Foggy tried not to look too closely at the overhead lights as he was wheeled down the hallway. Somehow Matt had wriggled to his side, one hand firmly clamped on the stretcher and the other gripping his cane like he was about to Go To Town with it. His pain came and went in waves, each a little more intense than the last but bearable at least.
Reality was only just beginning to creep in. He had been hit by a car. People had died from less. He could have died, right there on the pavement before Matt even had the chance to clear the office door. Foggy tamped down on the thought before his heart began hammering against his ribs in earnest. He hurt bad enough, and Matt looked like like the grim reaper in a business suit.
Painkillers sounded wonderful. He hadn’t hurt this bad in ever. How Matt managed it he would never know, but from now on he vowed to be doubly considerate of those injuries. Walk in the park it was not.
“Matt, ‘M all right.”
“Yes, Foggy.” Still with the white-knuckled death-grip and a walk that said Matt Murdock was going places if he had to go through hell to get there.
Clearly he wasn’t going to relax until he had the all-clear from a professional. So be it, not like they had a heavy case-load at Nelson and Murdock anyway. Speaking of-
“You didn’t leave Karen alone, did you?”
“She’ll be fine.”
“You did. She’s probably freaking out. You should call her while we wait.”
“I’ll wait with you.”
“All right.” He didn’t want to argue. In fact, he just wanted Matt to maybe lower the bar on the damn stretcher and climb in with him. Maybe then he could bury his face in a crisp, clean, perfectly wearable suit and ruin it with snot and tears until he didn’t hurt so bad. It wasn’t like he could hide it from Matt, anyway. He had that tilt to his head that said he was listening to Foggy’s heartbeat, which meant he probably knew the painscale was bullshit. Honestly? Probably a six, but there was no way on God’s green earth Foggy Nelson was going to let his partner see him wimping out.
What made it all the worse was knowing Matt would never see it that way, because who would expect Foggy Nelson to be anything more than perfectly average in the department of ‘sucking it up’?
The one silver lining to the whole affair was the sparkling clean and beautifully private room he was wheeled into; if only Matt would leave for a second everything would be perfect.
Matt obligingly retired to a corner of the room and very pointedly did not leave. Meaning somehow he was going to have to make it from stretcher to bed without wiping out because there was no way in hell he was being lifted. It wasn’t happening. His pride smarted enough.
One attempted step was enough to convince him pride was for suckers. Fuck it, he was going to be a total Dude-in-Distress until further notice.
Whether or not Foggy actually fainted when he tried that first step would be a matter of debate at Nelson and Murdock for years to come, either way, when he came to from a mild dizzy spell, Matt, he was draped in a blanket that was warm enough to have just come from the dryer and lying on a pillow he almost felt bad for dirtying.
“It’s your pelvis.” Matt said quietly, cane now clamped to his chest like a shield; it was a gesture Foggy had only seen a handful of times before and only when Matt’s other coping mechanisms failed. “You shouldn’t have moved.”
“My bad. I couldn’t even feel my pelvis until about three seconds ago, but I assure you I do now. That’s where the frostbite is.”
“Fracture. You’re processing it as frostbite, but it’s several hairline fractures.” His tone was matter-of-fact, slightly distracted and decidedly angry. Foggy shrunk from it instinctively, even knowing he wasn’t the target.
Something must have alerted Matt to his distress because the next moment he was seated at the foot of the bed, hands folded calmly in his lap to keep from reaching for the one tool that might have comforted him.
“My toes are moving, see? No harm, no foul.”
“I appreciate the effort, Foggy, but I would appreciate it even more if you would stop playing around until we have a second opinion.”
‘Playing around’ was one word for it, though Foggy thought ‘trying very hard not to flip out’ was more accurate. Twenty-four hours after Stick visited and he had been mowed down by a car? That was enough of a coincidence to test anyone’s belief. The old man was an Asshole, sure, but a murderous asshole?
