daredevilkink | Prompt Post #4

Entry tags:

prompt post

Prompt Post #4

THIS POST IS CLOSED TO NEW PROMPTS.
HEAD OVER TO PROMPT POST #5.

Keep filling prompts on this post! Make sure to link any new fic on the complete or work in progress fills posts so it doesn't get missed.

Please read the current rules before commenting on this post.

Leave a prompt. Fill a prompt. Everyone wins!
Previous Rounds: Prompt Post #1 | Prompt Post #2 | Prompt Post #3

Mod Post | Discussion/Off-Topic Post | AO3 Collection | Searchable Prompts on Delicious
Fills: Completed & WIPs

Rules:
General
YKINMKATO. Play nice. If you don't like something, scroll on.

All comments must be anon.

Subject lines should only be changed if you're posting a prompt or a fill (indicators like OP or Author!Anon should go in the body of the comment).

RPF is allowed. Crossovers, characters from the extended Marvel Universe and comics canon are allowed, but must relate to the 2015 TV show in some way.

Discussion not related to the prompt should be moved to the discussion/off-topic post.

Drop a comment on the mod post if you have any questions or problems.

Prompts
All types of prompts are welcome.

Use the subject line for the main idea of your prompt (pairing or characters, keywords, kink).

Warnings are nice, but not necessary. Get DW Blocker if there's anything you really don't want to see.

Reposted prompts are allowed once one round has passed - i.e., prompts from post #2 cannot be reposted until post #4. Please include a link to where it has been previously posted.

Fills
Put [FILL] or something similar in the subject line when posting a fill.

Long fills can either be posted over multiple comments, or posted on AO3 and linked back here.

Multiple fills are always okay.

Fills can be anything! Fic, art, vids, interpretative dance...

Announce your fill on either the Completed Fills Post or the WIP Post.

If you would like to be politely banned to avoid anon-failing, leave a logged-in comment on the mod post or pm the mod account.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

I can't think of an OTP song from the past, but I 100% NEED somebody to write fic for Daredevil based on Evanescence songs from the 2003 movie. Because I remember when "Bring me to Life" and "My Immortal" were just inescapable. :DDD

“Foggy, it’s almost eleven.”

“Hm.”

The door creaked open another inch, Karen’s concerned face peaking around the edge. “There’s nothing urgent is there? I thought I had color-coded everything, and that tab looks suspiciously green. As in, doesn’t need to be done until tomorrow.”

“Yeah, just thought I’d get ahead. Less chance of having to burn the midnight oil tomorrow if I finish my work today.”

He both did and didn’t want her to press. Half of him was hoping Karen would catch the rawness in his voice and push through the door to sit with him, ask what was wrong and did he want to talk about it? No, he didn’t, but the question might divert him for a few minutes.

A civil suit like this shouldn’t have taken him more than a few hours at the most, but again and again he found himself re-reading the papers, not a single word absorbed. He stayed because he could not bear to be alone. It was comfort enough having another warm body in the room next door, a friend that wouldn’t press.

“We should walk home together,” Karen pressed, stepping just a little farther into the room to peer closely at him.

A convincing poker face was not one of Foggy Nelson’s gifts but he gave it his best shot nonetheless. “I can walk you back.” He didn’t want to, since he had struck his deal everything in the city seemed to have grown more faded. The lights no longer as bright as they used to be, darkness gathering thick in corners that once would have been flooded with their comforting rays. It was his imagination, he knew, but that made it no less unsettling.

“But you’re not going home.” Karen finished, folding her arms disapprovingly.

“Not yet.” Not tonight.

“We got him, Foggy, he’s not getting out for years.”

“What?” Oh, right. The Addict. That was his name in Foggy’s mind, giving him any other would have reminded him that there were far more effective means of ensuring the man never walked free. He smiled, a pale imitation of one at least, “I know, but it doesn’t really fix anything, does it?”

“We know he won’t do it again. I think that’s fixing something.”

A noncommittal grunt was his only answer, fatigue suddenly weighing heavily on his eyelids. Perhaps with Karen there to keep him diverted he wouldn’t notice the prickling between his shoulder blades, that faint but pressing feeling that he was being watched. Or more accurately, stalked.

“All right, good. Fine. Home.” Home to an apartment where he woke up each morning to find the clock flashing on the microwave, evidence that the power had gone out the night before. Once or twice he might have discounted, but every morning now he woke up knowing it would have to be reset. His neighbors had no such issues; he had made a point of cornering all of them to ask. The answer was plain: his was the only apartment on the fritz.

Coincidentally he was also the only one in the building stupid enough to have given the Devil his hair, the only one stupid enough to have dealt with the Devil at all.

Then again, he was also the only one on his floor with blond hair, and the only one that didn’t own a TV, and the only attorney in the building. He was grasping at straws, but if that kept him calm who would object?

It didn’t help that for the first time in nearly three months his mother had called, pressing him for details about his office and his charming secretary, were he and Karen finally going to ‘step out’ together? Oh yes, and father Lanthom had called; he was worried too, and didn’t he feel even the slightest bit guilty about that?

It had left Foggy with the creeping feeling that he might be more at ease if he started frequenting the church again. Ten years worth of sin was a lot to confess by anyone’s count, but he had always found father Lanthom more forgiving than most. There was an earthly quality to him that Foggy had found lacking in his colleagues. If anyone would understand what he had done it would be Lanthom.

