Of course, eventually, they do start to notice something is wrong. And Foggy knows that once that happens, they won't let it go until they figure it out, because Karen is an actual bloodhound disguised as a human being, and Matt is. Well. Matt. But he's not ready to tell them. He buttons his lip and laughs off their concern, teasingly calling them worrywarts and changing their names in his phone to "Mom" and "Dad." Neither of them buy it completely, but it gives Foggy a little more time to breathe.
--
He tells them separately, Karen first, because that feels easier. He waits one night until Matt has gone home (watches him get a cab and ride away, just to make sure he's really gone), then pulls up a folding chair to Karen's desk and sits down heavily. She looks up from her paperwork, eyebrows raised, and Foggy goes cold with the knowledge that, even this close, he can't see her clearly anymore. Her hair blurs into a blonde curtain around her pale face. He used to be able to count the freckles on her beautiful neck; now he can barely see what color her eyes are in the dim light. Blue, he thinks, swallowing. Bright blue, the color of the autumn sky.
She closes her laptop and waits patiently while Foggy stumbles around words, stutters through a few half-incoherent lead-ins, before he finally cuts all the bullshit and just says it, flat out, for the first time ever out loud. "Karen, I'm going blind."
He's pretty sure she blinks at that, but he can't tell for sure. "Um," she says. "What?"
"Trust me," Foggy says. "I know how implausible this sounds. But. Yeah. There it is."
She's silent for a long moment, and Foggy desperately wishes he could read her microexpressions like he used to. "God, Foggy," she says quietly, after a while. "I'm... I'm sorry, I'm so... Um. How long, how long have you known?"
"About two months," he admits. "Well, officially. I knew something was wrong before that, I just didn't know exactly what, and by the time I got around to going to the doctor, it was too far gone to be curable. There's a surgery they can do to halt the progression, but." He shakes his head. "It really only works in about twenty-five percent of cases on people who are at the stage I'm at, and it's so far out of my price range that I'm pretty sure it's actually in the stratosphere."
He can hear Karen sucking on her teeth. Nervous, trying not to take a wrong step. "How bad is it...now?" she asks. Hesitant, but too worried about him not to ask.
He shakes his head, his throat tightening a little at the concern in her voice. "It's not too bad," he lies, then shakes his head again, dispelling the lie. "Actually, it kind of sucks," he admits, and they both huff out a little breath that was meant to be a laugh. "Even with the glasses, it's hazy. Everything's darker. Peripheral vision's basically shot. It's harder to read, too. Good days, I can manage about an eighteen point font from a normal distance. Bad days... It's just easier to use Braille, to be honest."
"You know Braille?"
Foggy nods. "Taught myself a few months after I met Matt. Thought it might come in handy someday, but I never imagined this particular scenario."
"I can print things bigger for you," Karen suggests, latching onto something she can help with. "Or just print it out twice in Braille, if you ask. If it's a...a Bad Day." He can hear the capital letters in her voice; he's started thinking about them that way, too, as Bad Days and Good Days. He does not say that the Bad Days are far outnumbering the Good Days lately, and soon he won't be able to read fifty point font on his best days, let alone eighteen.
Still, getting things printed in Braille will be helpful, and Foggy says softly, "Thanks, Karen."
"Whatever you need," she says earnestly, and reaches over the desk and takes his hand. It's a little awkward but completely sincere, and God, Foggy loves her. He squeezes her hand and tries to smile. It comes out a little shaky.
"Does Matt know?" she asks after a moment.
"Nope," Foggy says, and chuckles to himself. "How pathetic is it that I haven't told my blind best friend that I'm going blind?"
Karen laughs a little, too. "It's not pathetic, Foggy," she assures him with a squeeze of his fingers. "But maybe you should? He could... I don't know, maybe he could help. Teach you the ways of the Force."
Foggy laughs genuinely at that. "Can you imagine Matt with a lightsaber?" he giggles.
Karen covers her mouth, snickering. "You could use them as canes," she suggests. "No one would ever bump into you again."
"I'd probably end up taking myself out at the ankles," Foggy jokes.
"Be optimistic," she encourages him. "I'm sure you'd only take out a toe or two."
Their laughter slowly turns into the occasional snicker, and when they're finally calm, Karen adopts her serious voice and says, "Listen, I get why you didn't want to tell anyone, but. If anyone can help, Foggy, it's Matt.
It's not the same! Foggy wants to yell. All his laughter is gone, and in its place is a spiraling awful blackness he's been trying to avoid thinking about since this whole things started. He looks into the black and sees Matt there, still able to hear heartbeats and cross the street without help and move as gracefully as a seasoned boxer. But Foggy... He won't have those things. He'll be a clumsy dead weight, needing help with everything no matter how much he practices alone. He'll be a chore. Not worth the effort.
