“Why is the suit in your desk?” Foggy asks. It’s late on a Friday night, and Karen left ages ago. Matt has just told him that he “doesn’t need to go home to change, Foggy,” and Foggy is currently looking at what is either a very red file folder or a certain superhero costume peaking out of Matt’s top drawer.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Matt folds his hands on top of his desk and looks up at Foggy, his eyebrows raised innocently over his glasses.
“So that’s just, what? Your spare pair of boxers?”
“Like I said,” Matt says, trying to surreptitiously nudge the drawer closed with his knee, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Uh-huh.” Foggy crosses his arms. He takes a certain amount of pleasure from knowing the gesture isn’t wasted on Matt. “If you were hoping to give me plausible deniability, you probably should have thought that through before you brought your other work into this work. Honestly, Matt. What are you going to do if one of our clients sees that?” Or Karen, Foggy thinks, but Matt knows that Karen is a smart cookie just as well as Foggy does.
“Foggy,” Matt says, his tone gently chiding, “what superhero would leave his costume in his place of employment? Clearly, I’ve been framed. You could get them to drop charges based just on that.”
“You have an impressive amount of faith in my lawyering abilities, Murdock, but no one is going to let me run with that one. It's pretty difficult to miss. Maybe you aren’t aware, but that suit is pretty bright red.”
This is a lie. It’s a very dull, dark red, like the color of dried blood, which Foggy suspects is intentional. When poking out of Matt’s desk, though, it might as well be the color of ketchup.
Matt’s mouth twitches. “You’re only telling me now that red isn’t my color?”
Foggy has the strong urge to bash his head against the doorjamb. “You know, whenever I tell Karen that you have a sense of humor, she looks at me like I’m crazy. It’s bad, Matt. If you don’t do something about it soon, she’s going to suspect you’re a brooding superhero without you even having to pull out that mask of yours.”
Matt’s mouth twitches again. “I sincerely doubt that.”
Foggy spreads his hands. “I can’t help the truth. It’s going to happen whether you like it or not.” Something sad edges in at the corners of Matt’s mouth. “Have you thought about telling her?” Foggy asks quietly, dropping his hands.
“Yes,” Matt says, flipping up the corner of a piece of paper on his desk over and over. “It’s not the right time.”
Foggy sighs. When is it ever, he wants to say, but they’ve had this conversation before. He slaps a hand on Matt’s doorjamb. “I’m heading out. Think about it, okay?”
Matt nods. “Foggy,” he says. Foggy turns back to him. Matt’s eyes are worried behind his glasses. “Be safe, okay?”
“You too, buddy.”
It turns out that the reason Matt keeps the suit in his office is because crime does not sleep, eat, or apparently even have a day job.
It’s the middle of the afternoon, Karen is making a house call on one of their clients who just got out of the hospital, and Foggy is trying to explain to Matt why vigilantes don’t need to menace crooked bailiffs on the courthouse steps.
“I appreciate the poetics of the situation, but blind justice should probably not hang around the house of legal justice, especially not when that is a place where there are so many eyewitnesses and security cameras.” Foggy pauses for dramatic effect. “Especially since you are committing a crime.”
“It was extenuating circumstances.”
Foggy follows Matt into his office. “But the courthouse?”
Matt shrugs out of his jacket and drops it over the back of his desk chair. “And I’m good at avoiding security cameras.”
“It’s not like you don’t know all about being sneaky, so why don’t you put that to good use? I’m sure even bailiffs wander down dark alleys occasionally.”
Matt moves to the corner of the room out of sight of the windows and loosens his tie.
“I mean, I understand that it was time-sensitive, but you have to admit that was taking it a little far.”
“Mm.” Matt tosses his tie over the back of the chair and starts unbuttoning his shirt.
“Really, it’s - Matt. What are you doing.” Foggy’s heart lurches like it isn’t sure it enjoys living in his ribcage. Matt’s eyebrows only inch a little higher as he sheds his dress shirt and unbuckles his belt. “Matt! You can’t just - just put on the suit!”
“Foggy,” Matt says, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a smile. “How else will they know I’m Daredevil?”
Foggy opens his mouth to say something, but then Matt drops his pants down to his ankles. Foggy turns away abruptly, his face burning with heat. Sure, he has seen Matt in boxers before, but not without warning, and not recently.
“Does that really require stripping in your own office?”
“Your windows face the street,” Matt points out.