Nearly eleven. The church was probably closed and barred, but since he was in no hurry to be home anyway-

“Let’s go.”

Karen grinned at his renewed enthusiasm, the spark in his eyes that had been absent this past week. This was the man she knew, the one that had tossed a promising career at a bustling firm under the bus in favor of opening a firm that had not once made a profit in their year together. The one that had stepped out to help an aging woman keep her home, and offered everything he had when she lost not only that but her life. Finally their old rhythm was returning.

She took his arm when it was offered, completely unaware of the way her eyes skittered away from the corner as the light flicked off, almost as though compelled. Foggy looked though, glanced and froze when he caught a flicker of movement in the corner of his vision as though the dimness was twisting and churning into an all-too familiar shape-

He looked ahead, clamping a protective hand on Karen’s arm, denying what he thought he had seen. “I’m thinking we should take the long way. It’ll clear our heads.”

“Any chance of coming in late tomorrow?”

“Not like we have anything pressing. Call it nine-ish.”

“Long way it is.”

It was a humble office, floorboards that creaked beneath his feet, the scent of too-dry wood almost overpowering. The desk beneath his fingertips was worn down in the center, poorly balanced and perched atop a magazine to prevent its rocking. The secretary’s- Karen’s- desk was nearly as bad with the way its drawers groaned and resisted opening. Even with the two of them reporting for work six days a week there was still the faintest smell of disuse about it.

It was soothing the way this building resisted change. It welcomed the old things like him; the things that didn’t quite fit into the city’s bustle and heavy trudge toward modernity. Better yet, the dim lights allowed him to gather his darkness near. It was always just there beneath the floorboards or a decrepit desk, hidden in the cabinets and the tiny closet that Nelson never used for reasons even he didn’t comprehend. This too was an older sort of darkness, and Matt could feel the whisper of its secrets against his skin.

Foggy fought it though, the shadows here rested lighter on him than in some other parts of the building; they were eager for Matt to leave, almost willing him to. It was a rare experience, one that he had only ever encountered that last night at St. Agnes’. This room did not want to surrender its secrecy, and for all that it welcomed the ancient spirit in him, it resisted the humanity. Here at least the darkness was not quite his ally, always shifting away, always trying to catch an unwary eye and give warning to the office’s occupants.

Perhaps that was why Matt found himself lingering each night, growing accustomed to its treachery, each night his shield a little easier to pierce. Foggy and Karen had seen him tonight, but he was certain only Foggy would remember it. It was inevitable though, that the part of Nelson he had taken should draw them together. Was that not its purpose?

He released his darkness, his shield, watching as it almost visibly recoiled from him, leaving him in a dimness like twilight whilst all around him he sensed a blackness dark as pitch. Matt delighted in the novelty of it, even as he felt the spirit roil with offense and frustration. The Devil and the void did not come hand in hand; he wondered what deal had been struck to make it his domain and half-tamed servant.

Only ever half-tame. The Devil forgot that sometimes. Matt Murdock never did.

He rested a moment longer, learning the feel of aged wood against his fingertips, the fading smell of the perfume Karen preferred and the pervasive scent of starch and linen that was the only one Foggy would deign to wear. The only one that did not offend Matt when it struck him. Tomorrow morning at nine he would present himself again, this time in the light and open where Foggy would feel safest, and he would offer a new deal. Not a soul, no, but something a great deal heavier and more binding than a few strands of hair.

Blood he thought, no more than a drop to seal their pact and still more than Nelson would be comfortable offering. But what wouldn’t he give to know the name of the man responsible for the path the city was taking? His faithful bloodhound at the police station would be all too pleased to dig for more evidence, and neither one of them would find anything worth having.

But Wesley, with his eyes and ears spread throughout the city to rival the Devil himself, would take note. He would deal with the new threat ruthlessly and expediently.

Pity Foggy didn’t know what Karen was up to in her free hours. Matt would be sure to tell him, right after he had secured Karen’s cooperation. A taste for danger was the very least of the secrets she was keeping from her friend, from her boss. What she had, he didn’t know but it ate at her day and night until he could never be sure whether she would be dull or bright come morning. With each passing day, the dull embers grew less with exposure to Foggy. He had a way of keeping every soul bound to his burning, turning dross to gold.

The spirit in him stirred again, sensing an opportunity no doubt. Matt surrendered himself to it and in the next moment, he was gone.

________

And now the fun starts. :P

True, true. Any incarnation of Matt is bound to be a manipulative bastard to some extent.

Glad you're enjoying! ^.^

Never fear, Foggy isn't a defense attorney extraordinaire for nothing!

Then again, he might be in over his head on this one. :P

Ugh, brain fade. I always forget to update the WIP thread but I will jump on that right now- thanks for the reminder.

And thank you too for the feedback; I'm always concerned with trying to keep the voices recognizable in such new contexts so it's always good to hear when that is actually succeeding.

"Infernal passenger", I do like your turn of phrase and it couldn't be more apt. That's one of the things I really wanted to play with, Matt's humanity, that is. He's so concerned with it in the show, but he always has that little edge of temptation I kind of want him to step over.

