Matt shifts up, forward, and he’s guiding Foggy into him and sinking down and yes, yes, the full hot feeling and the way Foggy’s heart pounds inside him is something he already knows he’ll never tire of.
“Fuck,” Foggy says as Matt bottoms out, his hands skating up over Matt’s abs.
“Yeah,” Matt agrees.
He shifts up and resettles - not a full thrust, but enough to make his breath hitch audibly, and Foggy pets at his stomach. “Hey, easy, don’t…”
“I’m okay,” Matt insists. He might have rushed it a little - he was impatient and Foggy’s wonderfully, delightfully big - but he likes it, the stretch and the pressure, the fullness, the burn he knows he’ll be feeling in his thighs in a minute. He likes feeling Foggy, visceral and unmistakable. He runs his hands over Foggy’s belly, his hips, and pushes himself up so that he can sink back down properly.
“God, Matt,” Foggy groans, hips twitching up, and Matt grins.
“Yeah? You good?” he asks, rocking up and back down again, deeper this time, setting up a slow and easy rhythm.
Foggy’s hands are moving again, palming Matt’s sides, stroking his thighs. Matt loves the way they feel, how Foggy’s always gentle - at least, until Matt asks him not to be. “So good,” Foggy assures him. “Fuck, Matt, you look so gorgeous like this.” Matt knows he shouldn’t preen, but he can’t help it. His reaction must be visible, because Foggy laughs. “Yes, yes, you’re very pretty, I could gaze at you forever and not get bored, you know all this already.”
“Mmm,” Matt sighs as he sinks down again. “You have been...rather poetic this weekend.” It’s the “forever” that’s catching on his heart, but he tries not to read too much into it. He knows how he feels, but Foggy’s given to playful hyperbole. It doesn’t necessarily mean anything.
Still, Foggy’s heart is steady.
“You’re my sexy muse,” Foggy says, rocking up to meet him. “At least - hh - until you make me forget how to talk entirely.”
Matt grins. “Don’t worry, I like that part too.” He moves his hips a little harder and tips his head back as he finds the right angle. “Fuck...Foggy, yeah, just like that.”
Foggy laughs again, more breathless this time. “You’re...you’re the one doing all the work,” he points out, even though his hips are rolling up steadily and his hands are helping to guide Matt down.
Matt shakes his head. “No,” he says, “it’s you, fuck, Foggy, you feel so good…” He trails off, moving faster, chasing the pleasure building low in his belly. His thighs are starting to ache but he loves it, loves how it keeps his senses pinned here, in the moment, with Foggy.
“Yeah,” Foggy groans, low. “God, Matt, don’t stop.” One of his hands finds its way to Matt’s dick and normally Matt would stop him, would try to draw this out, but it feels too good, and besides, he doesn’t have to ration this feeling. Foggy’s not going anywhere. Foggy keeps his promises.
“Foggy,” he sobs, riding Foggy faster, harder still, feeling Foggy match the rhythm of Matt’s hips with his hand, his other hand digging into the meat of Matt’s ass. Foggy’s heart is thunder in Matt’s ears and the air is thick with the smell of sweat and sex and it’s perfect, right here, it’s everything Matt didn’t realize he wanted from the moment he first crossed Foggy’s threshold. “Please.”
“I got you, baby, come on…” Foggy coaxes. Matt grinds down, breathless, mouth hanging open as Foggy’s hips snap up. “Matt…” and Foggy’s hand tightens, his heartbeat rumbles up Matt’s spine and Matt’s gone, coming with a hoarse shout.
He sinks forward as he comes down, curling in to rest his forehead on Foggy’s collarbone. Foggy’s hips still as he kisses Matt’s hair and strokes his clean hand down Matt’s sweaty spine. “Hey, baby.”
Matt tucks his face into the curve of Foggy’s neck and breathes him in. They’re both splattered with come and in about two minutes it’ll be disgusting, but right now Matt just feels glorious. And Foggy’s still hard inside him.
Matt clenches and smiles when Foggy gasps. “Go ahead,” he says, patting Foggy’s side aimlessly. “Finish.”
“You sure?”
Matt clenches again and Foggy lets out a noise halfway between a groan and a laugh. “Okay, okay, I get it,” he says, and starts rocking up into Matt again, both hands coming down to grab Matt’s ass. Matt shudders, nerve endings overstimulated and jangly, but it’s a good kind of too much.
“Yeah, come on,” he mumbles, and kisses Foggy’s neck. “Come on, do it.”
“So good, Matt, so fucking gorgeous…” Foggy sounds breathless and scattered. Matt loves it. Matt loves him, but it’s too soon to say it, so Matt just pushes his face into Foggy’s thrumming pulse and lets Foggy take him.
“Come on, Foggy,” he pleads, making it sweet. “Come on, I want to feel you…” and Foggy muffles his cry in Matt’s hair as he comes.
His arms slide up to wrap around Matt’s waist and Matt just stays there for a long moment, wrapped in the feel and scent of Foggy, until the stickiness and awkward position grow unbearable, and he has to shift up and off. “Oof,” Foggy says, and reaches up for the tissues, which he hands to Matt before removing the condom and tying it off.
“This isn’t really going to do the job,” Matt says, wiping first himself, then Foggy, as clean as he can while being guided mostly by smell.
Foggy tosses the garbage in the wastebasket near the bed and lets the tissue box fall to the floor, then pulls Matt back in to curl up against his chest. “You’re the one who wanted to stay in our filthy den of iniquity here instead of rejoining the human race.”
“I’m pretty sure you enjoyed that more than going to the movies,” Matt retorts, and kisses Foggy’s chest. Yeah, they’re both pretty gross. Matt’s a little shamefully into it. “Besides, we can always take a shower.”
“You just want another underwater blowjob.”
“I am not above multitasking,” Matt says airily, and Foggy laughs and kisses the top of his head.
“You know, eventually we will have to put on pants and go to work,” Foggy points out.
“I’m on probation and you’re not on retainer anymore.”
“I have other clients, Matt.” Foggy drums his fingers on Matt’s shoulder. “And, uh...Ms. Walker may have reached out to me about representing the Defenders. It seems Ms. Jones played a little rough on her last assignment and apparently your current legal counsel is tired of handling those cases.”
Matt tips his face up towards Foggy’s. “Wait, really? You’re going to work for us?”
“It seems likely, yeah. Is that too weird?”
“What? No, it’s great!” Matt’s pretty sure his smile is goofy right now, especially upside down, but doesn’t care. “You need a client who doesn’t pay you in pie, and we need New York’s most brilliant attorney. Jessica pisses off a lot of people.”
“You don’t have to flatter me to get into my pants, Matthew, we just had sex,” Foggy says, but he’s laughing. “Anyway, yes, I like non-pie-paying clients. And I’ll get to see you more.” His voice goes almost shy on that last bit, and Matt just has to lean up and kiss him. He’d walk into Hell for Foggy; of course he likes the idea of job that lets him see Foggy more often.
“Sounds perfect,” he says, and tucks his head back down against Foggy’s shoulder.
Foggy strokes his fingers through Matt’s hair. “Well, good,” he says, his voice warm and fond, and Matt thinks I love you, oh, I love you again. It’s still too soon to say it, just a little bit. But, he thinks, as Foggy’s arms tighten around him and his heart gradually slows down to a lazy, almost-napping pace, it won’t be too soon for long.
Matt can hardly wait.