Work Text:
The night is warm, in August. The air is humid, the kind of sticky humidity that makes your clothes cling to your body like sheets. It’s the kind of heat that makes you a little drunk on it. It’s mistake season, late summer, before it all collapses in fall.
Matthew sweats like the city in Elektra’s apartment. Elektra is a fire in the already-warm air, and she moves like one, quickly and curving and wild. So it’s quick breaths and silk sheets, and you get the idea, and when it’s done and the fire’s burned out, and all that’s left is sweat, Matthew sits on the edge of the bed, feeling the fist-sized guilt that resides in his chest cavity double in size.
Foggy is at home. Home. There is a home. Foggy’s up, probably, waiting. At home. Waiting for him to get home from ‘patrol’. Probably worried he’s out so late. In their shared apartment. Tomorrow- oh God, tomorrow- he would go to work with him. Together. Oh, God.
Matthew is not unused to guilt. He is not unused to sin. He is not unused to lying. He is not unused to lying to Foggy, even though he knows about Daredevil now.
You would think vigilantism would be a bigger secret than infidelity. But, somehow, the secret that would be easier to hide is the one that eats at him more. Because, hell, it would be so easy to hide this. To go home, not say anything, to live out the rest of his probably-short life without Foggy ever having to know. It would be so easy. But Matt knows it would kill him to do it.
Maybe it’s the choice of the matter. This was a choice. As much as people talk about temptation, and seduction, and sin, and mistakes, this was a choice. Matthew met with Elektra on patrol, and she flirted as usual, and he didn’t say anything in response, didn’t even look uncomfortable. And then, she took him to her penthouse, and he made a choice. Daredevil was not a choice. It didn’t feel like one, at least. But this was a choice. The worst choice.
Somehow, this is the worst thing he’s ever done.
Matthew puts on his clothes. He feels like throwing up. He puts on the mask, and he climbs out the window they entered through.
He goes straight home. His steps are quiet on the floorboards, in case Foggy’s asleep. He takes off the suit. He can hear Foggy’s heartbeat, asleep, and, for the first time in a long time, it feels almost like a crime. He gets into bed, next to Foggy’s sleeping form.
The sweat still clings to him.
—
In the morning, Matthew has a choice to make. Two options.
- Truth: Hurt Foggy. Lose Foggy. Lose everything. His work, his friends… all of it. But maybe, one day, be forgiven.
- Lie: Hide it. Pretend it never happened. Protect Foggy, maybe. Unless, he finds out later, in which case: hurt Foggy more.
He decides that he hasn’t decided yet. He doesn’t say anything to Foggy as they get ready for work. God, it’s all so domestic.
But, as it turns out, the choice is already made for him.
Jessica Jones storms into his office at 11am, holding her camera. She slams the door behind her.
“You fucking whore,” she says. Shit.
“Jessica-“
“Shut the fuck up, Matt. Shut the fuck up.”
“Jess, please-”
“No, no, fuck you, Matt. I have photos. You know I have photos. And I know you can’t see them, Matt, but trust me- they really show your good side while you’re fucking her,” she spits. “You’ve got twenty-four hours, Matt. Tell him yourself, or I’ll be the bearer of bad news.”
Matt’s eyes go wide. His mouth opens to speak, and nothing comes out.
“You know, I thought you would’ve been better than this.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Tell that to him.” She turns to leave.
“I… I will.”
“And Matt?” She stops, turning back around. “Even if he forgives you, I won’t.” She storms out.
The clock ticks. The guilt in Matt’s chest grows even more.
The door opens again. Foggy.
“What was that about? Everything alright?” Matt can hear the smile in his voice. Fuck. He can’t do this.
“Everything’s good, yeah.” He smiles, but he thinks it might be obviously false.
Foggy pauses. “Okay, yeah. Just checking,” he says, unsure, but he leaves.
The clock ticks. Fuck.
It’s a Friday. It’s a slow week for the office. Matt and Foggy go home early. They get takeout in their apartment. And then they’re sitting on the couch, and Matthew can’t stop sweating.
The clock ticks. He can hear the couple downstairs arguing.
The clock ticks. His mouth is dry.
“Hey, is everything alright, Matt? You seemed kinda… distant, today,” Foggy says, softly.
The clock ticks. Somewhere outside, someone’s car alarm is going off. The woman next door is making coffee, decaf. There is a baby crying somewhere in the building because of the heat.
The clock ticks.
“We need to talk, Foggy.”
—
After all of it, after tears and yelling and silence, Foggy leaves. He stays at Karen’s for the night. Or the next night. Nelson & Murdock closes. All the consequences Matthew knew would happen, all in order like dominos falling around him.
And yet he made his choice.