All that said, I'm glad you're enjoying so much and here's the next entry! :)

Arrg! Why do you guys have so many wonderful prompts? This isn't even my main fandom and I'm trying to write so many different stories....

I'll fill this as soon as I get done with my other DD fics.

This is a wonderful idea. I might fill it at some point.

OP, at first I was reading this and just mildly interested. It's one of those things that I may have gotten around to eventually, or may not. BUT. Then I read the last bonus line about Matt defeating Fisk being part of the bigger plan. Now I definitely want to fill this, but I've got a lot of stories I started at the same time, so it may take awhile if I do.

Second! Especially if there's eventual Matt/Vladimir. Not enough of that around here!

Sorry for the late reply! I would prefer them on A03 for notification purposes.

YES! I need it.

Also: Does Stick still show up to try to train Matt? (I suspect Stick might not like Matt-who-has-a-supportive-parent as he'd be much less vulnerable to Stick's abusive bullshit/lone warrior philosophy.)

Does Jack find out about Matt's abilities and do his best to help him deal with them?

Jack doesn't want Matt to fight, but does he give Matt some boxing lessons so he can deal with any bullies who just won't back off?

Knowledge/cantescape/willconvinceyou

omg, he's SO Foggy here, I love this.

I love this genre. It always makes me wonder what it would be like if someone had to deal with me like that. I wonder how alien my thought processes would be to someone without OCD.

Next two parts are from Matt's POV! Heads up, there is some violence and body horror (kinda) about half way down, in the section starting with "that night."

This, Matt decided, was bad. It had been a long time since someone had amused him this much, much less charmed him. And what was even worse was that Foggy made it so easy.

The summoning itself was unconventional. Matt had been stuck unwinding a red tape clusterfuck at his desk for the better part of a few days with nothing else to do (the weeks after Sam-Hain’s day were usually quiet, after the mortal plane moved away from less earthly ones and the spike of joke demon summoning that jammed up their lines around the season quieted down).

But then he had felt a tug. He hadn’t felt a summoning call specifically for him for a few years as the more accurate texts to get a hold of him were dwindling. It was a shabby spell, with a minimal sacrifice and a few of the candles being used a bit off-center. But it was there and Matt would rather be scaring the ever-loving crap out of a few cultists than doing this paperwork.

Scratching the rune for “back in 5!” on his office door, Matt followed the spell, relishing the feel of his power solidified a vessel around him as he went. Getting closer, he found that the chanting was only coming from one measly mortal and he couldn’t help but feel a little insulted. Perhaps a bit petulantly, Matt set up one of his nastier dramatic entrances for when he got to this sorry bastard.

However after the smoke cleared and the fanfare ended, Matt was left holding a pizza box and more questions than answers.

“Wow, no one told me demons were so good-looking.” The breathy voice made Matt turn his attention to the summoner and he had to hold back a laugh. The human had no idea what he was doing! His heart was beating out of his chest, his palms were sweaty, and the smell of cheap whisky that sat around him like a mist was strong.

Still, the summoning was honest, the sacrifice was made, and Matt had no choice but to stay and hear his demands.

And here’s the thing that really blindsided Matt (well, one of the many things). The human— Foggy, he later learned— didn’t have a dirty soul in the least bit. Matt could barely find a single stain of deeply-rooted sin in him.

The idea was fascinating enough to make him sober Foggy up and goad him into microwaving a few slices of the offered pizza for him, to make the sacrifice just a bit more substantial. This way, his form could be a bit closer to human and allow him to stick around long enough to really get into the nitty gritty details of the Contract without… disintegrating a little bit.

And what a good choice that had been. Foggy was making a deal out of good will to help out his fellow meat sacks! The first decent summons that Matt had gotten in a long while and the deal wasn’t even a selfish one. And he was interested in logistic details and writing up a solid Contract in pen and ink, so this wasn’t something done out of desperation as much as genuine interest. The idea was laughable.

However even after all was said and done, Matt found himself looking for excuses to show up at Foggy’s apartment again and again. And Foggy kept on offering him sacrifices like it was nothing! Sure he just saw it as an odd meal or a few beers, but it allowed Matt to stick around for a few hours and listen to whatever what was on Foggy’s mind.

And with as long as Matt had been around, you would have thought that Foggy prattling on about his perpetual trouble with buggy copy machines and printers (Matt made himself a note to promote whoever came up with those, the low-level frustration they gave off was ingenious) to be utterly inane. But Foggy was genuinely funny, and wasn’t out to build himself this flawless reputation that he had seen ad nauseum in these lawyer deals.

However there was once incident where Matt knew that he was well and truly screwed. It started over a shared bowl of popcorn, and a shitty sci-fi movie (Foggy-Narrated ™).

“Aw man, Matt, these special effects are fantastic! The dude’s running through the forest and- and these hellhounds look like they’re just German Sheppards dyed black! They didn’t even try- oop! Aaaand down he goes!”

“Hellhounds are real dogs, you know.”

“Shush! You’ll miss the one-liner!”

From the screen, the voice of the main protagonist sounded, “What an a-paw-ling way to go.”

Matt groaned and Foggy laughed uproariously, as per usual. Below them, Foggy’s neighbor knocked against her ceiling with a broom, the wrath she felt outlining her form to Matt clearly. It was sharp pinprick of a moment when Matt was reminded of how unclear Foggy was to him.