Yes, his subconscious answered helpfully. Yes, Stick was capable of murder. If Foggy was a shackle it followed that he had to be ‘struck’; pity the bastard had taken that turn of phrase so literally. The stairs leading up to the office were going to be a Bitch. Matt probably would have got up from this, dusted himself off and headed in for another average day of work. Foggy was ninety-nine percent certain it was going to be a couple days before he wanted to do anything more than lie around feeling miserable.
After that he would have to find some way to make discrete inquiries without Daredevil finding out. He’d sleep better once he knew where Stick was sleeping.
Matt stood abruptly, heading over to the sink to snatch at paper towels and soap, running hot water from the tap until it steamed. Foggy watched in uncomprehending silence, still blinking away the occasional spot, tussling with whether or not he could afford to keep Stick’s visit from Matt. He wanted to. Badly. But after all those fancy words about trust and loyalty when Matt’s alter-ego had made itself known… he couldn’t really claim the higher ground if he went through with keeping it secret.
Which would put him and Matt on roughly the same level once and for all. Good. Settled. No tattling. Nobody liked a snitch.
“You smell like oil and tar.” Foggy couldn’t prevent a flinch when the warm paper came in contact with abused skin. Matt’s touch was gentle, but every new sensation was already layered upon dozens of others and none of them pleasant.
“We should wait for the doctor.”
“A nurse is coming, just rounding the corner now. He hasn’t showered since yesterday afternoon, probably been on shift ever since.”
Silence for one beat, two. Foggy held his tongue, watching the worry lines etch themselves permanently across Matt’s brow. “You’re bleeding all over. I can taste it on the back of my tongue-”
All of this would have been so much simpler if Matt’s senses could have taken the night off.
“Head wounds do that; they bleed all over the place, hands too.” The methodical swipes moved to the worst of the abrasions on his palms, stinging enough that Foggy shamefacedly bit back wordless groans. Matt winced and shifted with him, experiencing all of it on a sympathetic level his partner couldn’t even begin to understand.
“Started clean-up, I see.” The nurse’s smile faltered only marginally when he took in the sight of his patient. Foggy was more than a little impressed, but Matt could hear the way his fingers tightened in his pockets, the grind of back teeth when he swallowed a sympathetic curse, muscles shifting when he unconsciously rocked back on his heels to distance himself from whatever picture Foggy made. It couldn’t be pretty, there was so much debris all through his skin and almost nothing sounded right inside.
He smelled like agony and fear, only this time there was nothing Matt could do for it but wait for someone else to tend him.
“Any LOC?”
“Yes, twice. Once on impact, once in the room.” Matt cut in. He felt the nurse frown, knew the question had been meant to gauge Foggy’s state of mind, but he wanted X-rays and a damn CAT scan right away. There were so many things gone wrong and all this useless banter only delayed what Foggy needed.
“I didn’t faint.” Foggy snapped.
“You lost consciousness.”
“I didn’t faint.” He muttered, quieter this time. “But could I maybe get an aspirin or something?”
“I can do you a lot better than that.”
“Thank God.” The nurse didn’t hear the heartfelt prayer, already ducking out of the room and heading right where Foggy wanted him- wherever the hell they kept the good stuff in this place.
“How do you feel?” Matt murmured, hands fussing with the blanket, plucking at Foggy’s shirt to keep it away from cuts he hadn’t even known existed and smoothing hair back from sticky patches he didn’t want to think about.
“Nauseous, mostly. I think if I move I might hurl. And not in a fun ‘night on the town’ way either.”
“That’s anywhere from a six to seven, which is exactly what you will tell the nurse when he asks about your pain again.”
“Yes, sir.”
Not even a smile for his gentle mockery. “I’m trying to be funny here, which really isn’t easy when my insides feel like they have been pulverized. Laugh, damn you.” He suited action to words and immediately regretted it. “I feel like I’ve been hit by a-” Foggy trailed off, remembering again that he had, in fact, been hit by a car.
Matt began to reach for his cane, paused halfway and reached for Foggy’s least-damaged hand instead, clamping tight for a split second before holding it gently. Even that was painful, but when Matt tried to pull away, Foggy tightened his grip, unwilling to surrender the contact.
