Work Header

Foggy Nelson's Lexicon of Things Not To Believe When Matt Says Them

Work Text:

The first year, it had taken Foggy by surprise. Matt had apparently gotten up early that day, as the sound of him coming back into their room woke Foggy.

"I'm up," he said, rubbing his eyes.

"Clearly," Matt agreed, sounding amused. 

Foggy sat up and stretched, and then waved at Matt's head, not that Matt could see the gesture. "Did you bump into something? With your head? You've got a little... what even is that?"

Matt smiled, looking handsome even with the stuff on his forehead. "Ash. It's Ash Wednesday."

"Oh. Ash Wednesday. Yeah." Foggy tried to make that make sense and then regretted at least two of the drinks he'd had the night before.

Matt took pity on him. "It's the start of Lent."

Foggy knew that. "Oh. Catholic stuff. So you didn't just take a header into something. Good." Foggy knew about Lent, of course. He'd just forgotten. He yawned and thought for a moment, then asked, "That's the one where you give something up, right?" 

Matt nodded. "I was thinking maybe alcohol this year."

Foggy sat up in protest, then groaned as his head did some protesting of his own. Was that irony? Foggy was pretty sure that was irony. "What? No. Matt, Matty, that is a terrible idea. We're in our prime. And alcohol really adds to the young, student thing."

Laughing, Matt shook his head. "It really adds to the missing class thing, too." He was quiet a moment, then suggested, sounding tentative, "You could join me if you want." He grinned, then, adding, "It sounds like you're really the poster child for alcohol right now." 

Foggy grinned and gestured at his forehead. "Shit. Sorry. I pointed at my head. I don't have any ash."

"Nah, I'm kidding. You don't need to give anything up for Lent. But the ash isn't required. It's not like there are rules." A pause. "Well, no, this is Catholicism; there are absolutely rules. But not about that."

Foggy thought about it. No, he didn't really want to give up alcohol, but Matt was his primary drinking companion these days. Sure, he had other friends at Columbia, and even his friends back at home, but he didn't really have the same connection with them that he'd formed with Matt. 

"But it wouldn't be any fun without you. Maybe I'll give the no-alcohol thing a shot. Or, well, no shots, in this case." He grinned at his own cleverness; it was an impressive feat of wordplay, considering the pounding in his head. 

Matt's jaw dropped. "Seriously?"

Foggy shrugged. "Why not? It's, what, a week? I can go a week without booze."

"It's longer than a week."

"I can do that, too! I'll think of it as a challenge." Foggy shifted so that he was sitting on the bed, feet planted on the floor, and intoned, "We will face the challenge together!"

"Six weeks, Foggy. And it's not supposed to be a challenge. It's supposed to be a sacrifice."

"Because of Jesus?"

"Yeah, because of Jesus."

Foggy got to his feet, his head spinning. "Ugh. Six weeks without alcohol is sounding like a better and better idea."

Matt bumped the garbage can with his foot and then nudged it closer to Foggy, though fortunately, Foggy's head wasn't spinning that badly. "If you want to."

"Yeah, man. Let's do it. Lent."

By Easter, Foggy had sworn never again to be caught off-guard by Lent. 

But he always was. 

"Shit," Foggy said, as Matt came into the office with ash on his forehead. "I swear, every year I say I'm going to put a warning into my calendar for next year, and I always forget. But this year, this year I'm going to do it." He realized that his phone was dead and sighed as Matt made his way to his desk, adding, "The new priest is... artistic."

"What, did he add curlicues?" Matt asked as he reached for one of his law books. 

"Nah, it's just big. Not subtle."

"Well, it's not really supposed to be subtle." Matt was a little quieter even than usual, and Foggy's Catholic emo radar flared a warning.

"You must be feeling really penitent, then" Foggy quipped, trying for a joke to lighten the mood. No response from Matt. "Because that cross is huge. What are you giving up this year? Sarcasm? Bodily injury?"

"Paperwork," Matt replied, gesturing to his desk.

"So that's a no on the giving up sarcasm, got it. How about... mocking your partner; wouldn't that be a great thing to give up for Lent?"

"Too close to sarcasm," Matt replied, with a quick, small smile. "Don't worry about it, Foggy."


In hindsight, Foggy realized that don't worry about it should have been a red flag, and he moved that phrase next to I'm fine in his Lexicon of Things Not To Believe When Matt Says Them. 

