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a kiss with a fist (constitutes assault in all fifty states)

Chapter Text

On the one hand, Foggy had to admit he was glad that Matt was no longer keeping about three secrets that were going to get them all (in order: possibly, probably, almost certainly) killed.

On the other hand, he really didn't want to know. It meant that now he watched the news religiously, keeping a count of the people Matt saved against the people he was (undoubtedly) putting in the hospital. Didn't say anything to Matt about it, because Matt for sure kept his own count. It wasn't Foggy's job to be his conscience: nah, this was a count for him, because he knew what Matt was doing. As long as he stayed quiet about it, he was part of it. Wasn't dumb enough to think that he got credit for people saved, but people hurt?

Well.

On the third hand (look, Foggy had apparently been living in a world where chemical exposure gave people superpowers, he was no longer ruling third hands out of the equation) he had a best friend with superpowers, which sometimes led to an unequal division of labor. For example,if he and Matt happened to be grocery shopping, and some idiot teenager with a gun happened to pull said gun on the teenager at the cash register and start demanding things in a panicked way, Foggy was apparently the one assigned to pulling the little old lady behind him and saying "whoah, hey, everyone can get what they want and nobody needs to get hurt." Matt was the one who immediately faded back to the canned goods (honestly faded, like Foggy didn't notice him leave until he was gone) and from three aisles away chucked a can of creamed corn at the kid with the gun. Did he hit him? Of course. Did he somehow manage to knock the gun out of the kid's hand without setting it off? Obviously. At which point the kid (along with everyone else in the store) became confused and freaked out enough to bolt.

Leaving two conclusions to be drawn: a) Matt was wholly bizarre, foolhardy, and ridiculously brave, and almost certainly going to get himself killed, and also b) he no longer could give Foggy any excuses about the softball team, that was going to happen as soon as Foggy was done yelling at him.

"C'mon, let's get out of here," Matt said, coming up to Foggy's elbow (and scaring the shit out of him). "The manager called the police, they're a couple of blocks away, if we stay we're gonna get caught up in the drama."

"Right," Foggy said, "okay, sure," because the division of labor also meant that Matt, as the one who spent twenty hours a week going out and illegally stopping petty crime, functioned as the reigning authority on the proper moment to book it.

**

"Okay, so," Foggy said, "two things: oh my god that was fucking amazing, next time you have to tell me so I can be sure to get a video on my phone -"

"Missing the point of the anonymous vigilante," Matt said, dryly, but he wanted to smile, Foggy could tell. His mouth was twitching. He was proud of himself; good, Foggy was too, because it had been an awesome shot, but:

" - which brings me to point two: do that again and I'll pop you in the nose, holy shit anybody could've seen you, Matt, you could've gotten shot! You don't have to save everybody in the city, we have a police force and at least half of them are good at their jobs -"

"I didn't really think about it," Matt said, honestly, and it was then, at 6:43pm on a Thursday, that they started down the path that Foggy would eventually name Now I've Gotta Beat Up A Blind Ninja. "Hey, take your best shot, it's fine."

That was surprising, honestly, but sure, maybe this was a secret vigilante bonding ritual that Foggy just didn't know about. Foggy caught Matt around the shoulders with one arm and brought his outside arm around to gently bop Matt's nose with his two knuckles. He did the same stuff to his nieces and nephews, honestly: not a big deal. "There," he said. "Go and sin no more. Think before Matt Murdock does-" he lowered his voice - "daredevil stuff in public."

Matt adjusted his stride so they were walking in sync, because ever since they'd had The Big Fight, he'd stopped initiating hugs and fistbumps. Every time Foggy hugged him or took his elbow or touched him, he'd cuddled up, though. "Yeah, yeah, father," he said, and there it was, Matt could somehow both be the most adorable boy you wanted to bring home to Mom and three seconds later a shining example of why society needed CPS - probably what Taylor Swift had meant with all that nightmare dressed like a daydream nonsense, no, Foggy was not ashamed: "no, you really can, though, I can take it."

"I know I can kick your ass, Matt," Foggy said, because there was no way in hell, but bravado worked well. (The kid had had a gun and he'd been less than twenty feet from Foggy; somebody could've gotten shot.) "I don't need to prove it."

"It's okay," Matt said, and whoops, there they went, down the rabbithole, because he suddenly sounded unsure and a little worried. "You said - that night, you said you'd kick my ass if I wasn't. And now you - I just mean, if you have some aggression you need to get out, I get it? Whoah - " because yeah, whoah, Foggy was sure that his heart had just thumped extra hard in his chest, what the hell kind of Fight Club shit was coming out of Matt's mouth? " - whoah, first hit's free, don't worry."

He managed to shut up thank god, instead of blurting out his first three or four responses: no, and also no, and just kidding, my bad, this is obviously not the thing we make jokes about ever again don't worry, and why would you say that, Matt - but his silence apparently made Matt nervous.

"Forget it, sorry, shouldn't've brought it up," he said, uncertainly.