Stick V. Nelson-Murdock Part 2.3
Reality was only just beginning to creep in. He had been hit by a car. People had died from less. He could have died, right there on the pavement before Matt even had the chance to clear the office door. Foggy tamped down on the thought before his heart began hammering against his ribs in earnest. He hurt bad enough, and Matt looked like like the grim reaper in a business suit.
Painkillers sounded wonderful. He hadn’t hurt this bad in ever. How Matt managed it he would never know, but from now on he vowed to be doubly considerate of those injuries. Walk in the park it was not.
“Matt, ‘M all right.”
“Yes, Foggy.” Still with the white-knuckled death-grip and a walk that said Matt Murdock was going places if he had to go through hell to get there.
Clearly he wasn’t going to relax until he had the all-clear from a professional. So be it, not like they had a heavy case-load at Nelson and Murdock anyway. Speaking of-
“You didn’t leave Karen alone, did you?”
“She’ll be fine.”
“You did. She’s probably freaking out. You should call her while we wait.”
“I’ll wait with you.”
“All right.” He didn’t want to argue. In fact, he just wanted Matt to maybe lower the bar on the damn stretcher and climb in with him. Maybe then he could bury his face in a crisp, clean, perfectly wearable suit and ruin it with snot and tears until he didn’t hurt so bad. It wasn’t like he could hide it from Matt, anyway. He had that tilt to his head that said he was listening to Foggy’s heartbeat, which meant he probably knew the painscale was bullshit. Honestly? Probably a six, but there was no way on God’s green earth Foggy Nelson was going to let his partner see him wimping out.
What made it all the worse was knowing Matt would never see it that way, because who would expect Foggy Nelson to be anything more than perfectly average in the department of ‘sucking it up’?
The one silver lining to the whole affair was the sparkling clean and beautifully private room he was wheeled into; if only Matt would leave for a second everything would be perfect.
Matt obligingly retired to a corner of the room and very pointedly did not leave. Meaning somehow he was going to have to make it from stretcher to bed without wiping out because there was no way in hell he was being lifted. It wasn’t happening. His pride smarted enough.
One attempted step was enough to convince him pride was for suckers. Fuck it, he was going to be a total Dude-in-Distress until further notice.
Whether or not Foggy actually fainted when he tried that first step would be a matter of debate at Nelson and Murdock for years to come, either way, when he came to from a mild dizzy spell, Matt, he was draped in a blanket that was warm enough to have just come from the dryer and lying on a pillow he almost felt bad for dirtying.
“It’s your pelvis.” Matt said quietly, cane now clamped to his chest like a shield; it was a gesture Foggy had only seen a handful of times before and only when Matt’s other coping mechanisms failed. “You shouldn’t have moved.”
“My bad. I couldn’t even feel my pelvis until about three seconds ago, but I assure you I do now. That’s where the frostbite is.”
“Fracture. You’re processing it as frostbite, but it’s several hairline fractures.” His tone was matter-of-fact, slightly distracted and decidedly angry. Foggy shrunk from it instinctively, even knowing he wasn’t the target.
Something must have alerted Matt to his distress because the next moment he was seated at the foot of the bed, hands folded calmly in his lap to keep from reaching for the one tool that might have comforted him.
“My toes are moving, see? No harm, no foul.”
“I appreciate the effort, Foggy, but I would appreciate it even more if you would stop playing around until we have a second opinion.”
‘Playing around’ was one word for it, though Foggy thought ‘trying very hard not to flip out’ was more accurate. Twenty-four hours after Stick visited and he had been mowed down by a car? That was enough of a coincidence to test anyone’s belief. The old man was an Asshole, sure, but a murderous asshole?