Matt had seemed weird even in the weeks leading up to Lent, though he'd acted like he didn't know what Foggy was talking about when Foggy had asked what was wrong. Around Ash Wednesday, well, Matt got moody.

It started with lunch. Karen asked for Matt's lunch order - not that she was a secretary, but because it was her week to get lunch orders - and Matt said he didn't want anything.

"I can spot you some money if you're low on cash," Foggy offered. "Or we can just get something from Theo. He owes us."

"Nah, I'm good," Matt replied.

Foggy later decided to cross-reference I'm good with I'm fine.

But at the time Foggy just nodded and got his lunch, and Matt came to chat with him and Karen while they ate but had nothing himself.

Pretty much the same thing happened on Thursday and Friday.

When Matt said no to lunch again on Monday, Foggy shook his head. "I'll just get you a burger or something. Don't worry about it."

"Fogs, no."

"Why not? I don't mind spotting you, but are we not paying you enough? I mean, I know Marci is bankrolling my hedonistic lifestyle, but Karen doesn't have somebody to split expenses with and she still eats lunch."

"Gee, thanks, Foggy."

"No problem, Karen."

"Matt, you really look like you could use a burger," Foggy persisted, when Matt didn't answer. "Come on, I could spring for 5 Napkin."

Matt still didn't reply, and Karen, who had brightened at the mention of her favorite burger place, cajoled, "Think of the rosemary-garlic aioli, huh?"

But Matt got to his feet. "No, thanks. I'm... going to take a walk, okay?"

Karen sighed as the door closed behind Matt. "You still getting 5 Napkin?"

Foggy frowned after Matt but nodded. "Sure." He smiled. "I mean, think of that aioli." He even got an extra one for Matt, but it was still there untouched at the end of the day.

Matt's refusal of lunch persisted throughout the week and into the next. He even stopped coming out to sit with Foggy and Karen while they ate. By Thursday, Foggy noticed Matt's mood declining to a new and impressive low.

"Hey, we've got a breakfast meeting with Mrs. Li tomorrow at 8. Can you be there?"

Matt lifted his head from the book he had been "consulting," though Foggy hadn't seen his fingers move in the past half hour or so. "What? No. Why did you schedule it for then?" He sounded unusually annoyed, especially considering how much he liked Mrs. Li. 

"It was her suggestion, and you know she has that great cafe. I hear she's got this new Eggs Benedict thing with asparagus. It sounds amazing, and I don't even like asparagus."

"I can't," Matt said, his voice flat.

"What, still going to be in bed at 8?" Foggy joked, trying to jolly him out of his mood. "I mean, could you help me out a little? We all know you're prettier than I am; you missing out on a little beauty sleep could only help my cause." Really, Matt was looking rough these days, though Foggy privately admitted that even rough-looking Matt was prettier than he was. 

"I said no," Matt flared, getting to his feet and heading for the door. 

Foggy scrambled up and placed himself in Matt's path. He managed not to exhale in relief when his friend stopped rather than just barreling past him, or perhaps over him. "What's your problem?" Foggy demanded, some of his frustration creeping into his voice. "You haven't been eating and you look like shit. What's going on?"

"No problem," Matt replied.

Foggy added that one under I'm fine, too.

Matt tried to push past Foggy, who used his bulk to his advantage, though Foggy was pretty sure that Matt could have gotten past him if he'd tried harder. "You can't just leave when the conversation gets tough."

Matt moved that step forward to put himself uncomfortably into Foggy's personal space. "I can't?"

Foggy didn't back down, though he did gentle his voice as he asked, "What is it? Come on."

Matt looked for a moment like he was going to make that extra effort to shove past, but then he deflated as if it was all just too much. "I'm just tired," he said, moving to lean against his desk. "Sorry, Fogs, I shouldn't... sorry."

Tired, Foggy decided, was probably close enough to the truth that Foggy didn't add it to the I'm fine list. "Well, you can knock off early. One of the advantages of having your own firm, right?"

Matt rubbed his face with one hand and then adjusted his sunglasses. "Yeah. Yeah, I think I will." Foggy tried not to look too shocked, though Matt could probably tell. "If you'll let me by this time," Matt added, his lips stretching in something that was almost a smile. He pushed off the desk and stumbled, barely catching himself. 

"Hey," Foggy said, reaching for Matt. "Careful. Look, let's go. I'll get you home. Let me just leave a note for Karen."

Matt looked for a moment like he was going to shrug off Foggy's hand. He managed another shaky step, and then his shoulders slumped and he nodded. 