“Earth to Matt, you in there?” Matt shook his head at Foggy’s questioning voice, “This movie’s just a tragedy. Why are you making me watch this?”

“Because you never bring anything to movie night.”

“This is the first time!” Matt felt a laugh bubble out of his chest, far too sincere for his liking. The two fell back into companionable silence until Matt broke it.

“How’s your caseload?”

Foggy hummed, “Not too bad. I ended up taking on that one girl’s case you recommended, the one with the dirt on Union Allied that she's refusing to give up. Her name’s Karen. She’s nice, sharp as a tack, but her impulse control’s a bit lacking. Lemme tell you, she can ask all the right questions to put someone on the ropes, but doesn’t always have the power to ask them safely. She needs to know when to back off.”

“She’s going to get hurt,” Matt pointed out, bitter experience tinting his words, “And it could end badly for a lot of people.”

“Some people just have to learn the hard way,” Foggy countered, before the two let the sounds of the movie fill in the space between them.

“But I do worry about her,” Foggy eventually murmured, soft enough that a normal human wouldn’t have picked up the words but not at all lacking in emotion. “She’s going to do something rash and she’ll have no one to blame but herself and she’ll have to face the consequences.”

The tone in Foggy’s voice made something low in Matt’s belly twitch, but he pushed it aside. There was an obvious pain in Foggy’s voice and the urge to do something about it made Matt’s fingers twitch. Without pausing to think, he quietly offered, “She’ll continue on.”

Foggy sighed, “That she will. I can just hope for the best.”

They fell back into companionable silence, just in time to hear the protagonist grunt, “This is one breed of trouble that won’t turn tail.”

Foggy didn’t laugh.

Matt’s fingers twitched again, harder.

—

That night, Matt took out a hit man waiting in Karen Page’s apartment for her to come home. Matt told himself that he had it coming; there were enough past misdeeds and wicked intentions in him that it made Matt’s skin tingle being in the same room as him.

“Hello,” Matt whispered next to the man’s ear, chuckling quietly as he whipped around to throw a wild punch at him. The fist connected, but Matt was unmoved even as the bones in the offending appendage were literally shattered like broken glass up to his shoulder.

The man’s screech of pain was probably more satisfying than it should have been, but that did not deter Matt. Sighing, he felt the effect of Foggy’s sacrifice completely wear off.

Bones cracked and reformed themselves while cells swelled under his vessel’s skin, which began turning a color best described as “void.” Like a ripple passing over his body, eyes began popping open across his chest and arms, able to pick out the slightest impure thought. Great curved horns sprouted from his skull and almost like a crown, Matt felt his other faces blink into existence around him, scarred and misshapen as they might be, fire and stars flaring up along with them and throwing him into sharp relief.

He decided to keep his wings in, however. The time it would take for them to rip their way out of his back just wasn’t worth the time.

Feeling much more in his skin, Matt let out a contented groan, and the sound of it was enough for the hitman to drop to his knees, even his useless arm struggling to cover one of his ears.

Scaling back his voice, Matt growled, “You have a lot to answer for.” The man said nothing, as he was too preoccupied with babbling his way through rusty prayers and half-remembered verses. His fear stung like bile at the back of Matt’s throat.

Just on time, the door to the apartment opened, and Karen Page (made unaware of the sounds coming out of her apartments by a nifty little trick of Matt’s) came face to face with Lucifer, Father of Lies, First of the Fallen, and any other title that TV Tropes could spit out.

Wisely, she said nothing as he leaned down to grasp the assassin's uninjured shoulder, gripping down hard enough to make his babbling voice stop with a pained gasp. Calmly and carefully, Matt turned only one set of eyes back to meet the collection of white lies and petty greed that lay behind Karen’s, as he did want her relatively intact.

“Consider this a warning,” he murmured, “From one curious soul to another. A mutual friend of ours wants you alive and the truth out; try not to disappoint me.”

With that, Matt vanished, taking both the hitman and the body with him. He could use the latter to make a statement. The former would allow him to blow off some steam.

No part of him doubted that he was doing this for Foggy. A lot of those parts however were content with ignoring that fact in favor of focusing on the drag of metal against human skin and despairing screams.

—

It was during another one of their movie nights that Matt’s repressed motivations came back to bite him (‘Mean Girls’ this time around, Foggy was maintaining his role as movie night czar until further notice).

“Karen’s my secretary now.”

Matt grunted in acknowledgement, prying the lid off of the milkshake Foggy got him. “Is she?”

“Yeah. You know, I asked her what made her want to go public with those files. Know what she said?”

“What?”

“That something put the fear of God into her.”

Matt reached for his basket of fries, silently chuckling over the irony. “And did everything work out with her?”

“As far as I can tell.”

Matt didn’t have to be an angel of unimaginable super powers to feel the look Foggy was sending his way. Matt didn’t say anything though, and hoped that that would be that.

“That was wrong of you. And what you’re doing to your fries is almost as bad.”

Matt paused, halfway through dipping the aforementioned fries into his milkshake. He was too caught up in thought to tell Foggy how wrong he was about the jab at his fries.

Finally he asked, “What was wrong of me?”

“You’re shit at lying. I know that you’re the one who scared her into going public with those files.”

