Chapter Text
It’s one of the first really chilly nights of fall, the kind of night that casts scraggly fingers of bare tree branches across the full moon and makes Foggy think of hot cocoa and ghost stories. He turns his collar up against the wind, hunches into it and moves a little faster on his way home. He was the last one in the office, which is half a triumph and half a worry - a triumph because Karen actually leaving at quitting time is a sign that she’s on the road to recovery, a worry because he knows perfectly well what Matt left the office to do.
He glances up at the thought, but there’s no sign of Daredevil bounding across the rooftops or shimmying up telephone poles or whatever it is he does. Foggy’s never actually seen him in action save for some grainy security footage on the news.
Which is probably a good thing. The people who get to see Daredevil in action tend to be either criminals or victims. Still, even after finding Matt in the mask, Foggy can’t quite picture it.
He’s two blocks from home when someone steps out of the shadows and blocks his path. Well, shit.
“Franklin Nelson?” the guy says. Well, double shit. Someone asking for him by name is probably not going to be satisfied with just his wallet like the two times Foggy was mugged in the pre-Daredevil days.
“Who’s asking?” Foggy asks warily, even though it’s such a gangster movie cliche that he feels like an idiot. He tries to think positive - maybe he’s about to be handed a giant novelty check or something. Maybe he’s about to be asked to join the Avengers!
The guy steps closer and Foggy takes a hasty step back. The stranger’s just a kid, really, but Foggy’s lived in Hell’s Kitchen too long not to know when someone means business. And he’s probably not an Avenger.
“Stay away from the Giacomo case,” the kid says.
Foggy wishes he hadn’t turned his collar up, because now he’s sweating. “Sorry, I can’t do that,” he says. “Ms. Giacomo is my client. I have a responsibility to her.”
“Wrong,” the kid says, and - oh, fuck - pulls out a switchblade. “Ms. Giacomo was your client.”
Foggy takes another step back, shaking, hands up. He’s ready to run but he knows he’s not faster than a skinny eighteen-year-old who probably does this all the time. “Come on, man, you don’t have to do this.”
“I do unless you drop the case,” the kid says, and he’s about to attack, Foggy can tell, awareness heightened and focusing on this one moment -
- and Daredevil drops down between them with a growl.
Foggy’s shocked momentarily speechless, which is probably good because it’s the only reason he doesn’t shout “MATT!” and then maybe start crying. Matt’s facing the kid now, anyway.
“You work for the Gulyas family,” he says. His voice is in a lower register than usual, a rumble along his bass notes. Foggy shivers, the sweat on his body starting to cool in the night air.
“Man, fuck you!” the kid says, and - points for bravery - lunges at Matt, knife first. Foggy’s breath catches in his throat as he stutters in place, torn between bolting from their attacker and trying futilely to help Matt.
Matt barely seems to move, but suddenly the knife is clattering across the sidewalk, and the kid is grabbing his wrist and cringing.
“You work for the Gulyas family,” Matt says again. The calm in his voice doesn’t bode well; Foggy’s heard that note in class and in court, before Matt utterly destroys his opponent. “Why did they send you after F-- after this man?”
The kid turns to run - and Matt grabs him, hauls him back by his collar and slams him into the side of the nearest building. His head hits the brick with an audible crack and Foggy winces.
The kid droops, sinking to the ground, and Matt hauls him up again by his jacket, shaking him. His head bobbles around like a hula girl on a truck driver’s dashboard. He’s out cold. “Wake up, I’m not done with you,” Matt snarls. “Why are you after him?”
He slams the kid into the wall again, which is going to do nothing except give him bruised shoulder blades to wake up to. “Answer me!”
“Ma - ” Foggy catches himself, just in case there’s someone in earshot. “Daredevil! Stop!”
Matt freezes, then drops the kid like he’s on fire and steps back. It’s hard to read his expression in the mask, but there’s something in his posture that reminds Foggy of a dog that knows it’s been bad. “I’m sorry,” he says, and that’s Matt’s pitch suddenly, Matt’s cadence. “I didn’t, I didn’t ever want you to see - ”
“Thank you for saving me, Daredevil,” Foggy says hastily, because he remembers Matt has a secret identity even if Matt doesn’t. “I’m lucky that you happened by, especially since we’re total strangers.”
Matt pauses, then straightens up. “Right,” he says, moving closer, way into Foggy’s personal space. “Are you all right?”
His voice is back down in the Daredevil register. The change is so abrupt Foggy can’t suppress another shiver. “I’m fine.”
Matt tilts his head. He looks thoughtful like this, alert. Focused. “I’m just glad I wasn’t too late,” he says.
That makes two of them. “No, your timing is impeccable.”
Matt grins at him. And - oh. Well. Matt’s always been model-handsome, but there’s something about the way his teeth flash in the darkness when he’s wearing the suit that makes his smile different. Mysterious. Dangerous.
Foggy sends up a silent thank you to the heavens that his heart was already racing before that smile.