“Ha. Not what I meant.” Foggy’s palms are sweating, and the heat on his face is spreading to his ears and the back of his neck. “It’s the middle of the day! Civilians are about and awake and – walking down the street right outside of our office building. What are the extenuating circumstances this time?”
“You can relax,” Matt tells him. “You can also turn around. You’ve seen me undressed plenty of times.”
“Yeah, when we were roommates! You can’t just – drop trou in front of a guy without some warning!”
Matt snorts. “Who even says that, Foggy.”
“I do. I say that.”
“You’ve been watching too much of that show.”
“I’m offended. Offended, Matt. No one drops anything on Downton.”
Matt lets out a huff of laughter, and Foggy finally turns around.
There was extensive news footage of Daredevil in the suit post-Fisk, and the costume has shown up regularly on the news since then. It’s not like Foggy doesn’t know what the suit looks like. But Foggy hasn’t really seen Matt in the suit before.
Only the cowl and the gloves are left. Foggy’s eyes follow the movement as Matt pulls on one of the gloves and wiggles his fingers. Foggy can’t help himself. He runs his eyes down the suit. This is the first time he has ever seen Matt wearing it up close and in good lighting. It…fits him. Really well.
Foggy realizes too late that Matt must be able to tell because he stiffens. Shit, Foggy thinks, and tries to focus on the patches of black leather – do they really repel bullets the way the tabloids claim they do? – but it’s too late. Matt licks his lips. He pulls on his other glove with sharper motions that make it look almost perfunctory and a little less like a reverse striptease.
“I should go,” Matt says. Foggy doesn’t think he meant to drop his voice an octave, but Foggy’s breath catches anyway.
“You do that,” Foggy says, the calmness of his voice at odds with the pounding of his heart. He takes in a small, shaky breath. “I’ll, uh. See you later.”
Matt nods. Before either of them can make this any more awkward, he steps around Foggy and heads straight for the windows. He pulls on the helmet and shoves the window open.
“Matt.” Matt turns his head. Foggy takes a deep breath. “Be safe.”
Matt nods and steps out of the window.
Foggy walks into the office a few weeks later to find Matt already sitting behind his desk. This is odd in itself, but Foggy takes Matt’s grunted greeting as the evidence of a bad night and decides to brew the coffee himself before Karen gets here, just to be nice. He makes it all the way to his own desk before he realizes that Matt’s shirt looks suspiciously pink.
He does a U-turn and walks into Matt’s office. “Are you wearing what I think you’re wearing underneath your very nice suit?”
Matt raises his head from his screenreader. There are dark circles under his eyes. “Probably,” he says shortly.
“Because that shirt, while a very nice shirt, is kind of see-through. Please tell me you did not walk all the way here like that.”
“I slept here last night.”
“Why?” Foggy demands. Matt looks pained. Of course; important documents in the office that need protecting from whoever is after their tiny law firm now. Matt might have mentioned it yesterday. Foggy didn’t think he would actually do anything about it, other than lock the door for once. “Don’t you keep a change of clothes in your desk?”
Matt looks miserable. “This is my change of clothes.”
“And there wasn’t an undershirt in there? Because an extra layer of fabric would probably help with this situation.”
“It’s too hot.”
It is a little stuffy in the office, even though the air outside is cool and fresh. Foggy would open a window if the smell of garbage warming nicely in the sun didn’t make that a worse alternative.
“Then take off the suit.”
“I can’t.” Foggy waits him out. Matt hunches his shoulders. “I don’t keep underwear in my desk,” he mumbles.
Foggy’s brain short-circuits. Does that mean Matt isn’t wearing underwear right now? Or does that mean that what he is wearing under the suit is so sweaty and gross he can’t bring himself to change? “Look, at least promise me you’ll stop by your place before Karen gets here. You smell like a gym.”
“I like the smell of Fogwell’s,” Matt says plaintively.
“The gym at school,” Foggy corrects him. Matt's nose wrinkles.
They went to a couple of basketball games at Columbia, with play-by-play’s from Foggy that always made Matt laugh. It didn’t escape Foggy that Matt always took two showers when they got back to their room, though.
“Fine,” Matt says. He stands and loosens his tie. This wouldn’t be alarming, except that then he toes off one of his shoes.
“Whoa. What are you doing?”
Matt pauses. He tilts his head. “Changing?”