Matt shrugged, keeping any sort of sheepishness off of his face. “I don’t see the problem. She got her files published, you got justice for your client and secretary who seems to be very friendly with you.”

“Friendly?”

“You were over at her house yesterday, weren’t you?”

“Yeah, we had dinner.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes Matt, that’s it. I know you’d be able to tell if it was anything else.” Matt didn’t say anything, but Foggy barreled straight ahead. “And you’re trying to distract me from the point; that’s very childish of you.”

Again, Matt said nothing, but did sit up a bit straighter and crossed his legs, seeming to listen closer to what Foggy was saying.

“Her decision should have been hers and hers alone, with no outside influence. And while I do appreciate you taking care of the hitman— no really, I do— do I want to know what you did with him?”

Matt’s brain flashed to bones and viscera, ripping and thudding, copper and bile. “No,” he muttered, “you really don’t.”

“Then I won’t ask for specifics. But did he deserve it?”

“Yes.” Matt’s answer was immediate. He remembered all that the man had confessed to. He definitely deserved what Matt did to him. Foggy didn’t sound as convinced as Matt would have liked him to.

“I’ll trust you on that then. However,” in the background, Matt could hear Rachel McAdams's character get hit by a bus, “you don’t get to use other people as props to help our deal along. That’s manipulative, buddy.”

Matt felt that he couldn’t speak. The accusation rolled down his spine and once again, Matt found his insides tightening. Of course Foggy would have few enough survival instincts to chastise him, Matt mused as he popped a few of his fries into his mouth. It made something petty and spiteful in him want to remind the human just what he was dealing with.

However a bigger part of him wanted to lay out everything that he had done to that hitman, describe the way that he had snapped at the other demons that had gotten in his way, really sit down and walk Foggy through just what he had done to send a message to the people after Karen (he was sure that a few of them had gone straight to church after finding their underling’s body in the state that it was in).

Foggy would be furious, and rightfully so. He would yell and berate and not have the slightest concern for the fact that it was Matt he was talking to, Actual Devil and Rotten Bastard Extraordinaire.

No one had done that sort of thing for him in a long, long while. No one had ever that sort of thing and lived ever, but Matt was willing to make an exception. This wasn’t an overly-righteous religious zealot from the Dark Ages, this was Foggy. And Foggy, Matt knew, Foggy would forgive him. Eventually. Maybe.

Most likely.

But Matt didn’t want Foggy’s forgiveness; there was something a bit sharper than that he wanted. Something that would hurt a bit more.

“I’m going to take your silence to mean that you get what I’m saying.” Foggy’s voice broke the silence, and Matt nodded distractedly. The human sighed, obviously seeing straight through Matt’s bullshit answer, but let it drop and turn back to the movie.

—

It was after Matt had left Foggy’s apartment that Matt realized what he wanted.

He wanted to confess to Foggy, for Everything. Matt wanted Foggy to get mad at him for sins that were almost as old as the Earth. He wanted Foggy to lash out at him. He wanted to feel Foggy’s rage batter up against him.

And the kicker was that Foggy was His come four years and nine months from now, and he could certainly demand that of the human. But a bigger part of him wanted Foggy to give it to him of free will. This was the same part of Matt that didn’t want to give up movie nights, hole-in-the-wall restaurants, and Foggy laughing loud enough to stupid jokes to upset the neighbors.

This was the moment that Matt realized how much he wanted from Foggy. And the very thought of it unsettled him greatly.

Fog guy's utter panic when he thinks he has lost the vision in one if his eyes just goes to show how much he is not ready for this to happen. Does he know he can take lessons that could prepare him, rather than just watching Matt and trying to do the same thing?! Because that strategy won't really work, especially considering the advantages that Matt has.

A lovely chapter, the ending was wonderful. Karen is literally the best person ever.

It's over here. There'll be a few more chapters, with painkillers coming later, cause I couldn't resist making him allergic to, well, everything.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/4319847/chapters/9794514

"The Incident", the real estate agent called it. With a capital I.

"Is that what we're calling it now?" Matt asked, and Foggy couldn't blame the woman for snapping her answer back at him.

The Battle of New York had changed everything. For everyone. The entire world had watched as the neighborhood Foggy and Matt had grown up in was nearly leveled by alien invaders from a portal that reached to the other end of the universe. Watched as supermen, heroes in suits of armor and unfrozen from WWII, saved the day. How could it not have put everyone on edge? How could it not have created a strange new world order that seemed to permeate every aspect of life in the city?

Personally, Foggy remembered very little of that day. He was grateful for that, since the brief screaming headache and sense of impending doom he had experienced just before blacking out had been painful enough. He couldn't bear to think about what it would have been like to have to sit in the locked-down dorm room and watch the events unfold on television, to not know that Matt was trapped in a darkened and crowded subway car or that his sister was cowering under a restaurant booth listening to death and destruction happen around her.

But Hell's Kitchen's loss was turning out to be Nelson and Murdock's gain. Foggy shook his dark thoughts off and attempted to haggle, and the agent continued selling them on the run-down, cramped office space. She was right. It was a good deal. It didn't make Foggy any more okay with Matt deciding for both of them though. He chuckled as Matt said they'd take it, and engaged his new partner in another round of their usual argument over what kind of clients they planned on taking. At this point, Foggy only did it for fun. He knew Matt wouldn't listen to him, and he didn't particularly mind. But one of them should at least try to be the voice of reason.