“Glad to hear it,” Matt says. “Are you okay to get home, sir?”
It’s probably best not to think too hard about what Matt calling him “sir” does to Foggy’s stomach. He keeps his tone light with an effort. “I didn’t know you offered door-to-door service.”
“Not as a rule, but I’d be willing to make an exception,” Matt says, that sharp smile curling around the words. His gloved hand reaches for Foggy’s wrist, but doesn’t quite touch.
Foggy doesn’t move his wrist into Matt’s grasp, but he doesn’t move away, either. “I think I’ll be okay.”
“In that case…” Matt sways in slightly. His lips are redder than the suit. “Sweet dreams.”
Foggy blinks. Matt takes a few steps back, then bounds off onto the nearest trashcan, using it as a springboard onto a fire escape and up, over and over until he’s on the roof and out of sight.
Foggy lets out a shaky breath. “Well,” he says to no one. No one except Matt, who can probably still hear him. “Okay.”
*
Matt wasn’t flirting.
Maybe that’s just how superheroes talk. How would Foggy know? He’s never met any other superheroes. Maybe they all stand a little bit too close and smile a little bit too knowingly and wish you sweet dreams like they want to be in them. Maybe it’s an industry standard.
Of course, as far as Foggy knows, Matt has never met any other superheroes either, so he has no way of knowing what the industry standards are, but maybe there’s a message board or something.
Anyway, he’s back to his normal Matt voice and his normal Matt behavior now. It’s the next morning, and he’s leaning on Foggy’s desk, nursing a cup of coffee with a little line of worry over his glasses.
“I didn’t think the Giacomo case would be this dangerous,” he says. “Maybe we should tag team this one.”
“We don’t have the time, or the manpower,” Foggy points out. “You’ve got cases of your own. We agreed that handling clients solo would make the most sense.” Taking down Fisk has done a lot more than just make the neighborhood safer; they’ve had a steady influx of clients ever since, and though it’s doing wonders for their bank accounts, it’s getting harder and harder to balance the workload, especially since they’re both constitutionally incapable of turning down any client with a sob story. And there are a lot of sob stories in Hell’s Kitchen.
The Giacomo case is just one of them - a wrongful arrest, or at least Matt swears up and down that Maria Giacomo is telling the truth when she says she didn’t kill her cousin, and Foggy doesn’t need to be able to hear her heartbeat to agree. Sure, her family’s mobbed up to hell and back, but by all accounts her dad walked away from that two decades ago, and Maria’s only eighteen and clean as a whistle. She’s not the first woman found with blood on her hands who Nelson and Murdock have defended.
“That was when we thought this was just infighting between the Giacomos,” Matt protests. “Now the Hungarians are involved. I don’t like you in the middle of an interfamily fight by yourself.”
Foggy rolls his eyes. “I’m a big boy, Matty.”
“You’re wearing a tie with dinosaurs on it.”
Foggy glances down. “Pandas. Nice try.”
Matt shrugs and flashes a little smile. “It was worth a shot.” He grows serious again. “The point stands. What if they send someone else after you?”
Foggy raises his eyebrows. “I’m sorry, is Matt Murdock suggesting that we back down from defending an innocent woman because it might be dangerous? What about justice? What would Thurgood Marshall think?”
“What if Daredevil’s not around next time?” Matt retorted.
“Then I’ll ask Karen where she bought her pepper spray.”
“I’m serious, Foggy.”
“So am I!” Foggy put his own coffee cup down. “I called 911 last night, they’re already questioning the kid with the knife. And I told Brett. So the word’s probably out there already that the NYPD and Daredevil are both looking out for me, which means the Gulyases will probably decide to lean on someone else. But even if they don’t, what are you going to do helping me on the case as Matt Murdock that’ll stop someone from taking a shot at me on my way home?”
Matt stiffens and his hands tense so visibly on his coffee mug Foggy’s worried he’ll snap the handle off. “That won’t happen.”
“You’re right. It won’t. At least, I don’t think it will. And look, Matty, it’s not that I’m not…alarmed by what happened last night.” He spent two hours staring into the darkness last night before he finally managed to fall asleep, certain every sound was a Gulyas hitman coming to take him out, but Matt doesn’t need to know that. “But I’m not letting Maria take the fall for a murder she didn’t commit and you’re not leaving any of your clients high and dry, so let it go, okay?” He tries a smile, not that Matt can see it. “Besides, I got a superhero out there who likes me.”
Matt snorts, but he doesn’t argue. It’s a small victory.
Foggy starts to say something, closes his mouth, then tries again. “About that...last night…”
“Mmm?”
“Were you...when we were talking, after you knocked the guy out, were you…” Foggy rubs the back of his neck, trying to find a way to say this that doesn’t sound, well, vaguely pathetic.
Karen’s voice rings out in the outer office as she walks in, back from her early-morning dentist appointment. “Morning!”
Saved by the secretary.
