OK. So this is kinda Foggy whump. But it's also for the first part of a prompt which asked for Matt to be able to smell illness. And also for another prompt which I can't even find anymore which asked for Foggy to have some kind of problem and Matt working hard to work out what it was. So, yeah, well, I hope at least someone will like it :)
The one where Foggy has diabetes... and Matt moonlights as his (secret) service dog person
It takes him a few weeks to put the clues together.
In his defense, it’s his first month at Columbia and he’s still getting used to the soundtrack of university life. He falls asleep while listening to the muffled cries of the love- and homesick, then wakes a few hours later to the cacophony of hundreds of alarm clocks ringing at once. All through the day he’s surrounded by the unfamiliar. And it never, ever stops. Someone in his immediate surrounding’s always awake, always doing something unexpected. There’s no quiet to be had. Matt alters between fascination and frustration.
So, perhaps, he can be forgiven for not figuring it out right away.
He smells the blood, of course. His first dismissive guess is that Foggy must be truly terrible at shaving. After several days pass with the scent of fresh blood still in the air he’s forced to face far more alarming possibilities. What if someone’s hurting Foggy? Worse still, what if Foggy’s hurting Foggy? They barely know each other, but the very thought of either one of those options makes Matt’s want to punch a wall.
He doesn’t know how to approach the issue though. Keeps waiting for the right moment. Which, while cowardly, turns out to perhaps be just as well because it’s while waiting he trips over his second clue. He’s pacing back and forth in their room, practicing what he’ll say to Foggy, when he trips over his roommate’s backpack. Matt twists in the air, landing softly without hurting anything but his pride.
Matt doesn’t take the Lord’s name in vain, but that doesn’t stop him for cussing himself out for a clumsy, absent-minded ass. He stops first when he realizes that he sounds exactly like Stick. Still on all four, he starts gathering up the things which fell out of the backpack. A couple of books with cracked spines. A bag of hard candy. Half a dozen biros. Several loose sheets of papers, most of them crumbled. A zippered little bag.
It makes a funny noise. An intriguing noise.
And Matt knows that it’s wrong. But he shakes it. Once. Twice. Picks the sounds apart in an attempt to figure out what he’s holding. It’s no better than opening the bag up and going through the content. It’s just the same as snooping. Just as bad. Matt owns up to that, guilt and shame nipping at his heels even as he sniffs the air for more clues. Old blood. And something else. A chemical smell. Almost like band-aids.
Turning it all over in his head, like he remembers doing as a child with a brand new Rubic’s cube, he packs everything away. Then he goes to sit down on his bed, rubbing his fingers nervously against his knees as he tries to make sense of it all.
He’s handed the last piece of the puzzle the next day.
xxx
Foggy comes tumbling into their room, heart racing and his t-shirt damp with sweat. That’s not a rare thing, but the sense of urgency in his movements… that’s new. Matt puts down his books and turns towards the commotion. Foggy’s rifling through his drawers and closet, flinging things carelessly on the floor. Looking for something, Matt assumes.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, yeah,” comes the muffled answer. Foggy’s underneath the bed now, his shoes kicking against the floor as he tries to wiggle deeper. He sneezes loudly a few times, no doubt owning to the fact that neither one of them owns a vacuum cleaner. A loud thud follows the last sneeze – bone against wood, Matt’s ears translate – and Foggy curses up a storm. Matt used to fall asleep to the lullaby of nightlife in Hell’s Kitchen. Even so he raises an eyebrow at some of the word choices.
“Can I do anything?” he asks, already half out of the bed. “Do you want help moving the bed?”
“If I want help, I’ll ask for it.”
Matt stops, suddenly frozen in place. It’s not that Foggy’s a saint. He’s grumpy in the mornings and gets cranky fast when hungry. But there’s always warmth to his voice. A certain blend of generosity and self-deprecating humor which has never quite left him. Until now.
Part of Matt wants to retaliate. Point out that he’s certainly never asked for help, yet Foggy has made a point of always being right there for Matt from day one. Another part of him wants to apologize. Make it right between them before Foggy disappears through the door. Matt swallows down the childish hurt and sits back down on the edge of his bed. He grabs the heavy book, placing it as a shield between himself and his roommate.
Eventually Foggy finds what he’s been looking for with such fervor. Matt tries to focus on his book, but the sound of a zipper draws his attention. There’s a tiny burst of coppery smell. Foggy’s holding his breath for some reason, and Matt finds himself unwillingly doing the same.
“That’s just typical,” Foggy mutters after a few seconds. “Goddamn idiot.”
Matt bites his lip. He’s not going to say anything.
Foggy rips open a bag of candy, shoving a handful into his mouth. Matt winces as he hears him chew on the boiled sweets. Wishes there was some way he could warn his roommate about the molar on his right side. The one with the loose filling. Instead he keeps quiet as Foggy continues to stomp around their room.