It's stupid, completely ridiculous to think these things; he knows that his and Matt's friendship is stronger than that, but he thinks them anyway, and that cold terror he usually only feels in the dead of night starts to creep in.
"Foggy?" Karen says.
He shakes his head, trying to clear away the fear, but he can feel it crawling up the back of his spine. "Yeah, I know," he says. "I will. I just." He purses his lips to keep them from quivering. "I don't want to be--" Oh God, no, I am not going to cry, he thinks, but his eyes start to burn anyway. He takes a deep breath, and it shakes without his permission.
"Foggy," Karen whispers.
He covers his face with his hands. "Shit."
Heels click against the hardwood floor and then Karen is kneeling beside his chair, one hand on his back, the other on his knee. "I am scared fucking shitless, Karen," he admits through his fingers. He tries to laugh, but it comes out embarrassingly close to a sob. "I'm practicing everything all the time, I'm trying to be practical and learn everything, but I'm just kidding myself, I-I have no idea how Matt does it, and I'm not like him, you know? I can't--" His voice abruptly cuts out, dropping away in a choked-off sob. His hands are clammy with sweat and tears. "I can't do this," he finally whispers. He realizes that this has been a long time coming, that this is a cliff he's been teetering at the edge of while turning his head and pretending he's still on solid ground. He feels like he's finally looking down into that chasm and seeing nothing but a long fall and jagged rocks at the bottom.
When he comes through the other side of it god-knows-how-long later, Karen is still there, kneeling, one hand smoothing his hair, humming something familiar.
"...Is that the Imperial March?" he asks.
"It was the first thing that came to mind," she admits, and they both laugh a little too hard for something that wasn't all that funny. If Karen notices the slightly hysterical hitch still in Foggy's voice, she doesn't mention it. Her gentle soft hand runs through his hair one last time, still smiling.
"You look like you could use a drink or five," she says, and Foggy knows it's an invitation.
"I probably could," Foggy agrees. "But I think you were right. I need to get this talk with Matt over with, and, uh. No time like the present, right?"
Karen nods, understanding. "I'm gonna finish up some paperwork and head home," she says and pats him on the shoulder as she stands, knees creaking from kneeling for so long. "If you need anything, seriously--"
"I know where you are," Foggy finishes, and the smile he gives her is small but real.
(A/N ayyyyy guess who learned how to do italics finally)
Fill: Foggy is going blind, 3/?
--
He tells them separately, Karen first, because that feels easier. He waits one night until Matt has gone home (watches him get a cab and ride away, just to make sure he's really gone), then pulls up a folding chair to Karen's desk and sits down heavily. She looks up from her paperwork, eyebrows raised, and Foggy goes cold with the knowledge that, even this close, he can't see her clearly anymore. Her hair blurs into a blonde curtain around her pale face. He used to be able to count the freckles on her beautiful neck; now he can barely see what color her eyes are in the dim light. Blue, he thinks, swallowing. Bright blue, the color of the autumn sky.
She closes her laptop and waits patiently while Foggy stumbles around words, stutters through a few half-incoherent lead-ins, before he finally cuts all the bullshit and just says it, flat out, for the first time ever out loud. "Karen, I'm going blind."
He's pretty sure she blinks at that, but he can't tell for sure. "Um," she says. "What?"
"Trust me," Foggy says. "I know how implausible this sounds. But. Yeah. There it is."
She's silent for a long moment, and Foggy desperately wishes he could read her microexpressions like he used to. "God, Foggy," she says quietly, after a while. "I'm... I'm sorry, I'm so... Um. How long, how long have you known?"
"About two months," he admits. "Well, officially. I knew something was wrong before that, I just didn't know exactly what, and by the time I got around to going to the doctor, it was too far gone to be curable. There's a surgery they can do to halt the progression, but." He shakes his head. "It really only works in about twenty-five percent of cases on people who are at the stage I'm at, and it's so far out of my price range that I'm pretty sure it's actually in the stratosphere."
He can hear Karen sucking on her teeth. Nervous, trying not to take a wrong step. "How bad is it...now?" she asks. Hesitant, but too worried about him not to ask.
He shakes his head, his throat tightening a little at the concern in her voice. "It's not too bad," he lies, then shakes his head again, dispelling the lie. "Actually, it kind of sucks," he admits, and they both huff out a little breath that was meant to be a laugh. "Even with the glasses, it's hazy. Everything's darker. Peripheral vision's basically shot. It's harder to read, too. Good days, I can manage about an eighteen point font from a normal distance. Bad days... It's just easier to use Braille, to be honest."