“But you just said – oh.” Matt is wearing the Daredevil suit under there. Matt doesn’t think anyone will notice Daredevil bounding from rooftop to rooftop at eight o’clock in the morning. “I meant that you could borrow one of my undershirts and brave the early morning sidewalk traffic. I don’t think doing parkour over rush-hour traffic is the way to not be noticed, here.”
A furrow appears between Matt’s eyebrows. At least he doesn’t make any effort to remove the other shoe. “This will be faster.”
“It’s broad daylight out there, and the fire escape isn’t exactly well-hidden. How were you planning on getting out of here without being seen?”
“If I climb up the elevator shaft –”
“Stop right there. I don’t want to know.” Foggy didn’t even know they had an elevator shaft, since the elevator in it certainly isn’t working. “If not for my mental health, you need to stop telling me these things for when I’m inevitably put on the witness stand.”
The frown weighing down the corner of Matt’s mouth looks a little too real. “You won’t ever have to go on the witness stand.”
“Why’s that, hot shot? You bribe some cops lately? Got some dirt on someone in the DA’s office I don’t know about?”
“I’m never going to be arrested.”
Fat chance, Foggy thinks, but he keeps that thought to himself. “And here I thought you were finally admitting the inevitable.” Matt raises his eyebrows in a silent query. “That one of these days, we are going to have to get a civil union.”
That would have been fine to joke about before Foggy knew about Matt. They did joke about it before Foggy found out about Matt’s senses, but now that Foggy’s knows what Matt knows, he realizes that might have sounded a little too nervous to be a joke, and now Foggy really is nervous, because what if Matt can tell how much he wants just from the flutter of his eyelashes? Matt’s eyebrows inch up a little higher. It’s no wonder; Foggy’s panicked heartbeat must be audible from space.
Then Matt smirks. “Why get a civil union when we can get married?”
“Yeah? You want a white wedding?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been told red flatters my complexion.”
Foggy rolls his eyes. “Fine. You can sneak around the office wearing whatever you want as long as you don’t wear the suit to any weddings. Deal?”
“Deal,” Matt says solemnly.
“So. Ready to go undercover as a lawyer who appreciates the importance of layering?”
Matt gives a heavy sigh that means he’ll do it, so Foggy goes to his office and grabs an undershirt. “And please close the door so Karen doesn’t get an eyeful when she walks in,” he says as he sets it on Matt’s desk, making sure to slap it down so Matt knows exactly where is. It’s a habit he probably won’t ever be able to break.
Match frowns in the middle of shrugging off his jacket. “I thought there were windows in the walls of our offices.”
Foggy sighs. “Yes, okay, it’s the idea that counts.” He turns around and examines the wall for a minute, because he doesn’t think he can handle seeing Matt in the suit this early in the morning. When the rustling of fabric has stopped, he finally turns around.
The “dress shirt over undershirt over bulky superhero costume” look isn’t doing Matt any favors, but at least the pinkish glow is dim enough it could be attributed to some poor laundry choices.
“It would have saved time. I’m not sure I’ll be able to get back before Karen does,” Matt says. He is frowning as he loops his tie around his neck. “She’s going to think I’m always late.”
“Three words for you, buddy: long, hot shower. Karen will forgive you, and so will I.”
He may have exaggerated a little. Matt does smell like he just spent two hours beating up a punching bag, but Foggy has never exactly thought that was a bad smell. He smells a little less like gym socks and a little more like…exertion.
Foggy swallows. There are a number of things he tries to avoid thinking about when he’s in the same room as Matt, and this is one of them.
Matt’s fingers fumble on the tie and he starts over. Foggy sighs and steps up to him.
“Reaching for your tie, buddy, because it seems to be fighting with you today. How much sleep did you get last night?”
Matt’s hands fall away and he lets Foggy take the tie in his hands. “Enough.”
“On what bed?”
Matt’s head tilts towards the floor.
Foggy is silent for a moment as he finishes the half-Windsor. He smoothes out the tie but doesn’t let go. Matt’s chest is warm against the flat of his palm. “You know, I have a futon you could have if you want to make this your base of operations.”
Matt leans into him a little. “Probably not a good idea.”
“Hey, Karen and I might use it, too. We could have sleepovers.”
“Matt,” Foggy says softly. “Get some sleep. I’ll tell Karen you’re taking the day.”
“Half day,” Matt corrects him. “I’ll be back after lunch.”