Matt straightens up. “Table this discussion for now?” he murmurs, and Foggy nods, knowing Matt will pick up the motion. He’ll still tell Karen he was saved by Daredevil last night; she deserves to know when the cases they’re working are dangerous. She deserves to know who Daredevil is, too, but that’s not Foggy’s secret to tell, and so far Matt hasn’t caved under Foggy’s pressure.
As for Foggy’s question - well, he’s probably just imagining things. It’s for the best that he didn’t actually ask it.
*
Two nights later, he’s walking home late again when he becomes aware of someone following him. He’s not sure if it’s a sound that tips him off or motion out of the corner of his eye; he just knows. Maybe being around Matt and his freaky senses all the time is rubbing off on him.
As subtly as he can, he reaches into his pockets. Cell phone in one hand; newly-purchased pepper spray keychain in the other.
He glances down at his phone for a second as he taps in the code to unlock it and hears a soft thump. When he looks up, there’s someone directly in front of him.
“Gah!” he shouts. He jerks the pepper spray up, about to fire - and realizes it’s Daredevil. “Holy shit! Ma - uh, Dare - I - what the fuck are you doing here?”
Matt looks like he’s trying not to laugh, because he is a goddamned bastard. “My apologies, Mr. Nelson. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Mr. Nelson. Jesus Christ, Matt. “Somehow I find that hard to believe,” Foggy says, trying to sound dry even though he knows Matt can hear that his heart is still racing. “Why are you - wait. That was you following me?”
Matt has the grace to at least look a little sheepish. “Well, after the...incident two nights ago, I thought it might be good to keep an...keep an eye on you.” A trace of amusement flickers across the lower half of his face. Right. Daredevil isn’t supposed to be blind.
“Are you kidding me? Didn’t we talk about this?” Foggy asks, putting his phone and keys back in his pockets.
“Uh, no, Mr. Nelson, I don’t think we discussed this at all,” Matt says.
Right. Foggy talked about this with Matt, not Daredevil. And Foggy was the one who pointed out that they shouldn’t be talking about secret identity stuff while Matt’s in costume, even if Matt can probably tell whether anyone’s around to listen in.
Foggy sighs. “Fine. So...what now? Are you convinced I’m safe, or do you need to haunt me all the way back to my doorstep?”
Matt cocks his head, something Foggy is starting to realize is his way of scanning his surroundings for sensory information. “I can walk a few blocks with you.”
That...wasn’t what Foggy meant. He’d expected that Matt would follow him from the roofs or from the shadows like a big creepy weirdo, not amble down Tenth Avenue like a smaller, slightly less creepy weirdo. But hey, he probably won’t get jumped like this. “Okay,” he says.
They fall silent as they walk. Normally Foggy would be chattering away a mile a minute, but he’s not quite sure what’s safe to say when Matt is Daredevil. “Sorry,” he says finally.
“For what?”
Matt’s profile is still recognizably his - Foggy knew in his gut who the man bleeding on the floor of Matt’s apartment was that terrible night, well before he pulled the mask off - but there’s something about it in the suit that makes Foggy keep sneaking sidelong glances at him. “I feel like I should be entertaining you or something.”
Matt’s smile splits the night. “Maybe I just like your company.”
And there is, again, that playful rumble in Matt’s bass notes. Obviously Matt likes Foggy’s company - either that or the Catholic in him has led him to be even more self-flagellating than usual, since they spend pretty much all of their daylight hours together. But there’s something more than affection in his tone, something that usually only comes out when he’s drunk, or talking to a pretty girl.
Well, two can play at that game. “I bet you say that to all the lawyers you save from knifings and then stalk on their evening commutes,” Foggy says, batting the shuttlecock back across the net.
And Matt spikes it. “No,” he says. “Just the cute ones.”
Foggy actually stumbles, trips on nothing and just barely catches himself. “Uh…”
“Sorry. Was that out of line?” Matt says. “Is there a Mrs. Nelson at home?”
Is he high? He knows perfectly well there’s not. Or is this whole thing just some weird way to enforce the separation between Matt and Daredevil?
Because Matt’s comments aren’t open for interpretation. This is flirting. Matt is flirting with him.
Daredevil is flirting with him.
Matt’s waiting for a response. Grabbing him by the shoulders and demanding to know why he’s being so weird isn’t an option, so - what the hell. Foggy wouldn’t last ten seconds in the ring with Matt, but he can sure as hell match him for flirt for flirt. “Alas, no,” he says. “Not even a potential one. I am entirely available.”
His heart is racing again. God, life was easier before he knew Matt could hear that.
“Huh,” Matt says. “Must be my lucky day.”
By some miracle, Foggy doesn’t choke. “It’s night,” he manages to point out.
“Even better.” Matt comes to a stop, turning to face Foggy full-on. “I’ve always found nights to be the luckiest times for me.”
He leans in close, and Foggy wonders for a heart-stopping moment if Matt is going to kiss him - but no, Matt hovers an inch away. Still smiling. “I think you can make it from here.”