"You know Braille?"
Foggy nods. "Taught myself a few months after I met Matt. Thought it might come in handy someday, but I never imagined this particular scenario."
"I can print things bigger for you," Karen suggests, latching onto something she can help with. "Or just print it out twice in Braille, if you ask. If it's a...a Bad Day." He can hear the capital letters in her voice; he's started thinking about them that way, too, as Bad Days and Good Days. He does not say that the Bad Days are far outnumbering the Good Days lately, and soon he won't be able to read fifty point font on his best days, let alone eighteen.
Still, getting things printed in Braille will be helpful, and Foggy says softly, "Thanks, Karen."
"Whatever you need," she says earnestly, and reaches over the desk and takes his hand. It's a little awkward but completely sincere, and God, Foggy loves her. He squeezes her hand and tries to smile. It comes out a little shaky.
"Does Matt know?" she asks after a moment.
"Nope," Foggy says, and chuckles to himself. "How pathetic is it that I haven't told my blind best friend that I'm going blind?"
Karen laughs a little, too. "It's not pathetic, Foggy," she assures him with a squeeze of his fingers. "But maybe you should? He could... I don't know, maybe he could help. Teach you the ways of the Force."
Foggy laughs genuinely at that. "Can you imagine Matt with a lightsaber?" he giggles.
Karen covers her mouth, snickering. "You could use them as canes," she suggests. "No one would ever bump into you again."
"I'd probably end up taking myself out at the ankles," Foggy jokes.
"Be optimistic," she encourages him. "I'm sure you'd only take out a toe or two."
Their laughter slowly turns into the occasional snicker, and when they're finally calm, Karen adopts her serious voice and says, "Listen, I get why you didn't want to tell anyone, but. If anyone can help, Foggy, it's Matt.
It's not the same! Foggy wants to yell. All his laughter is gone, and in its place is a spiraling awful blackness he's been trying to avoid thinking about since this whole things started. He looks into the black and sees Matt there, still able to hear heartbeats and cross the street without help and move as gracefully as a seasoned boxer. But Foggy... He won't have those things. He'll be a clumsy dead weight, needing help with everything no matter how much he practices alone. He'll be a chore. Not worth the effort.
It's stupid, completely ridiculous to think these things; he knows that his and Matt's friendship is stronger than that, but he thinks them anyway, and that cold terror he usually only feels in the dead of night starts to creep in.
"Foggy?" Karen says.
He shakes his head, trying to clear away the fear, but he can feel it crawling up the back of his spine. "Yeah, I know," he says. "I will. I just." He purses his lips to keep them from quivering. "I don't want to be--" Oh God, no, I am not going to cry, he thinks, but his eyes start to burn anyway. He takes a deep breath, and it shakes without his permission.
"Foggy," Karen whispers.
He covers his face with his hands. "Shit."
Heels click against the hardwood floor and then Karen is kneeling beside his chair, one hand on his back, the other on his knee. "I am scared fucking shitless, Karen," he admits through his fingers. He tries to laugh, but it comes out embarrassingly close to a sob. "I'm practicing everything all the time, I'm trying to be practical and learn everything, but I'm just kidding myself, I-I have no idea how Matt does it, and I'm not like him, you know? I can't--" His voice abruptly cuts out, dropping away in a choked-off sob. His hands are clammy with sweat and tears. "I can't do this," he finally whispers. He realizes that this has been a long time coming, that this is a cliff he's been teetering at the edge of while turning his head and pretending he's still on solid ground. He feels like he's finally looking down into that chasm and seeing nothing but a long fall and jagged rocks at the bottom.
When he comes through the other side of it god-knows-how-long later, Karen is still there, kneeling, one hand smoothing his hair, humming something familiar.
"...Is that the Imperial March?" he asks.
"It was the first thing that came to mind," she admits, and they both laugh a little too hard for something that wasn't all that funny. If Karen notices the slightly hysterical hitch still in Foggy's voice, she doesn't mention it. Her gentle soft hand runs through his hair one last time, still smiling.
"You look like you could use a drink or five," she says, and Foggy knows it's an invitation.
"I probably could," Foggy agrees. "But I think you were right. I need to get this talk with Matt over with, and, uh. No time like the present, right?"
Karen nods, understanding. "I'm gonna finish up some paperwork and head home," she says and pats him on the shoulder as she stands, knees creaking from kneeling for so long. "If you need anything, seriously--"
"I know where you are," Foggy finishes, and the smile he gives her is small but real.
(A/N ayyyyy guess who learned how to do italics finally)