Foggy lets go of the tie and pats Matt’s shoulder. He can feel the seams of the suit through the fabric. “Sure you will. Just don’t trip over any mob bosses on your way home, okay?”
Matt’s mouth twitches. “I’ll do my best.”
Foggy takes to always keeping the blinds closed in the office. The threat to their files doesn’t go away, and Matt frequently tells Foggy and Karen that he’s going to “just work a little longer,” so Foggy eventually gives into the inevitable and stretches out his own work hours. Matt pretends he’s keeping Foggy company, Foggy keeps a light on in the office in case Matt needs an alibi, and Karen keeps giving them narrowed-eyed looks but keeps her thoughts to herself.
One night, Matt stops by while Foggy is working late, just to check on him. It must be a slow night, because Matt stays. He takes off the helmet and drops it on Foggy’s desk, and Foggy starts chattering away about one of their current cases, and then Matt drags up a chair to Foggy’s desk and joins him for a late-night cup of coffee, and they both just kind of forget that Matt is even wearing the suit until Karen opens the door.
Foggy stares at Karen through the open door to his office. Karen stares at Foggy. Matt, whose back is to the door, slowly turns halfway around in his chair so that Karen can see his face.
Matt sets down his cup of coffee with a small click.
“This isn’t what it looks like,” Foggy says in a rush, jumping out of his chair. “We were just – Matt’s, um –”
“Foggy,” Matt says quietly. “She already knows.”
Foggy looks between the two of them. Karen doesn’t look like she already knows. She is staring at Matt with her mouth open. Foggy knows that look. He suspects that is the look he would have been wearing when he found out about Matt if he hadn’t been so drunk and Matt hadn’t been covered in so much blood.
“Karen, would you mind closing the door?” Matt says in a very calm voice.
Karen slowly closes the door. “Oh,” she says. “I, uh. This is. Wow.” She grins suddenly, a brilliant smile, and Foggy lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “You really were the one who saved me from that man from Union Allied. I thought you might be, but I didn’t think there was any way…”
Matt smiles ruefully. “I know. It’s difficult to believe the blind lawyer would be the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.”
Karen moves further into the office, clutching her handbag in both hands. “I guess I have you to thank, then,” she says in a soft voice. “You saved my life.”
Matt smiles, but there is tension at the corners of his eyes that says he is getting uncomfortable. “I’m glad I did.”
“And so am I,” Foggy announces, but Matt still looks like he wants to escape to the nearest dark corner. Matt pats his hand around on the surface of the desk, which Foggy thinks is a little strange until he realizes that Matt is looking for a pair of glasses that aren’t there. Matt seems to remember that his glasses aren’t anywhere in the office at about the same time that Foggy figures it out, and he reaches for the helmet instead.
“No offense, but I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Foggy says quickly.
Matt frowns and pulls the helmet on anyway. Karen immediately claps a hand over her mouth. Foggy sighs. Too late.
“Oh, no,” Karen says from behind her hand, suppressing laughter.
Matt’s frown deepens, which only makes him look more ridiculous. “What?” he demands.
“I’m sure that looks really threatening at night, buddy, but in the bad florescent lighting of this office, you look like a not very scary version of Batman,” Foggy tells him.
“You’re right,” Karen says in a strained voice. “He does look a little like Batman.”
Matt scowls. “I do not look like Batman,” he says in his Daredevil voice.
Karen loses it. Foggy has to bite his lip to keep from doing the same at the confused expression on Matt’s face while Karen doubles over, laughing. Foggy reaches across the desk and claps Matt on the shoulder, trying to school his expression into something approaching serious. “It’s okay. I’m sure the bad guys still piss their pants when they meet you in a dark alley somewhere.”
“It’s definitely a good thing you only go out at night,” Karen manages from between her fingers.
“Uh,” says Foggy.
Karen looks at Foggy, then at Matt’s petulant frown, and bursts into laughter.
“I just don’t understand why you think I need a daytime suit,” Matt says. The three of them are in the office, clustered around Karen’s desk. They have no clients scheduled for the rest of the afternoon, so they’re taking a long lunch.
Karen gives Foggy an amused look that clearly communicates it’s his turn to reason with Matt.
Foggy sighs. “Please tell me you played Where’s Waldo as a kid.”
“Now imagine that instead of wearing a red and white striped shirt, he’s wearing a bright red spandex suit –”
“It’s not spandex, Foggy.”