As Matt listens Foggy throws some stuff in his bag. Just normal, everyday stuff. His wallet. Some books, most likely for class. The zippered little bag. Nothing to suggest that Foggy’s about to walk through that door and never return again. Matt jiggles his leg, angry with himself for noticing what Foggy packs inside his bag. For caring whether or not he returns. For being such a ridiculous, oversensitive child.
“You eat yet, Murdock?” Foggy demands. He still sounds grouchy, though less so.
“No.”
“Then what are you waiting for? C’mon.” Foggy shuffles impatiently. “Only idiots skip breakfast. Trust me. I know. I’m a freaking expert.”
xxx
Matt figures it out, just as he’s about to shovel yet another forkful of rubbery eggs into his mouth. Foggy’s chatting away pleasantly across the table, acting as if he’d never been upset in the first place. He’s even offered to pay for them both, all but bullying Matt into buying a full breakfast instead of just his normal order of toast and coffee.
“Oh,” Matt says, so stunned by his own stupidity that he speaks out loud.
“Oh what?”
“Oh… nothing in particular?”
As expected, Foggy doesn’t buy it. But he drops it, picking up where he left off earlier. Matt only half-listens. He’s rescheduling his day. Making time for a visit to the library. He has some research to do. And some things to reprioritize.
Number one being that, from now on, nobody’s skipping any more meals.
xxx
“Did my mum tell you?” Foggy asks.
It’s a few weeks after Christmas and they’re both wearing heavy coats as they walk to the bus-station together. Matt has one hand nestled in the crock of Foggy’s arm, the other deep inside his pocket. He ought to buy gloves, he thinks as he plays with a loose thread. Thought it’s not so long until spring. And far from cold enough that he’ll lose his fingers to frostbite.
“Nope,” he says, hiding his grin behind the scarf that Mrs. Nelson had knitted for him. It’s warm and soft against his face, a very tangible reminder of a Christmas that would otherwise seem like something out of a children’s story.
“Then how did you find out that I have diabetes?”
Foggy’s dying to know. Has been for days. Ever since Matt had casually reminded him to check his blood sugar after they’d gotten plastered for New Year’s he’d been asking the same question every few hours. Matt lets go of Foggy’s arm, raising his head so that he can feel the sun on his face. He inhales deep to fill his lungs with the crisp winter air.
There’s still a big, dumb grin on his face, but he doesn’t mind.
“Just figured there had to be a reason you’re always so grouchy before breakfast,” he says.
Foggy huffs. Picks up a handful of snow. Closes the distance between them.
Soon they’re both spluttering with outrage and laughter.
---
Apologies to everyone with diabetes who's not grouchy in the morning ;-)
FILL: the one where foggy has diabetes (1/4)
The one where Foggy has diabetes... and Matt moonlights as his (secret) service
dogpersonIt takes him a few weeks to put the clues together.
In his defense, it’s his first month at Columbia and he’s still getting used to the soundtrack of university life. He falls asleep while listening to the muffled cries of the love- and homesick, then wakes a few hours later to the cacophony of hundreds of alarm clocks ringing at once. All through the day he’s surrounded by the unfamiliar. And it never, ever stops. Someone in his immediate surrounding’s always awake, always doing something unexpected. There’s no quiet to be had. Matt alters between fascination and frustration.
So, perhaps, he can be forgiven for not figuring it out right away.
He smells the blood, of course. His first dismissive guess is that Foggy must be truly terrible at shaving. After several days pass with the scent of fresh blood still in the air he’s forced to face far more alarming possibilities. What if someone’s hurting Foggy? Worse still, what if Foggy’s hurting Foggy? They barely know each other, but the very thought of either one of those options makes Matt’s want to punch a wall.
He doesn’t know how to approach the issue though. Keeps waiting for the right moment. Which, while cowardly, turns out to perhaps be just as well because it’s while waiting he trips over his second clue. He’s pacing back and forth in their room, practicing what he’ll say to Foggy, when he trips over his roommate’s backpack. Matt twists in the air, landing softly without hurting anything but his pride.
Matt doesn’t take the Lord’s name in vain, but that doesn’t stop him for cussing himself out for a clumsy, absent-minded ass. He stops first when he realizes that he sounds exactly like Stick. Still on all four, he starts gathering up the things which fell out of the backpack. A couple of books with cracked spines. A bag of hard candy. Half a dozen biros. Several loose sheets of papers, most of them crumbled. A zippered little bag.
It makes a funny noise. An intriguing noise.
And Matt knows that it’s wrong. But he shakes it. Once. Twice. Picks the sounds apart in an attempt to figure out what he’s holding. It’s no better than opening the bag up and going through the content. It’s just the same as snooping. Just as bad. Matt owns up to that, guilt and shame nipping at his heels even as he sniffs the air for more clues. Old blood. And something else. A chemical smell. Almost like band-aids.
Turning it all over in his head, like he remembers doing as a child with a brand new Rubic’s cube, he packs everything away. Then he goes to sit down on his bed, rubbing his fingers nervously against his knees as he tries to make sense of it all.