Foggy blinks, startled. They’re only a block away from his apartment building. He hadn’t even noticed.
“Stay safe, Mr. Nelson,” Matt says. “I’d much rather be walking you home than saving you from ruffians.”
“Uh,” Foggy says. It’s hard to think with Matt this close.
Matt steps back, gives Foggy a jaunty little wave, and strolls off around the nearby corner. Foggy suspects that if he hurried to follow, Matt would already be out of sight.
Okay. That’s...okay.
Foggy starts moving again. He’s only a block from home, and that means he’s only a block away from a beer or three that might help this all start making sense.
*
If Foggy angles his chair just right, he can look out the door of his office, past Karen, and straight into Matt’s. He can only kind of see the side of Matt’s face, but it gives him something to study: half a scruffy eyebrow; half a dark red lens from the glasses Foggy had scoured the city for so he could give Matt the perfect graduation present; one perfect cheekbone.
Matt’s listening to his screen reader, apparently totally focused. He doesn’t look like he’s on the brink of sauntering over to Foggy’s desk and asking if it hurt when Foggy fell from heaven or offering to make Foggy’s bed rock or wow, Foggy needs to come up with better hypothetical lines.
But he was flirting last night.
Why? Or rather, why last night, and the time before that, the night with the Gulyas kid? If Matt wants to flirt with Foggy, he’s had a decade to do it. And it’s not like he doesn’t have reason to think Foggy would be amenable, not after Foggy managed to stick his foot in it over Matt’s beauty within thirty seconds of meeting him. Even if Foggy managed to rein it in after that, even if his comments about Matt’s looks and charms and how much Foggy wants to kiss him have always had the cadence of jokes, Matt’s got to know, right? Especially with that whole heartbeat thing. He’s got to know, and he’s just not interested.
Which is fine. Foggy respects that. But that doesn’t explain why Matt suddenly seems to think hitting on Foggy is an integral component of protecting him.
“You know, I can tell when you’re staring at me,” Matt says, loud enough for Foggy to hear it.
Foggy jumps, startled, then scowls in Matt’s direction. “No, you can’t. And I wasn’t.”
“You two aren’t being weird again, are you?” Karen asks, glancing back and forth between them.
“Karen, have you ever once known me to be weird?” Foggy asks.
“You’re really gonna give me a setup like that?”
“I’m a very generous employer.”
“Get back to work, Foggy,” Matt calls, an audible chuckle in his voice, and puts his earbud back in.
Karen gives Foggy a questioning look, and he shrugs, hoping it looks casual, before turning back to his own computer. If there’s a solution to the mystery that is Matt Murdock, it looks like he’s not finding it today.
*
Foggy buttons up his jacket as he leaves the precinct. He’s been running around all day - first out to Rikers to talk to Maria, who has no idea why the Gulyas family would be involved; then all the way downtown to the county clerk’s office for some paperwork; and finally back up to the precinct in Hell’s Kitchen for yet more paperwork. He looks forward to the city finally joining the digital age, although at this pace it won’t be until after he’s retired.
It’s dark by the time he gets through picking up his paperwork and trading playful barbs with Brett, and Foggy shivers a little against the chill of the night air. His path leads him through the precinct parking lot, half-full of unused patrol cars. He’s weaving his way through them when someone calls out his name.
“Nelson, right?”
Foggy turns around. “Officer Thompson.” He’s young, maybe a few years younger than Foggy. It’s still weird to think there are real cops younger than him - Foggy still feels like a kid half the time. He’s never spoken to Thompson before but he’s heard him testify in court and Brett’s mentioned him once or twice. Never anything good, unfortunately for Thompson.
“Heard you’re working the Giacomo case,” Thompson says.
Foggy tenses slightly. “Indeed I am.”
“You sure that’s a good idea?” Thompson asks.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing. Just. You know what they say about the Giacomos,” Thompson says. “The whole family’s made. Better to not get mixed up in it. Even if the Giacomo kid didn’t kill her cousin, she probably did something else, or will. She’s not worth your time.”
“Thank you for the warning, officer, but if I didn’t believe that my eighteen-year-old client was innocent, I wouldn’t have taken her case,” Foggy says, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder.
“Hey, yeah, fair enough,” Thompson said, spreading his hands easily. “An honest lawyer. What are the odds?”
It’s the kind of joke that Brett, and even Foggy himself, makes all the time, but it rubs Foggy the wrong way coming out of Thompson’s mouth. “At least as good as the odds of an honest cop in Hell’s Kitchen,” he retorts, because he is a moron.
Thompson’s still smiling. “Everyone says you’ve got a mouth on you,” he says, and Foggy’s a little surprised that he doesn’t add “no homo” because Thompson’s so the kind of guy who would. “That’s gonna get you in trouble.”
“Isn’t that why we have the police?” Foggy asks. “In case of trouble?”