The walk to Matt's place was a quiet one, with only the occasional murmur about a broken section of the sidewalk, an approaching dog, or a new food cart. That last made Matt groan, and Foggy was pretty sure it wasn't that he was upset about how there were food trucks popping up everywhere on that street. About halfway there, Matt's hand crept into the crook of Foggy's arm.

Foggy didn't mention it, but he took a little more care in how he walked.

"Thanks, Foggy," Matt said, releasing Foggy's arm as they approached his door.

Foggy thought fast; maybe being in his apartment would make Matt more likely to talk about whatever was going on. "Hey, could I get a glass of water before I go?"

Matt's hesitation was just long enough to be noticeable. "Uh. Yeah. Sure. Of course." He opened the door and Foggy followed him inside. 

The door to Matt's bedroom was closed, but there was a pile of blankets on the floor by his window. "Just sit down," Foggy suggested. "I can get it. I know where everything is."

Matt didn't say anything as he eased himself to a seat on his couch, something Foggy noted with worry. 

Foggy grabbed two glasses and, thinking of ice, opened the freezer. It was bare, with the exception of a tray filled with shrunken ice cubes that Foggy did not quite trust. He emptied the cubes into the sink, cleaned the tray, and put the refilled tray back into the freezer. On a hunch, he opened the fridge. 

It, too, was empty, aside from some half-used condiments and a few bottles of beer. Usually, Matt at least had takeout leftovers. "Hey, what's going on?" Foggy asked, after filling the glasses and crossing to the couch.

Matt pursed his lips.

"Matt, come on. Don't say I'm fine or it's nothing or any of that bullshit." Foggy put down the drinks with a little too much force, then made an inarticulate sound of frustration as water splashed over the lip of one of the glasses. He almost missed Matt's reply, quiet as it was.


"What? Lent?" Foggy tried not to lose his temper, or at least not any more than he already had. He had learned the hard way that blowing up at Matt could result in Matt blowing up in return and, aside from that one time at Columbia, that never ended well for anybody. He took a deep breath, then tried for patience as he asked, "What did you give up for Lent?"

"I can't help them all."

Foggy was reasonably sure Matt hadn't given up helping people for Lent, either as a lawyer or as Daredevil, so he asked gently, "Who?"


Matt, you don't have to help everybody. You're right; you can't."

"Then why do I hear them? If I can hear them, doesn't it mean that I'm supposed to help them, that God wants me to? Why else would I be able to hear them if not to help?"

Foggy realized that he was a little out of his depth, but tried, "You help some of them, right?"

"Some," Matt scoffed. His head drooped, chin almost resting against his chest. "There are always more." 

"Yeah," Foggy agreed. "And some of them, well, other people help them. Hell, New York has so many people with, um, extra abilities. You've got other people to help. And there are cops and firefighters, and even lawyers have been known to help people on occasion." He hesitated, then asked, "Matt, when was the last time you ate something?" This was way past hangry, but, in Foggy's opinion, there were few situations not helped by a good meal.

"I don't remember." Foggy muttered an expletive under his breath, and Matt added, "It started out just not eating breakfast or lunch. One meal, that was plenty. People do that for Lent all the time. But it didn't feel like enough of a... a sacrifice."

"Fuck Jesus," Foggy said bluntly, thinking of a conversation back in the dorm at Columbia. "You need to eat." He pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts, then placed the call. "Hey," he said. "Does your mom have any of her chicken soup in the freezer?"

"Yeah," came the puzzled reply. "She made some last weekend." 

"Can you bring me some? Uh, soon? I'm at Matt's place."

"Sure. I'll be there as soon as I can. He sick?"

"Yeah, let's go with that. Thanks, Brett."

"Foggy," Matt began.

"No. You can't remember the last time you ate? You practically fell on your face at the office. That's not okay." Matt started to protest, but Foggy shook his head. "Lent is supposed to be giving up sugar or coffee or meat, not all food."

Matt just repeated, "It didn't seem like enough." 

Foggy bit back on some choice profanity. "Matt. Look. Hey, look at me." Matt lifted his head, though not without a wry look for Foggy's phrasing. "You do more for the people of Hell's Kitchen than anybody I know." Not that he always approved of how Matt went about helping, but this wasn't the time for that conversation. "If that's not enough, I don't know what is."

Matt didn't respond. He tipped his head to one side and inhaled as if to answer, but then just shook his head. 