He’s handed the last piece of the puzzle the next day.
xxx
Foggy comes tumbling into their room, heart racing and his t-shirt damp with sweat. That’s not a rare thing, but the sense of urgency in his movements… that’s new. Matt puts down his books and turns towards the commotion. Foggy’s rifling through his drawers and closet, flinging things carelessly on the floor. Looking for something, Matt assumes.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, yeah,” comes the muffled answer. Foggy’s underneath the bed now, his shoes kicking against the floor as he tries to wiggle deeper. He sneezes loudly a few times, no doubt owning to the fact that neither one of them owns a vacuum cleaner. A loud thud follows the last sneeze – bone against wood, Matt’s ears translate – and Foggy curses up a storm. Matt used to fall asleep to the lullaby of nightlife in Hell’s Kitchen. Even so he raises an eyebrow at some of the word choices.
“Can I do anything?” he asks, already half out of the bed. “Do you want help moving the bed?”
“If I want help, I’ll ask for it.”
Matt stops, suddenly frozen in place. It’s not that Foggy’s a saint. He’s grumpy in the mornings and gets cranky fast when hungry. But there’s always warmth to his voice. A certain blend of generosity and self-deprecating humor which has never quite left him. Until now.
Part of Matt wants to retaliate. Point out that he’s certainly never asked for help, yet Foggy has made a point of always being right there for Matt from day one. Another part of him wants to apologize. Make it right between them before Foggy disappears through the door. Matt swallows down the childish hurt and sits back down on the edge of his bed. He grabs the heavy book, placing it as a shield between himself and his roommate.
Eventually Foggy finds what he’s been looking for with such fervor. Matt tries to focus on his book, but the sound of a zipper draws his attention. There’s a tiny burst of coppery smell. Foggy’s holding his breath for some reason, and Matt finds himself unwillingly doing the same.
“That’s just typical,” Foggy mutters after a few seconds. “Goddamn idiot.”
Matt bites his lip. He’s not going to say anything.
Foggy rips open a bag of candy, shoving a handful into his mouth. Matt winces as he hears him chew on the boiled sweets. Wishes there was some way he could warn his roommate about the molar on his right side. The one with the loose filling. Instead he keeps quiet as Foggy continues to stomp around their room.
As Matt listens Foggy throws some stuff in his bag. Just normal, everyday stuff. His wallet. Some books, most likely for class. The zippered little bag. Nothing to suggest that Foggy’s about to walk through that door and never return again. Matt jiggles his leg, angry with himself for noticing what Foggy packs inside his bag. For caring whether or not he returns. For being such a ridiculous, oversensitive child.
“You eat yet, Murdock?” Foggy demands. He still sounds grouchy, though less so.
“No.”
“Then what are you waiting for? C’mon.” Foggy shuffles impatiently. “Only idiots skip breakfast. Trust me. I know. I’m a freaking expert.”
xxx
Matt figures it out, just as he’s about to shovel yet another forkful of rubbery eggs into his mouth. Foggy’s chatting away pleasantly across the table, acting as if he’d never been upset in the first place. He’s even offered to pay for them both, all but bullying Matt into buying a full breakfast instead of just his normal order of toast and coffee.
“Oh,” Matt says, so stunned by his own stupidity that he speaks out loud.
“Oh what?”
“Oh… nothing in particular?”
As expected, Foggy doesn’t buy it. But he drops it, picking up where he left off earlier. Matt only half-listens. He’s rescheduling his day. Making time for a visit to the library. He has some research to do. And some things to reprioritize.
Number one being that, from now on, nobody’s skipping any more meals.
xxx
“Did my mum tell you?” Foggy asks.
It’s a few weeks after Christmas and they’re both wearing heavy coats as they walk to the bus-station together. Matt has one hand nestled in the crock of Foggy’s arm, the other deep inside his pocket. He ought to buy gloves, he thinks as he plays with a loose thread. Thought it’s not so long until spring. And far from cold enough that he’ll lose his fingers to frostbite.
“Nope,” he says, hiding his grin behind the scarf that Mrs. Nelson had knitted for him. It’s warm and soft against his face, a very tangible reminder of a Christmas that would otherwise seem like something out of a children’s story.
“Then how did you find out that I have diabetes?”
Foggy’s dying to know. Has been for days. Ever since Matt had casually reminded him to check his blood sugar after they’d gotten plastered for New Year’s he’d been asking the same question every few hours. Matt lets go of Foggy’s arm, raising his head so that he can feel the sun on his face. He inhales deep to fill his lungs with the crisp winter air.
There’s still a big, dumb grin on his face, but he doesn’t mind.
“Just figured there had to be a reason you’re always so grouchy before breakfast,” he says.
Foggy huffs. Picks up a handful of snow. Closes the distance between them.
Soon they’re both spluttering with outrage and laughter.
---
Apologies to everyone with diabetes who's not grouchy in the morning ;-)