“Yeah,” Thompson says. He rests his hands on his hip - shit, no, not his hip. His holster. And when did he get so close? “So when a police officer suggests that you stay away from a case, I’d take it pretty seriously if I were you.”
“Sounds like good advice,” Foggy says. His heart is pounding. This would be a great time for Matt to come swinging in - but of course wanted vigilante Daredevil isn’t going to be hanging out around the police precinct.
And Foggy’s a bit of a shit, honestly, and he doesn’t like being bullied, so even though he knows it’s stupid, he smiles big and adds, “Too bad I’m not that smart.”
Thompson takes another step closer, and he’s not smiling anymore. “Listen, Nelson - ”
“Hey, Foggy!”
They both freeze. Brett’s coming towards them, rubbing his hands together against the cold. “Good, you’re still here,” he says. “I forgot, my mom wanted me to invite you over to dinner on Saturday. Murdock can come too, if he wants.” He glances at Thompson, whose hand has dropped to hang in the air, a neutral position. “Everything okay out here?”
“Yeah, we were just chatting,” Thompson says. “I’ll see you around, Nelson.”
“Yeah,” Foggy echoes, a little weakly.
He and Brett both watch as Thompson heads back to the building. “You okay?” Brett asks.
“Fine,” Foggy says. “He just wanted to talk about the Giacomo murder.”
“Really.” Brett gives him a knowing look. “What does he care?”
Foggy shrugs. It’s either let bravado carry him or fall weeping on Brett’s manly shoulder, and he thinks the former’s a better look on him. Thompson probably wouldn’t have done anything right outside of the precinct like this, but he certainly wanted Foggy to think he would. “No idea. How’d you know I was still out here, anyway?”
Brett points up. “The idiot decided to strong-arm you directly under a security camera.”
Well. At least Foggy’s new enemy in the police department is not a particularly savvy one.
“Hey,” Brett goes on. “Be careful, okay? Thompson’s stupid but he’s mean, and just because I don’t have anything on him yet doesn’t mean he’s clean.”
“I’m always careful,” Foggy says.
“You’re full of shit,” Brett says, but he claps a hand on Foggy’s shoulder and gives him a rare smile.
Foggy smiles back. It’s nice to know Foggy’s got a couple friends looking out for him, even if one won’t admit it and the other’s a lunatic in red pajamas.
He still walks home fast, though, and locks all four locks when he gets inside his apartment.
One nerve-settling drink later, he picks up the phone he’s been staring at for twenty minutes and texts Matt: That cop Thompson leaned on me at the precinct tonight. Think he’s connected to one of the G families. Stay safe. He doesn’t want Matt to worry about him, and he really doesn’t want Matt fussing over him like a mama bear - he’s terrible at the mama bear act, he should really leave it to Foggy - but he also doesn’t want Matt to maybe trust a cop he shouldn’t, in or out of the Daredevil suit.
He gets a text back a few minutes later: You okay?
Fine. Brett was there. Just be careful.
There’s no answer. Foggy tries not to catastrophize all the reasons that might be the case. Matt’s answering his regular phone - there's no point in Foggy texting the burner, it can’t read the texts to Matt - which means he’s not suited up. Not yet, anyway.
He nukes an unsatisfying frozen burrito for dinner, manages half of it, and throws the rest out. Stares at the TV without really watching it. Gives up and gets ready for bed.
He’s just turning down the covers when he hears a noise on his fire escape, and his heart leaps into his throat. His mother didn’t want him taking an apartment with a fire escape outside the bedroom window. At the time he’d scoffed; the window has locks, after all, and he’d only be marginally safer with a crazed window-entering axe murderer in the living room as opposed to the bedroom. Now he thinks she might have had a point.
He grabs for his phone - to call the police or Matt or chuck at the intruder’s head, he’s not sure - when whoever’s on the fire escape…knocks.
So. Probably not an axe murderer, then.
He marches over to the window and yanks the curtain back. Sure enough, there’s Matt. No, there's Daredevil.
Foggy rolls his eyes, unlocks the window, and pushes it up. “What are you doing?”
“Just wanted to make sure that you were okay, Mr. Nelson,” Matt says. His voice is low and very dark. “I don’t like hearing that you’ve been threatened.”
“You could have called,” Foggy points out. “Amazing what they can do with phone technology these days. Games, cameras, and you can even ask someone a question and get an answer right away.”
“I don’t…” Matt makes a soft noise and looks down. “I wanted to see for myself.”
Foggy’s pretty sure no one’s listening in on their conversation on his fire escape. “Matt, I know you’re blind…” he starts to say, then notices that Matt’s tugging one of his gloves off. “What’s...what are you…”
Matt puts his bare hand on Foggy’s throat.
Foggy goes absolutely still. Not because he’s scared. He trusts Matt with his life, and it’s not that kind of touch anyway; Matt’s thumb is next to his fingers, not gripping, and the touch is light. His fingertips are resting on Foggy’s pulse point.