“– Bright red body armor with horns in the middle of Manhattan on a sunny day.” Foggy may have exaggerated the color again, but he’s not above hyperbole to make a point. “How long do you think it would take you to spot Waldo?”
“Foggy,” Matt says in his Very Patient voice, “I don’t think I would be able to spot Waldo at all.”
Foggy can’t help it. He laughs. He is pretty sure this is the first time that Matt has felt comfortable enough around Karen to bring out the patented Matt Murdock sense of humor, and it feels good. It feels like they really are their little family. Karen hides her smile behind her hand.
Matt grins back. “After all these years, you finally laugh at my jokes.”
Foggy slaps in him on the back. “Yeah, Matty,” he says, still grinning. “You’re pretty funny.”
Matt shows up at the courthouse five minutes before they are due to start. It’s not a big case, but the contents of their filing cabinets are at stake. If they win this – when they win this – Matt will finally be free of his office guard duty.
And it’s still a case.
“Where were you?” Foggy hisses as Matt starts unwinding his scarf. “I can carry this case by myself, but I’d really prefer not to!”
“I was held up,” Matt says. He pulls off his overcoat and slings it over the back of the chair that Foggy guides him too.
Foggy opens his mouth to tell him that he owes a better explanation than that to their client, who has been shooting increasingly anxious looks at the door since they got here, when he notices that Matt’s suit looks like it fits a little more tightly than usual. He grabs Matt’s arm, and yup.
“Either shoulder pads are back in fashion, or you were doing what I hope you weren’t doing just before you showed up here, Matt.”
“They went out of style?” Matt says as he gently tugs free from Foggy’s grip.
“Do you – I hope that was a joke. Please do not tell me you have been imagining Karen in shoulder-padded dress suits this entire time.”
“I don’t give that much thought to what Miss Page wears,” Matt replies. Before he can call bullshit, the bailiff tells them all to rise, and oh yeah. They have a case to win.
“Don’t think you’re getting off that easy, Murdock,” he whispers to him as they both face the judge’s bench.
Matt smiles. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
So Foggy has seen Matt in the suit enough times to have a pretty good idea of what it looks like. Matt and the suit are pretty much inseparable these days, what with crime on the rise and bigger players seeking to fill the vacuum that Fisk left, and he watches the news, okay. He knows how fast Matt can move in that thing. He has seen the footage of Daredevil scaling the side of a building so quickly that a hail of bullets looks like it’s bouncing off the suit rather than the bricks behind him.
But Foggy has never seen Matt in the suit up close and personal, at night, while he knocks the lights out of the guy who hadn’t done anything more than step towards Foggy out of a shadowy alley and open his mouth.
“I think he just wanted to try to sell me some weed,” Foggy croaks. Matt slowly straightens from where he was bent over the prone body.
“He had a knife.”
“Did he pull it out?” Foggy asks in what he thinks is a very reasonable voice.
Matt flexes his hands once before clutching them back into fists. In the light of a distant streetlamp, the red of the suit looks black. “He would have. Trust me.”
Foggy knows his mind is playing tricks on him. Mask or no mask, the man in front of him is Matty. But a primal part of his brain has taken one look at Matt’s dark silhouette and is screaming, “Run! Run!”
“Okay,” Foggy says with a shaky breath. “I’ll just assume you’re right.”
Matt paces towards Foggy, one step, then another. Foggy holds his ground, even though the pounding of his heart in his ears is making it hard to hear anything else. Matt stops barely half a foot from him. His mouth quirks upwards at the corner.
“Still think I look like Batman?”
Foggy closes his eyes and sags forward with relief. “Christ.”
“Is that a yes?”
Foggy opens his eyes. Matt is laughing at him, the bastard. “No, it’s not a yes. From here, the horns definitely look like horns, especially with the backlighting from the – wait.” Matt’s mouth is twisted into an amused smile. “Did you plan this? Did you make sure your back was to the humming of the streetlight or whatever?”
Matt is probably trying to look oblivious. It doesn’t work very well with the mask. “Does it look impressive?”
Foggy rolls his eyes. “You like a guy I do not want to mess with.”
Matt frowns slightly. “And?”
“And? You look like the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. You’ve done a pretty good job with the branding. Have you thought of getting a Bat Signal? You would need some sort of logo, though. I know some people who could probably mock up one for you. Maybe a giant D?”
Even though Foggy can’t see them, he knows Matt’s eyebrows go up.