Foggy took a drink of his water, though more for something to do than out of any real thirst. "Matt, are you... have you ever thought of, I don't know, talking to somebody?"

Matt frowned a little, though he seemed more puzzled than upset. "I'm talking to you right now." He paused, then pulled off his sunglasses, his eyes gone wide and a little frightened. Foggy noticed the dark rings that the glasses had obscured, the way Matt's face seemed thinner when the glasses didn't draw the eye. "I am, right? You're... you're really here?"

"Yeah, I'm here," Foggy reassured, though he was thinking that maybe he was going to need more than Brett's mother's chicken soup. A knot began to form in his stomach, and he asked, "Do you hear people that aren't here sometimes?"

Matt hesitated, and Foggy could see him formulating some sort of half-truth, which was in itself an answer. "Matt, you can tell me."

"Not in a while," Matt said, his voice low. "I'm fine now."

"Okay, buddy." Fine. He was saying he was fine, which of course meant he wasn't. At least Matt was consistent. 

A staccato knock sounded at the door, and Matt sat upright, fumbling to replace his glasses.

"It's okay. It's probably Brett." Foggy moved to open the door, adding as Brett came in, "Cops can't knock like normal people, I guess." 

Brett laughed, though his gaze swept the room and landed on the window before turning to Matt. "Chicken soup," he reported. "Good for what ails you, and Mom put in some bread she got at the bakery when she heard it was for you, Foggy."

"Yeah, she always did like me best," Foggy replied, taking the bag from Brett. 

Brett gestured to the blankets by the window. "What, couldn't make it to bed? At least try to get to the couch, huh? You're not in college anymore, Murdock."

"Yeah," Matt agreed, sounding a little more alert. "Thank your mom for me, please. And thanks for bringing it."

"No problem," Brett replied. He turned to Foggy, his brows lifting inquisitively. 

"We're good," Foggy replied in answer to the silent question. "Thanks, Brett."

Brett nodded. "Glad I could help. Feel better, man."

"He's a good guy," Matt said, as Foggy closed the door behind Brett.

"Matt, have you been sleeping on the floor?" Foggy didn't even want to ask if this was related to Lent, too.

Matt's silence was answer enough, though Foggy wondered how much Matt had actually slept. He considered the blankets, looked at Matt, and then went into the kitchen to heat up the soup. "You're going to eat," Foggy said when he felt like he wouldn't explode. "And then you're going to sleep in your bed."

"Foggy, Lent isn't -"

"Lent isn't about destroying yourself," Foggy... well, later he would say that he didn't shout, but at that moment he may have raised his voice. 

The fact that Matt didn't respond in kind, but just sat there on the couch, cooled Foggy's temper more than any argument could have. "Just eat," he said quietly. He cut off a slice of bread and all but forced it into Matt's hand. When Matt perked up a little and actually brought the bread to his mouth, Foggy felt the tightness in his chest begin to ease. "Not too quickly," he cautioned.

"Make up your mind," Matt grumbled, his chewing turning the words indistinct. 

Foggy didn't say anything, just poked uselessly at the soup with his spoon until it was hot, then ladled some into a mug. 

He brought the mug to Matt, along with the rest of the bread. "The soup's hot, but you can drink it. Figured it was easier than a bowl and a spoon."

"Yeah," Matt agreed. He looked as if he was struggling for words, but then fumbled for the mug and sipped cautiously. "It's good."

"Got me through a bunch of illnesses when I was a kid. I don't know what Bess puts in it - I asked, but she won't tell me - but it can cure... well, almost anything." 

Matt nodded, seeming to focus on the food. He alternated between small bites of bread and careful sips of soup.

"There's soup left. Bess sent a lot. So you can have some tomorrow if you want." Foggy hesitated. "If you need help or just want to have someone here, I can stay. Marci won't mind."

Matt paused in his eating. "I'm okay," he said, and Foggy privately resolved to stay. Matt hadn't said to leave, after all, and he wasn't known for admitting when he needed - or wanted - help. 

"You want more soup?" he asked when the mug was empty, and Matt shook his head. "I'll put the rest in the fridge for later while you get ready for bed."

"I can go back to work. I have some things I need to get done."

Bess's soup was good, but not that good. "It can wait," Foggy reassured, taking up the dirty dishes. "And I'll reschedule that meeting with Mrs. Li, so you don't have to worry about tomorrow." 

Matt sighed, but nodded and shuffled into his bedroom, sliding the door half-closed behind him. 