Which defeats the purpose, because it’s going through the roof now. No, scared isn’t what he is. “Matt…” he tries.
“Shhh,” Matt says. “Not when I’m in the suit.”
It’s stupid - almost as stupid as the fact that Foggy flushes hot when he says it. “Come on…” he protests a little weakly, and then falls silent as Matt steps in a little closer, right into Foggy’s personal space. They’re still on opposite sides of the window, but it feels as intimate as anything they’ve ever done.
Matt breathes in deep; Foggy watches his nostrils flare, his chest expand, and wonders what he smells like. Hopefully not too much like sweat and frozen burrito.
Matt’s mouth twitches. “Are you nervous, Mr. Nelson?”
Foggy scowls. “No.” Yes. “Are you done? Have you gotten whatever it is you hope to get out of - ”
Matt’s fingers skim up over Foggy’s jaw and land on his mouth. Foggy freezes again.
“Keep talking,” Matt whispers.
“I,” Foggy tries, and then, “you,” and then, “what exactly are we doing here?” He can feel Matt’s fingers tracing his lips as they move. Matt’s face in the mask gives nothing away.
“Do you want me to stop?” Matt asks. His fingers slide off Foggy’s mouth, over his cheekbone, and get lost in his hair.
Foggy swallows. “No,” he says, and it’s barely audible, but he knows Matt can hear it.
Matt’s hand curves around his skull. He’s still taking those deep breaths, like he could inhale Foggy if he just tries hard enough. Like Foggy’s oxygen. “You’re not hurt,” he says.
“No,” Foggy agrees.
“But you were scared.”
Foggy doesn’t know if Matt can sense that, somehow, or if he’s just guessing. Either way he’s right - but Foggy’s not about to admit it. “I’m all right.”
Matt’s mouth tenses like something pains him, and he takes another step towards Foggy, until his boots have got to be butting up against the outside of the building. “I will never let anything happen to you. You know that, right?” His head tips closer, so close his forehead’s practically touching Foggy’s. Foggy wonders if the mask would be cool to the touch, or if Matt’s body heat radiates out enough to warm it. “Never.”
Foggy’s throat is dry. He licks his lips. “I know,” he says.
Matt gives him a faint smile - he’s so close Foggy practically has to go cross-eyed to see it - and take another breath...and then suddenly pulls back, head turned into the wind. If he could perk his ears like a dog, Foggy’s sure they’d be sky-high.
“What?” Foggy asks, and then realizes. “Someone needs help?”
“I don’t…” Matt’s hand drops from Foggy’s hair, but he doesn’t put his glove back on.
“Go,” Foggy says. The spell’s broken, anyway, and it’s freezing with the window open. He wraps his arms around himself as if it’ll do any good. “I’ll see you in the of-- ” No. He’ll see Matt in the office. “I’ll see you around.”
Matt gives him one last smile as he pulls his glove on. “You can count on that, Mr. Nelson,” he says, and then he springs to the railing of the fire escape, and clambers up until he’s out of sight even when Foggy cranes his neck out the window to look.
“Stay safe,” Foggy calls after him - not loud, but he knows Matt’ll hear it. He closes the window, but the chill is in his bedroom now, and even under the blankets it takes a while for him to get warm enough to sleep.
When he does, he dreams of red leather.
*
“Hey, Karen?”
“Mm?” Karen doesn’t look up from the budget spreadsheet she’s currently scowling at, even when Foggy perches on her desk. It’s nine in the morning and Matt doesn’t tend to make it in until ten, usually looking rumpled and exhausted. It used to make Foggy fiercely jealous, when he thought Matt was making a tour of every beautiful woman’s bed in Manhattan. Now it just makes him worry.
“You remember when Daredevil saved you?” he asks. “You know, back when we first met, when he was rocking the black pajamas?”
“That’s a little hard to forget, Foggy,” Karen says, frowns deeper, and adjusts an Excel formula.
“Did he, uh.” Foggy forces his shoulders down. “Did he, like...flirt with you?”
Now she looks up. “What?”
Foggy’s pretty sure his blush is visible from space. “You know, was he all business, all ‘hrn’ and ‘grr’ and ‘justice,’ or was he...did he…”
“Flirt,” Karen says. “Did he...Foggy, we were both bleeding in the rain next to a murderer. No, he didn’t flirt with me! I mean, come on, you said you met him, when he gave you the stuff to take down Fisk - did he flirt with you?” Her eyes widen. “Oh my God, did he flirt with you?”
“No!” Foggy says too quickly. It’s almost, sort of, not a lie. He wouldn’t really classify last night as flirting, anyway. More like...well, more like foreplay. But that can’t possibly be the right word, either.
“He did!” Karen concludes. She looks absolutely delighted, damn her eyes. “Oh my god, this is amazing. This is hilarious. Are you going to hyphenate? Franklin Nelson-Devil.”
“Shut up,” he grumbles, and starts to head back to his office.
She gasps. “Oh no. What does Matt think?”