“Okay, okay. Maybe two D’s? I don’t think that one has been taken yet.”
“Foggy,” Matt huffs out, then tacks on, “Nelson,” like maybe that will make it sound a little less like they know each other. “I don’t need a Bat Signal.”
“But then how will the good citizens of New York call you when we need you?”
Matt opens his mouth, probably to point out that he wouldn’t be able to see the signal anyway, then closes it again. “Usually they just scream.”
Which. Okay. “So if I scream, you’ll come?”
Foggy did not think Matt could move any closer without touching him. It turns out he can. “Why?” Matt asks. “Are there other times when you need me?”
“Sure, like right now,” Foggy says quickly before Matt can pick up on how hot that was using whatever way Foggy’s body has betrayed him this time. “It’s dark and I have apparently just narrowly avoided being stabbed, so what you think about escorting me home, oh brave defender of the night?”
Matt is definitely grinning now. “You’re asking me to walk you home?”
“Shut up,” Foggy hisses. He smooths down his suit jacket and pretends that Matt isn’t silently laughing at him. “Isn’t that what you superhero types are supposed to do?”
“I think you can make it home safely from here,” Matt says, but he starts walking in the same direction Foggy was going anyway.
“You aren’t going to skulk in the shadows the whole way?” he asks as he hurries to catch up.
Matt smiles grimly. “This way, no one will even think about bothering you.”
Fair point, Foggy supposes, but walking down the street matching his strides to Daredevil’s is probably the strangest thing that has happened to him since this whole thing started.
When they reach Foggy’s building, Matt stops. Foggy turns to him, not sure if he is waiting for an invitation or what, but then he sees the dangerous grin on Matt’s face. “Meet you upstairs,” Matt says. He runs at the side of the building, leaps, and grabs the first windowsill with the tips of his fingers. Foggy watches in astonishment as he scales the side of the building with apparent ease.
“Show off,” he mutters, then lets himself inside.
When he makes it to his apartment, Matt is lounging in the dark by the couch with his arms crossed. Foggy sighs and flicks on the light before closing the door behind him. “Pretty sure I locked all the windows.”
“I don’t think you have locked a window before in your entire life.” Matt uncrosses his arms and strides towards Foggy. “Don’t I get a thank you?”
Foggy tosses his keys on the counter. “Please take off that ridiculous mask. I cannot take you seriously in that thing. And thank you for what, giving some poor kid a concussion?”
When he turns around, Matt is much closer than he was expecting. Matt’s mouth does something that looks suspiciously like a pout, but he pulls off the mask. He has a bad case of helmet hair, except for a tuft near the front that is sticking straight up.
He should look ridiculous. He looks hot as hell.
“He’ll be fine. He just needs to sleep it off.”
“Sure he does.”
Matt rips off one glove and tosses it onto the table beside the couch with unerring aim. Foggy is starting to feel warm. Matt works off the other glove a little more slowly, then tosses it onto the table beside its partner.
Matt is looking at Foggy, all soft eyes and tousled hair, and he did kind of save Foggy from maybe getting stabbed. “Okay, okay. Thanks for protecting me from the pot dealers of Hell’s Kitchen.”
Matt’s mouth quirks into a smile. “No kiss?”
Matt’s sense of humor is a tricky thing. Most of his jokes, the puns and the self-deprecating ironic comments, are delivered in a tone so dry, it has taken Foggy their entire acquaintance to get to the point where he can tell when Matt is joking with maybe eighty percent accuracy. But Matt has another group of jokes, ones he reserves just for Foggy – his “aren’t you glad we aren’t really dating, haha” jokes, which make a little part of Foggy’s soul die every time he tells one. Foggy always knows those ones are jokes, because (a) the alternative goes against every guideline to straight male bonding that Foggy has ever learned, and (b) because Matt’s tone is always unmistakably jovial.
Matt can’t control his facial expressions for shit.
“Ha!” Foggy says, because when in doubt, laughter is the best medicine. And oh boy, at least one of them is going to need a lot of medication when this is over, because this is the first time Foggy has seen Matt deliver one of those jokes when he isn’t wearing his glasses. He doesn’t look like he is joking.
So instead of saying, “Maybe when you rescue me from Ant-Man’s terrible clutches,” or, “What happened to please?”, Foggy says, “Do you want me to?”
Matt looks like someone has just hit him on the back of the head. “Do you – want me to ask you to?”