Sometimes, Foggy just didn't understand Matt. For all that he could read Matt's stronger emotions, the intense periods of anger, depression and helplessness that frequently bubbled up underneath his calm exterior, the man could be maddeningly obtuse and withholding when he wanted to be. And right now, Foggy could tell that there were things that his friend was keeping from him, things that were motivating his actions that Foggy could only guess at.

Why had he offered to take Karen Page's case when the woman had admitted to them that she had no money? They were a new practice. Now was not the time for the two of them to be standing up for the little guy. Now was the time for them to be establishing themselves with the medium-sized guy, someone who could help them build a reputation, gain stability, and keep the lights on. Foggy had known that Matt was serious about only defending innocent clients, but they needed to at least charge them. It was crazy to Foggy that Matt couldn't see that. And that he was so convinced that their client was innocent in the first place.

From the moment Foggy had met Karen Page in the police interrogation room, a wave of emotions had swept over him that his suppressants hadn't been able to tamp down. Strong emotions. Ones that told him immediately that there was so much more to the woman than anyone knew, more than she was telling. And none of it was good. Of course he would never tell Matt that.

"There's something not right about this case," Matt said. "I can feel it."

"You can feel it?" Foggy asked. Matt had been saying that a lot lately. Foggy was getting frustrated by Matt's feelings, especially when there was clearly more to them than he was saying. But the thought of confronting him about it made Foggy feel like a hypocrite, and so he kept his mouth shut.

"All right," he said, "I'm just gonna say this once, and we can move on. You don't necessarily show the best judgment when beautiful women are involved, Matt."

And that was true. Matt didn't even try to deny it. Foggy had come to Matt's rescue in that respect on more than one occasion in the past and, for all that he complained, he had done it happily. In a lot of ways, life had hardened Matt. But Foggy knew that, for all the ways that his blindness and his upbringing had made him have to be tough, deep down Matt was soft. He had too big a heart, and it was squishy like a stress ball. Foggy was always careful with it, but too many of the people Matt had let near it had squeezed it so it oozed between their fingers and it broke Foggy's heart every time. He didn't want Karen Page to be another person who let Matt down.

But Matt needed Foggy to back him anyway. And so he would. He always did.

Later, as Foggy dug into a great meal served to him by an innocent woman and filled with virtue, he reflected on the fact that following Matt, and all of his strange feelings, somehow always ended up being worth it in the end.

Foggy knew exactly why Karen was still in the office so late. How could he not? Her fragile emotional state didn't seem, to him at least, to be all that well-hidden. Foggy was certain that even someone without his abilities must be able to sense what she was going through.

Although given that more and more emotions had been slipping past his barriers lately, he also sometimes wondered if it really was just him. The thought of it made him go cold.

As he accompanied her to Josie's, he felt her terror, her deep sense of mistrust but also her naivety. Her admirable but ultimately wrongheaded determination and stubbornness. But primarily, he felt her resignation and cynicism towards a world that seemed determined to beat her down. He couldn't fault her for that. He'd felt it before too. He knew firsthand exactly how much darkness, loneliness and isolation the city that never slept had to offer. It was why he took the suppressants, why he was now taking almost triple the dosage he had been on as a teenager.

But it brought out his protective instinct. It was one thing for him to have to feel it, for it to be his curse, and another thing entirely for others to have to deal with it. So he did what he always did. He tried to make it better.

And if that meant drinking the eel, well, so be it.

Foggy loved Matt. So much. Too much. If Karen brought out his protective instinct, Foggy didn't know what to call the instincts and feelings that he had related to Matt. Or the feelings that Matt had related to him. Foggy just knew that both sets of emotions were more intense, more overwhelming than anything he had ever conceived of even before he began taking his suppressants. He also knew that he wouldn't trade them in for anything.

So when he felt Matt start to pull away, when he started to realize the potential scope of the secrets Matt was keeping from him, that the man was hurting, he didn't know how to handle it. When Matt stopped picking up his phone, didn't come to the door when they knocked, started having to explain away cuts and bruises, Foggy didn't understand. And he was afraid to. So he upped his dosage of suppressants again, and chased them with alcohol. Because what the hell else was he supposed to do? He felt lost.

Mrs. Cardenas was dead. That poor woman, who had genuinely (stupidly) put her faith in Foggy. She was dead and it was all his fault.

Foggy was furious at himself. Matt had slowly drifted further and further away from him, and he had no idea why. Karen was amazing, and Foggy could feel himself falling for her, but there was also something dark and mysterious about the woman that he knew was dangerous. And Hell's Kitchen, the neighborhood he had grown up in that felt like home, now seemed unrecognizable to him. Karen was right. For all that he tried to pretend that it wasn't true, it turned out that the city was full of dark corners, back alleys and creeping shadows that he'd never noticed before. He'd worked so hard to create an emotional distance between himself and the world, and it turned out that it hadn't helped. He was as naive and soft-hearted as anyone else, and just as susceptible to tragedy.

And so, for the first time in as long as he could remember, he wanted to feel everything he had coming. All the pain. All the grief. It was masochistic, he knew, but he was so sick of the dull fuzziness, his increasing inability to feel anything for himself even as he feared feeling too much for anyone else. So he stopped taking his suppressants. Cold turkey. A very, very bad idea.