He freezes. “What. Uh. What do you mean, what does Matt think, why would Matt think anything about, uh, about Daredevil?” Smooth, Nelson.
“I think Matt would think a lot of things about you leaving him to run off with a sexy vigilante,” Karen says, raising an eyebrow.
Foggy’s laugh is a little too loud. “Yeah. Okay. Karen, I know Matt and I might seem married, but we’re just…” Nighttime fire escape face-touching buddies, apparently. Then he catches himself. “And I’m not running off with Daredevil!”
Karen’s eyebrow remains firmly raised. Also, she looks about two seconds away from laughing at him.
“Shut up. You’re fired.”
“You can’t fire me, I’m the only one who knows how to bill your clients.”
“Fired! And no, I will not be a reference for you.” Foggy closes the door to his office, but he can still hear Karen’s laughter.
*
Matt comes in a little before ten and acts like everything’s normal. Foggy spills coffee on himself three separate times when Matt speaks to him.
*
He agonizes for over an hour before calling Claire that night. He only has her number for emergencies, and even then Matt the world-class compartmentalizer didn’t want to give it to him; he stole it off the received calls log on Matt’s burner when he was over at Matt’s a couple months ago.
He did tell Matt, after the fact. He’s not a total jerk.
He also texted Claire after he’d left Matt’s that night: Hey, this is F, M’s friend. No need to text back but I thought it’d be good to have each other’s numbers for emergencies.
Ten minutes later she’d responded: Good idea, thanks. How pissed is he?
Foggy likes Claire a lot.
They don’t talk frequently, just occasional heads-up over the physical state of their favorite vigilante moron, but Foggy feels unsettled enough that he finally picks up the phone and dials.
“Foggy?” Claire says when she answers. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, he’s fine,” Foggy says quickly. “I mean. Everything’s fine. I’m not catching you on shift, am I?”
“No, I’m home. What’s up?”
“Uh.” Now that he has her on the phone, this feels even more excruciatingly awkward than talking to Karen about it. “It’s about Matt.”
“I figured,” she says wryly. “Either that or you were calling to see if I can diagnose strep throat or something over the phone and I was about to hang up on you.”
Foggy’s laugh probably comes out a bit too high-pitched. “Ha! No. I. No. I was just wondering if…” He scrubs a hand over his face. “Matt’s been acting a bit strange lately, and I was wondering if...does he act…different with you? Like, when he’s in the mask versus when he’s not?”
“Different how?”
And that’s the question Foggy doesn’t want to answer. “More, uh. Aggressive?”
“Like, violent?” Claire asks. She sounds slightly alarmed.
“No, no, nothing like that...I mean, he’s violent with criminals, yeah, but he would never...he didn’t...no,” Foggy says. “Um. He. Is he. Does he.” Oh, the hell with it. “Does he flirt with you more when he’s in the suit.”
There’s a very long silence on the other end of the line. “Uh...not really?” Claire says. “I mean, he’s usually pretty, uh. He’s kind of flirty in general?” Right, of course he is, Claire’s a beautiful woman and Matt is incorrigible. “But it’s the same amount no matter what he’s wearing. Or how much he’s bleeding.”
Foggy makes some kind of noise even he can’t describe, a muffled, tragic kind of snort into his hands.
“Does he...flirt with you more when he’s in the suit?” Claire asks, and there’s something in her tone that suddenly reminds Foggy that, oh yeah, she and Matt had an actual thing. Which makes Foggy a total asshole.
“...No?”
“Foggy.”
“Okay, yes.” He sighs. “Sorry. “I didn’t think...I didn’t mean to make this weird for you.”
“Yeah, it would suck if a conversation with the best friend of the guy who keeps climbing through my window half dead so I can stitch him up got weird.” Well, she doesn’t sound heartbroken, so that’s something. “Look, why don’t you just ask him what’s going on?”
Because there’s no graceful way to bring it up in conversation. Because Matt might jump out the window to evade the question.
Because Matt might stop.
“Yeah,” Foggy says. “You’re right. I should probably...do that. Talk to him. I’m...sorry, Claire.”
Now it’s her turn to sigh. “I was the one who called it off with him. You’re not...no one’s the bad guy here.”
“I’m not even sure there’s a ‘here,’ here,” he admits.
“Fair enough,” she says. “But hey. Listen. What Matt does...it doesn’t leave a lot of room for good things, you know? If you...I mean.” She pauses. “Don’t waste it, is all I’m saying.”
“Yeah,” he says, and “thanks, Claire,” and hangs up.
Then he sits with his head in his hands for a very long time.
*
He’s taken to carrying his pepper spray keychain in his hand when he walks home, just to save himself the step of taking it out of his pocket. It doesn’t do him a lot of good, because when a voice behind him says, “Please don’t use that on me,” he just yelps and drops it.
“Sorry,” Matt - well, Daredevil - says as Foggy whirls around, not sounding one bit sorry. He’s even smirking, the bastard. "Didn't mean to startle you."