Foggy gapes at him. “Should I?”
Matt gets this determined look on his face that Foggy has only seen up close a handful of times. “Maybe you should.”
They stand there while Foggy tries to figure out if this is actually happening, and if he is going to get through this without having a heart attack. At least Matt will probably be able to tell if his heart gives out on him.
Matt inches forward. “So. You want me to ask?”
“Yes, Matt. I want you to ask.” Foggy is barely breathing. As Matt moves closer, he can smell sweat and leather and the tang of wet metal. Matt must have grabbed onto the fire escape on his way up.
Matt reaches out with those calloused hands of his, the ones Foggy has always loved so much, and gently settles them on either side of Foggy’s face. His thumb smoothes back the hair above Foggy’s ear over and over in a nervous gesture.
“Will you kiss me?” Matt asks quietly.
In answer, Foggy presses his lips to Matt’s. Matt’s mouth is soft and careful. His skin is chilled from the night air, but when his lips part, his breath is hot on Foggy’s skin.
Foggy lets out a shaky breath and captures Matt’s lip between his own.
The suit is rough under Foggy’s hands, but it’s warm, and it’s Matt under there. Matt has definitely had practice with this kissing thing. A lot of practice. Marci taught Foggy how to French kiss like a pro, but Foggy never felt at any point like they were on the verge of devouring each other. Matt is gasping against Foggy’s mouth and running his hands over Foggy’s shoulders like he isn’t sure he is really there, but he is also licking into Foggy’s mouth like a man on a mission.
Matt pulls away slowly, the two of them breathing each other’s air. “Shit,” Foggy breathes against Matt’s lips.
Matt ducks his head, but not before Foggy sees the smile on his face. “Yeah.”
Foggy looks over Matt’s shoulder and yelps, “Shit!” for a completely different reason.
“What?” Matt asks as he tries to pull back.
Foggy immediately wraps his arms around him and hangs on tight. “Do not move. You know how when I first moved into this place I was always complaining about Mrs. Miller watching me cook from the building next door?”
Matt, who had gone stiff as a board, relaxes. “Didn’t you say she has awful eyesight?”
Foggy looks over Matt’s shoulder at Mrs. Miller, who is sitting in her customary chair by the window, squinting at him through her glasses. She sees him looking and winks.
“Uh,” he says.
Matt pulls back far enough that he can smirk at Foggy. “And aren’t you always complaining about how dark it is in here?”
“I turned on the light,” Foggy points out.
“Sure you did.” Matt palm slides over Foggy’s hand where it is settled on his waist, then keeps going. Foggy looks down. His throat goes dry as Matt’s hand wraps around one of his billy clubs. He pulls it out of its holster way more slowly than should be okay.
“Please don’t tell me you’re going to knock out Mrs. Miller,” he croaks.
“Of course not,” Matt says against his throat. The billy club hits the light switch with a crack, and they are plunged into total darkness.
“Oh,” Foggy says, which is the last intelligible thing that makes it out of his mouth for quite some time.
“Why am I only just finding out now that Daredevil has a thing for Foggy?” Karen asks a week later when Matt and Foggy walk into the office.
Matt’s eyebrows rise above his glasses. It’s good that Matt looks as confused as Foggy feels.
“What now?” Foggy asks Karen.
Karen shakes out that morning’s paper. There, in full color, is a photo of Daredevil pressing Foggy against the wall of the courthouse and stealing a kiss, and possibly groping him a little bit. In broad daylight.
Wow, Matt’s ass really looks fantastic in that thing.
“How bad is it?” Matt asks.
“On the bright side, we made it below the fold,” Foggy says in a strained voice.
“It’s good I’m still making the front page,” Matt says as he props his cane against the wall.
“Because it means the city’s mind is still on justice.”
Foggy and Karen exchange a look. Karen looks far too delighted for anyone awake this early in the day. The title of the piece is, Daredevil: No longer our most eligible bachelor? “Right,” Foggy says.
“And think how many new clients this will bring us,” Matt continues as he unwinds his scarf. “Franklin Nelson, Esquire, on the front page? It’s practically free advertising.”
“Is that all you see me as? Just a publicity stunt?”
“Foggy,” Matt says, smiling, “I have always seen you for what you are.”
“Yeah? What’s that?” Foggy asks suspiciously.
“My better half,” he says, and Karen aww’s as he pecks a startled Foggy on the lips.