It meant that when he knocked on Matt's door, drunk as a skunk, and when he was sobered up by the site of his best friend, the man he loved, laying dying on the floor in front of him, he couldn't handle it. He couldn't handle anything. It was all he could do to dial the right number after Matt took a swing at him, all he could do to sit silently while a stranger stitched Matt up and try not to vomit at the site of all the blood.

When Matt woke up, when they finally talked, he felt raw, exposed like a nerve.

At first, he was angry at Matt. So angry, a burning rage that he hadn't felt in years. But it was tempered, because the emotions coming off of Matt were impressively desperate, wanting, and terrified. The terror was particularly acute. He was convinced that Foggy would leave him. That the confession would drive him away. He was so full of love, devotion, but also determination and self-loathing. What was Foggy supposed to do with that? It wasn't as though he had been entirely honest with Matt over the years either.

So Foggy refused to give in to the emotions, even as he was confronted for the first time with the full force of them. He listened patiently, quietly, to Matt's explanations. He threw the facts back in Matt's face, called upon his skills as a lawyer, his reason and rationality, to help Matt understand what he was doing. Fell back upon the comforting logic and lack of emotion inherent in the law to make his case that what Matt was doing was wrong.

But then Matt told him the story of the little girl and her father. And Foggy couldn't help but understand exactly where Matt was coming from. And it made him sick to think about.

Foggy remembered laying in his bed at ten years old, and being overwhelmed by the sadness of the suicidal woman who lived in the apartment above them, and the lonely isolation of the elderly woman the floor below who had no family and whose only contact with the outside world was a Meals on Wheels volunteer. Remembered the beatings that his neighbor two doors down used to inflict on his wife, on his son, and the helplessness and quiet seething rage that his victims felt. The wounded pride and grandiose arrogance of the man hurting them. He remembered the way that, over time, he had learned how to distinguish between the different kinds of pain that humans could experience. Learned to be able to pull the betrayal of adultery apart from the betrayal of a friend's gossip, the fear of terminal illness apart from the fear of asking a girl out on a date or being confronted by a criminal in a darkened alley. And the way that eventually those things had made it impossible for him to be happy, and desperate for everyone around him not to know. He had heard the sirens too, for a long time, but in a different way than Matt. And he'd turned away. He'd felt like he had to.

And now his friend was crying and bleeding in front of him. And Mrs. Cardenas was dead. And it was all Foggy's fault.

So he left. And he slept with Marci, even though he knew, with more certainty than he ever had before, that she didn't even really like him. And when he finally got home, he took a handful of suppressants without even checking to see how many he grabbed. He just didn't want to have to deal with any of it anymore.

Oh no, Foggy...

(A!Anon) Thanks!

(A!Anon) Thank you!!! I'm really glad you like this.

(A!Anon) In his defense he was having a rough night. (Buy omg whatta nerd bless his heart)

(A!Anon) Aw man, thanks!

Updated on Ao3

http://archiveofourown.org/works/4279443/chapters/9692550

“I feel like I've hardly seen you lately.”

Foggy winces. It's worse because Matt doesn't sound accusatory. He sounds tentative, like Foggy's going to walk out the door again, and Foggy really hates feeling guilty for his completely justifiable anger. “Only at work five days a week, I know, it's pretty awful. We'll hang out sometime this weekend, okay? I've just been spending some time with Sam, reconnecting.”

“Are you dating?” That's tentative too. “You never mentioned if you did before, but when you're spending so much time ...”

“No, Matt, honestly, we're just hanging out.” He's spending way more time with the Avengers than he really means to. Natasha texts him weird videos at least twice a day, Steve laughs at his jokes, he's unexpectedly bonded with Jim Rhodes, Vision keeps asking him about points of law, and Wanda keeps plying him with tea. “When do you want me this weekend? We can spend the day together on Saturday, maybe, I don't have Saturday plans.”

Matt's shoulders relax, and he feels even worse. “I'd like that. We can have brunch, take a walk, maybe.”

“Oh God, I've just realized that your terrible sleep schedule has turned us into the kind of people who brunch. Next thing you know we're going to spend our Saturday mornings going to farmer's markets and talking about the economy.”

“You like doing both of those things,” Matt points out, because he's a filthy traitor. “You like haggling, and I like farmer's markets better than the grocery store when we can afford it.”

“Then maybe we can go to the farmer's market after brunch and admit to ourselves that we're turning into brunch people.”

Matt laughs, finally relaxed, and Foggy really hopes he can't smell relief. “We ate brunch almost every weekend at Columbia.”

“That's because students mostly sleep too late for breakfast but still like breakfast food. If you do it when you're an adult it's a thing.”

“It should be a thing. We'll have brunch, and we'll go to the farmer's market, and then maybe we can call Karen and see what she's doing,” says Matt, and nods, everything decided.

“Fine, then, we're succumbing to the inevitable.” Foggy kicks Matt gently under the conference table. “You can just tell me if I'm not hanging out with you enough, you know? Sam is great, but you're my best friend. I'd rather be with you any day.”

Matt smiles down at his braille display. “Thank you, Foggy.”