There was the brief sound of running water from Matt's bathroom as Foggy did the dishes, put away the food, and wiped down the counter, but then silence. Foggy peeked into the room and found Matt sprawled on the bed, half-dressed, fully asleep. 

Damn. Those scars always made Foggy do a double-take, but at least there didn't seem to be any new ones since the last time he'd seen Matt undressed. Or, at least there weren't any new scars on the parts of Matt that Foggy could see, but who could say for the rest of him? 

Matt would probably just say that he was fine, but Foggy's heart ached for what Matt had put himself through.

Foggy eased a blanket over Matt and froze when Matt shifted, thinking, Don't wake up, don't wake up.

Foggy was pretty sure that Matt couldn't hear his thoughts, but maybe it worked, as Matt sighed and curled into his pillow. Foggy exhaled. He started for the living room and the couch, but then frowned as Matt made a distressed-sounding noise. Foggy almost perched on the bed to keep watch, but hesitated, wary of waking Matt. He also had no doubt that he would fall asleep in no time if he was on the bed, and that would be no help to Matt. 

Discarding the chair near Matt's couch as something that would cause harm to his spine if he spent all night in it, Foggy instead located a folding director's chair in a closet, tucked behind a box of Columbia memorabilia. He settled it near the bed and took a seat, then sent a quick text to Marci. 

She understood, of course. Marci always understood about Foggy and Matt, which was one of the things that Foggy loved about her. She offered a few helpful suggestions and told Foggy she loved what a good friend he was. 

Foggy smiled and settled in to wait, there in case Matt needed him. 

Foggy awoke with a general sense of confusion, which was unusual at this point in his life, though not so much back when he was in school. The pressure of the chair on his back reminded him where he was, and he opened his eyes. 

There was a blanket pulled up to his chin. He didn't remember that. Then Foggy found some semblance of alertness and realized that Matt wasn't in his bed. Panic gripped Foggy somewhere south of his collarbone, and he scrambled to his feet, getting tangled in the blanket and nearly overturning the chair in the process.

"I'm out here."

Matt. Foggy took a deep breath, wondering if he would ever reach a point in his life when worrying about Matt would no longer tie him up in knots.

No. Realistically, no, because that would mean that either Matt had become less worrisome or Foggy had stopped caring, and clearly neither of those things was ever going to happen. 

He unwrapped the blanket from around his legs and draped it over the back of the chair before wandering out to the kitchen. 

"Coffee," he intoned, seeing Matt standing near the coffeemaker. 

Matt, now wearing comfortable clothing and a truly impressive case of bedhead, turned. "Hey. Fogs. Look -"

"Coffee," Foggy repeated, with emphasis. Sure, he and Matt needed to talk, but it was probably going to be a difficult conversation, and Foggy wanted to be at least partially caffeinated before that happened. "I got some groceries last night once it looked like you were going to stay asleep."  That had been one of Marci's suggestions. He'd picked nutritious stuff, meals that didn't require a lot of effort to prepare. 

"I can pay you back -" Foggy didn't care about that. He was more interested in the fact that Matt had gotten water for the coffeemaker. 

"Don't worry about it." After all, Foggy wasn't going to expect Matt to pay him back for something he hadn't asked Foggy to buy. 

Matt made a vague sound of unease, but didn't argue further, saying only, "Thanks."

Matt continued with the coffee prep in silence as Foggy found the bagels and got to slicing. He didn't ask what kind Matt wanted, or even if he wanted one. He knew Matt's preferences by now, and getting even a little more food into him would help. 

Once they were seated, it looked for a moment like Matt was going to balk at the food, even at the coffee, but Foggy was not going to stand for that. "You already ate the soup. You might as well."

Matt seemed to ponder that, then sighed and nodded. 

Foggy waited until Matt had sampled both coffee and bagel and, more importantly, until he himself had consumed at least half of his first cup of coffee, and then said, "That got kind of intense yesterday." 

"Foggy, you didn't have to -"

"Yeah, I did."

"I was -"

"So help me, Matt, if you say fine I'm going to throw you out that window."

There was a pause during which Matt took a slow, maddening bite of his bagel. He chewed it with obstinate deliberateness, then said mildly, "Defenestration seems a little extreme, don't you think?"

"Not really," Foggy replied candidly. "Matt, you scared me. I mean, more than usual."

That drew a look of surprise from Matt. "I scare you?"