"You know, lying does not become you," Foggy says to cover the way his heart is still racing as he picks up the keychain. Even though he knows Matt can still hear it. “You love it. Jumping out of the shadows. Sproinging around on fire escapes.”
“Sproinging?”
“You sproing. Don’t even pretend that you don’t.” Foggy pockets his keychain; he’s got a big strong superhero to protect him now. “Here to escort me home again, Mr. Devil?”
“If you don’t mind.”
“My very own gentleman caller. Mother will be so pleased.”
Matt laughs, and that nearly ruins it. He might drop down into his Phantom of the Opera voice when he’s suited up, but his laugh is still pure Matt, and Foggy can’t keep up the playful banter if Matt’s going to keep poking at the tender parts of his heart like that.
But then Matt bows, and gestures in the direction Foggy was walking. “Shall we?”
And, well, it’s not like Foggy’s ever been able to refuse Matt anything before.
“So,” he says, as they head towards his block, “any leads on why the Gulyases sent someone to perforate me?”
Matt tenses, visible even in the suit, and Foggy’s not sure whether it’s because he’s brought up something serious instead of flirting, or because he’s joking about his own near-death experience. Maybe both.
“I’ve been…asking around,” Matt says, with a delicate pause before the euphemism. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think that kid was hired to kill you. Just to rough you up a bit. Scare you.” His smile is a terror. “They say he woke up screaming in the hospital, so I guess we know who really wound up scared.”
“Well, um, kudos?” Foggy says. “I mean, yeah, I guess it’s good that they’re not actually trying to off me. I suppose it would look a titch suspicious if Maria’s lawyer turned up dead. Plus my partner would nail their asses to the wall.” He tosses Matt a grin, even if it’s mostly a wasted gesture.
But Matt’s jaw is working visibly, and his fists are clenched. “I...you…” He stops, starts again. “I don’t think your partner would be good for much of anything if you turned up dead. Maybe ever.”
And that’s too much, right there; Foggy can’t bear the tension in Matt’s frame or the rawness of his voice. “Well,” he says, but it comes out more choked than he wanted it to, “good thing I’ve got you looking out for me.”
Matt opens his mouth - then freezes. Cocks his head into the wind, then grabs Foggy and hauls him around a corner.
“What are you - ”
“Someone’s coming,” Matt says, voice low. “You shouldn’t be seen with me. It’s already too widely known that Nelson and Murdock is connected with Daredevil.”
“You’re the one - ” Foggy starts.
“Shhh!”
Foggy lowers his voice to a hiss. “You’re the one who keeps offering to carry my books home from school.”
“Shut up!” The facade of the building they’re next to offers a little alcove and Matt pulls Foggy into it by his lapels; Matt’s back in the corner, Foggy blocking him in. “What color is your coat?”
“What?”
“Shhh!” Matt hisses again, and puts a finger on Foggy’s mouth to shush him. The leather is cool against Foggy’s lips, but his breath, close enough to feel against Foggy’s jaw, is warm.
“You just asked me - ”
“Whisper!”
Foggy lets out a long-suffering - but quiet - sigh. “Gray,” he whispers. “Dark gray.”
“Okay.”
“What?”
“It won’t show too much in the dark,” Matt explains. “Though my suit would show less.”
“Well, next time you can be on top,” Foggy whispers. Catches himself. Flushes hot. “I mean, the outside. I mean. You know what I mean.”
Matt’s suit might not show in the dark, but his smirk absolutely does. Smirking and leather-clad and Foggy’s got him pinned into a corner and Jesus, if he could go back in time and tell his hopelessly infatuated nineteen-year-old self about this moment...well, he probably would’ve had a heart attack and not lived to see twenty.
“Shut up,” Foggy whispers for good measure, even though Matt hasn't said anything. Matt just grins at him. They’re close enough that Foggy can feel Matt’s chest expanding when he breathes. He’s got to get out of here before he embarrasses himself beyond repair. “Are they gone?”
Matt tilts his head, listening. “Yeah,” he says.
Foggy starts to move away.
Matt hooks a hand back in his lapel, pulls him in close, and kisses him.
“Mmph,” Foggy says against Matt’s lips, a stunned, muffled sound. In his defense, though, Matt is kissing him, hot and fast and over before Foggy can do anything about it. He slips out from between Foggy and the wall and Foggy makes a shaky, uncertain half-turn to face him again.
“Two blocks,” Matt says, and it takes Foggy a minute to realize he’s talking about the distance from here to Foggy’s home. “You can make it from here, right?”
Foggy searches for his voice. “Yeah,” he says finally. “Yeah, I can...I can.”
“Good.” Matt licks his lips - oh God, Foggy lived to twenty but he might not make it to thirty at this rate - and steps back. “Stay safe, Mr. Nelson.”
He slips around the corner, back the way they came. This time, Foggy makes himself follow, once his legs are working again; makes himself look.
But Matt’s already gone.