Yes, his subconscious answered helpfully. Yes, Stick was capable of murder. If Foggy was a shackle it followed that he had to be ‘struck’; pity the bastard had taken that turn of phrase so literally. The stairs leading up to the office were going to be a Bitch. Matt probably would have got up from this, dusted himself off and headed in for another average day of work. Foggy was ninety-nine percent certain it was going to be a couple days before he wanted to do anything more than lie around feeling miserable.
After that he would have to find some way to make discrete inquiries without Daredevil finding out. He’d sleep better once he knew where Stick was sleeping.
Matt stood abruptly, heading over to the sink to snatch at paper towels and soap, running hot water from the tap until it steamed. Foggy watched in uncomprehending silence, still blinking away the occasional spot, tussling with whether or not he could afford to keep Stick’s visit from Matt. He wanted to. Badly. But after all those fancy words about trust and loyalty when Matt’s alter-ego had made itself known… he couldn’t really claim the higher ground if he went through with keeping it secret.
Which would put him and Matt on roughly the same level once and for all. Good. Settled. No tattling. Nobody liked a snitch.
“You smell like oil and tar.” Foggy couldn’t prevent a flinch when the warm paper came in contact with abused skin. Matt’s touch was gentle, but every new sensation was already layered upon dozens of others and none of them pleasant.
“We should wait for the doctor.”
“A nurse is coming, just rounding the corner now. He hasn’t showered since yesterday afternoon, probably been on shift ever since.”
Silence for one beat, two. Foggy held his tongue, watching the worry lines etch themselves permanently across Matt’s brow. “You’re bleeding all over. I can taste it on the back of my tongue-”
All of this would have been so much simpler if Matt’s senses could have taken the night off.
“Head wounds do that; they bleed all over the place, hands too.” The methodical swipes moved to the worst of the abrasions on his palms, stinging enough that Foggy shamefacedly bit back wordless groans. Matt winced and shifted with him, experiencing all of it on a sympathetic level his partner couldn’t even begin to understand.
“Started clean-up, I see.” The nurse’s smile faltered only marginally when he took in the sight of his patient. Foggy was more than a little impressed, but Matt could hear the way his fingers tightened in his pockets, the grind of back teeth when he swallowed a sympathetic curse, muscles shifting when he unconsciously rocked back on his heels to distance himself from whatever picture Foggy made. It couldn’t be pretty, there was so much debris all through his skin and almost nothing sounded right inside.
He smelled like agony and fear, only this time there was nothing Matt could do for it but wait for someone else to tend him.
“Any LOC?”
“Yes, twice. Once on impact, once in the room.” Matt cut in. He felt the nurse frown, knew the question had been meant to gauge Foggy’s state of mind, but he wanted X-rays and a damn CAT scan right away. There were so many things gone wrong and all this useless banter only delayed what Foggy needed.
“I didn’t faint.” Foggy snapped.
“You lost consciousness.”
“I didn’t faint.” He muttered, quieter this time. “But could I maybe get an aspirin or something?”
“I can do you a lot better than that.”
“Thank God.” The nurse didn’t hear the heartfelt prayer, already ducking out of the room and heading right where Foggy wanted him- wherever the hell they kept the good stuff in this place.
“How do you feel?” Matt murmured, hands fussing with the blanket, plucking at Foggy’s shirt to keep it away from cuts he hadn’t even known existed and smoothing hair back from sticky patches he didn’t want to think about.
“Nauseous, mostly. I think if I move I might hurl. And not in a fun ‘night on the town’ way either.”
“That’s anywhere from a six to seven, which is exactly what you will tell the nurse when he asks about your pain again.”
“Yes, sir.”
Not even a smile for his gentle mockery. “I’m trying to be funny here, which really isn’t easy when my insides feel like they have been pulverized. Laugh, damn you.” He suited action to words and immediately regretted it. “I feel like I’ve been hit by a-” Foggy trailed off, remembering again that he had, in fact, been hit by a car.
Matt began to reach for his cane, paused halfway and reached for Foggy’s least-damaged hand instead, clamping tight for a split second before holding it gently. Even that was painful, but when Matt tried to pull away, Foggy tightened his grip, unwilling to surrender the contact.