Foggy couldn't help but laugh, though he was pretty sure the sound held an edge of hysteria. "I'm not scared of you, just scared of what... Look. You were worried last night about not being able to help enough people. You know what I worry about?" Matt didn't say anything, but the tilt of his head and the quick lift of his eyebrows invited Foggy to continue. "I worry that I'm not going to be able to help you. That someday you're going to go over the edge and I'm not going to be there to -" Foggy felt his voice crack, and sniffed fiercely before taking a gulp of coffee. 

"Hey, no, it's okay. That - I wouldn't." Matt lowered his head over his food. "It's a sin," he said, his voice quiet.

Sometimes, though, Foggy wondered if that would be enough of a deterrent. "Okay, but when you stop eating and I'll bet barely sleep in the name of your religion, what am I supposed to think? People need food to live, Matt."

"I wouldn't," Matt repeated, shoulders hunching a little. 

"Are you talking to that new priest at all? I mean, talking, not just hello-how-are-you and -these-are-my-sins."

Matt shook his head. "Not like... well. He's nice enough, but I knew Father Lantom all my life. It's not the same."

Foggy took a breath and then said it. "Okay, then, what about your mom?" 

Matt stiffened. "What?" For once, Foggy was the one not to answer, and Matt asked, "How did you find out?"

Knowing he was probably going to pay for it later, Foggy admitted, "Karen." Matt sighed, looking grim, and Foggy continued, "Look, I'm not mad you didn't tell me. I know you've had a lot to deal with. But maybe she can help. Or if not her, maybe... somebody else? I  don't know anybody, but I'll bet Marci could get a recommendation from someone."

Matt's mouth gaped open and then he asked, "You mean a therapist? Foggy, how am I supposed to explain my life?"

 Foggy cracked a nervous grin. "As many superheroes as we've got around here? There has to be some sort of, I don't know, super-therapist. Do you know Tony Stark? I'll bet he has a therapist, and you know it would be a good one, too."

"Foggy, I'm not a superhero," Matt protested, a note of exasperation coloring his voice. "And I don't know Tony Stark." 

Foggy shook his head, not that Matt could see it. "If you're not, buddy, then nobody is." Matt made a vague sound of objection, so Foggy continued, "Good thing you don't know Tony Stark. Because if you knew Iron Man and were holding out on me..."

Matt seemed to take the subject change with relief. "Danny might," he speculated. 

Foggy nodded but then said, his expression sobering, "It's just that if you... if something happened, I don't' know what I would do." 

Well, no. He kind of did. The time right after Midland Circle had been... Foggy didn't want to think about it. But more, he didn't want it to happen again. He managed a shaky smile and said, "Losing you once sucked enough, okay? I mean, I know Easter is about Jesus rising from the dead..." Matt had that head-tilted look he sometimes got when he was puzzled and Foggy, with a slight edge of panic, asked, "That's what Easter is about, right? I mean, all the Zombie Jesus jokes..."

"Yeah, that's it."

"It's just, you already rose from the dead once," Foggy said, trying for humor and not sure he had reached it, especially since he was sure Matt could tell how tight his throat was from the tone of his voice. "And I'd appreciate it if we didn't have to see if you can go two for two."

"It was just Lent."

Foggy sighed and leaned back in his chair, and thought longingly about more coffee. He didn't get up, though; he didn't want to disturb the moment. "Lent is about sacrifice. Yeah. I get that. But if you sacrifice so much that you can't function, well, nobody wants that." Inspiration struck. "Jesus doesn't want that, Matt." 

That actually got a laugh out of Matt, and Foggy felt like he'd won a prize. "You're such an authority on what Jesus wants?"

But Matt did have a point. Speaking for Jesus, especially to Matt, seemed like treading on thin ice. "Okay, well, I don't want it. I may not be Jesus, but -"

"You're Foggy," Matt said, with a smile that reminded Foggy of late nights back at Columbia. "That's good enough for me."

"So you're going to eat and sleep like you usually do?" Which, admittedly, wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.

"I can do that."

"... and not come up with something disturbing to make up for the whole eating and sleeping thing? I mean, how much longer is Lent, anyway?"

"About another month. And I won't." Matt must have felt Foggy's skepticism, for he added, "I promise."


Foggy pulled out his phone and put in a reminder for Easter. Then, just to be sure, he set up a reminder for the following year's Ash Wednesday as well. After all, as good as their talk had been, Matt was still Matt, and Foggy knew that it wasn't going to be as simple as all that. 

But Matt was his best friend, and Foggy would always be there when Matt needed him. 

Whether he was "fine" or not.