“Anytime, buddy. Brunch or no brunch, you're stuck with me.”

*

“Brunch.”

Natasha says it so blank that it's a judgment in and of itself, and Foggy rolls his eyes. “I know, right? His idea, in my defense.”

“And you went along?”

“Well, I wasn't going to tell him no.”

“Of course you weren't.” She sounds indulgent enough to make him wince. He knows that tone; he's been friends with Marci for years. It means he's digging himself a huge hole and she's the only one who's got a ladder long enough to get him out. “I feel like I should meet him, he's so important to you.”

“That's, um … very nice, and probably unwise.” Matt is going to say so many things about glass houses and stones when he eventually figures out that Foggy's Sam is Sam Wilson. For now, he's just lucky that they were busy being miserable at Landman and Zack when everything went upside down and Foggy didn't think to mention it. “When's everyone else getting here, again?”

“They're running late from Stark Tower, I think.” Natasha raises her eyebrows at him. “I'm assuming you don't want to meet Tony Stark.”

Foggy considers all the hair-raising things he's seen in the press and heard from Jim and decides that she's probably right. Tony Stark is like a walking lawsuit, he and lawyers probably can't exist in the same room. “Yeah, but I don't want you to judge me about eating brunch either,” he says.

“Did I say anything about judging you?” Natasha, who's been systematically exploring his apartment and stopped in front of his bookshelf to frown at his selections, turns to raise her eyebrows at him. “I just think that maybe you weren't being honest when you said that you and your Matt aren't dating, that's all.”

“Very funny.”

“Honestly, Foggy, you should consider having a date with someone else.” Natasha tilts her head, and Foggy's been to law school, so he knows that they've reached the point, that she's been leading him and he followed like a complete idiot. Matt would be so ashamed. “If only to remind yourself of the fact that you and he are apparently not together.”

Foggy has heard worse from half of his relatives, Marci, and at least two strangers. “Let me guess, you know a great person.”

“I know many.” She grins at him. “Just ask Steve.”

Right on time, there's a knock on Foggy's apartment door, because Jim is a polite man who makes his teammates use the door, and Foggy goes to let everyone in.

Natasha stays quiet on the matter for the rest of the night, but he's got a healthy amount of suspicion. She hasn't dropped it. He has no idea why the Black Widow is suddenly interested in matchmaking Foggy of all people, but it's clear she and Marci must never, ever meet.

Steve, because he's kind of an asshole but also a polite asshole, stays after everyone else leaves to help Foggy put his apartment back in working order and spray his couch down with the horribly expensive non-scented cleaner he buys for Matt's sake, and Foggy waits until he's pretty sure that even Vision can't hear them before he says “So, if Natasha is trying to encourage me to go on dates, is my doom pretty much ensured?”

Steve grins at him in the middle of lifting Foggy's coffee table out of the way so he can get crumbs off the floor. “I was wondering why she's stopped with me.”

Foggy takes a second to consider that. “She tried to set Captain America up with people? How did that go for her?”

“Not well.” Steve shrugs and moves the table back. “I wasn't ready. She wants people to be happy, though, and teasing them. This takes care of both things at once.”

“So I'm doomed.”

“If you wanted to date someone besides ...” Steve clears his throat and straightens Foggy's collection of newspapers that he hasn't bothered to throw away on the coffee table. “If you aren't ready, that's fine. But if you wanted to take a chance, she knows how to vet people.”

“For secret spy organizations, not for dates,” Foggy points out, and then sighs. “And you're allowed to say it. If I'm not ready to be over Matt.”

Steve raises his hands. “That's your business. Don't let Natasha make you do anything you don't want to do, but you can always think about it.”

Foggy's got a feeling he's not going to be thinking about much else for the rest of the night.

*

I love this! I can' wait for the next part. I love the interaction between Foggy and the Avengers. It doesn't feel forced but more like a definite connection between characters but not unusually good that sometimes comes out in fics for the sake of plot. :)

Still really enjoying this! I love that Nat's matchmaking, and that she's finally moved on from trying to set Steve up with someone. :)

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 179 of 209

Prompt Post #4

Re: It's throwback songfic time, fandom.

The Devil's Due Part 2.1

Re: The Devil's Due Part 1.4

Re: The Devil's Due Part 1.4

Re: The Devil's Due Part 1.4

plan to fill

Re: Monsters inc AU

might fill

Re: Anatoly & Vladimir, Matt; kidnapping, hurt/comfort, brotherly feels

Re: Fill: Franklin Nelson, former spy Pt 1 (ao3 link)

Re: Jack Murdock survives to yell at teachers AU

Re: Fill: Clear and Honest Communication 3/?

Applied Contract Law, 4/?

Re: Fill: Foggy is going blind, 6/7

FILL: Matt is allergic to painkillers

FILL: A World of Emotions (3/?)

Re: FILL: A World of Emotions (3/?)

Re: Fill: Applied Contract Law, 2/?

Re: Fill: Applied Contract Law, 2/?

Re: Fill: Applied Contract Law, 3/?

Re: Fill: Applied Contract Law, 3/?

Re: Fill: Franklin Nelson, former spy Pt 2

[FILL] Any Possible Similarity (3/?)

Re: [FILL] Any Possible Similarity (3/?)

Re: [FILL] Any Possible Similarity (3/?)