daredevilkink | Prompt Post #4

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Prompt Post #4

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A!A: I'm sorry for this filler, but I had to set the stage for a few upcoming things. We're slowly edging towards the end of this and I needed to have all the pieces in place for that. I promise Karen and much needed answers WILL be in the next update.

***

35.

Monday morning in office greets him with the news that one of the interns did manage to fuck something up over the weekend, passed the wrong info to one of Foggy's subordinates, said subordinate gave the wrong advice to one of their potential clients, the client assumed she was being set up, got angry and withdrew from negotiations.

It all happened in the span of some eight hours, when Foggy turned his phone off because he went babysitting his former best friend's kid.

One evening. He allowed himself one evening of indulging in an improbable fantasy of a world in which Matt Murdock didn't consider him a necessary evil and in which there was still some remnant of their old friendship left to salvage. One evening, and the universe was bent on repaying him with a goddamn corpo Armageddon.

He spends an hour yelling at everyone within sight, another two hanging off three different phone calls at the same time, trying to find out if there was any possibility to save this deal.

There wasn't.

He spends another two hours yelling at the subordinate, because Jesus there were rules and there were procedures, you didn't just go passing on unverified information without your boss' explicit approval. Foggy was the boss and he most certainly didn't approve of anything, he's spent the entire evening making Jack Murdock laugh over his father's uni misadventures, and no answer from the boss should never be considered the same as approval.

He fires the poor guy. It's not a HR-approved decision, but damn, it's his department and he'll fire people if he wants to, HR will agree with him eventually.

The guy — and Foggy doesn't even know his name, holy shit, they've been working together for half a year and Foggy doesn't even know his name — takes it like a champion, just nods and goes pack his stuff, takes a bonsai tree off his desk and a picture of a woman and two little girls (wife and daughters?) and throws it into a small cardboard box.

Foggy feels like shit for the reminder of the day.

36.

He's in court on Friday, filing some forms or other, when he hears that Matt has a hearing today. He finishes up with the forms and all but runs to courtroom 2, where he slips in unnoticed and sits in the last row.

Matt is there with Marci and their client, an elderly woman that reminds Foggy of Elena (he hasn't thought about Elena in years, can't even remember what her surname was, damn). It must be one of their pro bono cases, because Marci doesn't look happy, but she's clearly on board with everything because she kills it when she tears into the prosecution's witness on the stand.

But it's Matt who's the real star here, and it's almost like watching a play unfold before his eyes. Matt's always been good in court, was great at closing statements and pointed speeches, but he's clearly grown into his own over all those years. Foggy suddenly understands what those two young women meant months ago when they talked about Matt Murdock slaying the D.A.; the D.A. is there and probably is even trying his best, but he's no match for Matt and they both know it.

Foggy would say that this obvious push-and-pull between them looks like a tennis match, but that would give the D.A. too much credit. It is more like Matt bouncing tennis balls off a stunned and unresponsive wall.

The D.A.'s assistant is there too, but she's not even trying to help and yeah, Matt was right, no damns left in that woman.

Foggy has to restrain himself from standing up and clapping after Matt's closing statement, because shit it was a thing of beauty, a 'mic drop' moment if he ever saw one. And Marci turns in her seat and notices him, arches a brow at him, but doesn't tell Matt, just turns back and waits for the judge to deliver the verdict.

Foggy leaves before that happens. He doesn't need to stay to know that Matt and Marci won that case, and waiting for the judgment to be announced would mean the possibility of Marci coming up to him, or Matt coming up to him, and that would be awkward for everyone.

So he leaves.

On his way back to the office he realises that he hasn't been in a courtroom as an actual attorney for almost five years now, and damn, that's a depressing thought.

The wobbly pile of new contracts to review, approve of and sign off for someone else to handle that is waiting for him on his desk is equally depressing.

37.

With some reluctance he admits before himself that he grew to absolutely despise his job.

38.

He spends the weekend watching Star Trek reruns with his porter.

George is an amazing man, the best friend Foggy currently has, and he listens patiently to a progressively drunker Foggy, who despairs and moans and cries in George's little porter booth.

Foggy is sure George's not getting paid nearly enough to have to deal with him.

"Do you even have any clue what you're doing with your life anymore?" George asks eventually and takes a bottle of whiskey away from Foggy.

It's an expensive whiskey, because Foggy can now afford the expensive and good stuff, and because while cheap alcohol goes great together with good friends, no friends can only be dealt with the really good stuff.

Foggy cannot answer that question, because he honestly has no idea.

39.

Matt calls him on a Tuesday.

"Matt," Foggy breathes into his phone and tries very hard not to sound hopeful. They haven't exchanged a word since the morning after the D.A.'s fundraiser two weeks prior. Foggy was ready to accept that that was it, the extent of their relationship, the occasional babysitting when everyone else that Matt knows was unavailable. And yet here we are, a phone call.

"Hi, Mr. Franklin!"

"Jack?" Foggy asks, because it certainly does sound like Jack, but what the hell is Jack doing with Matt's phone.

"Do you like lasagna, Mr. Franklin?" Jack asks happily, completely undeterred by the sudden suspiciousness in Foggy's voice.

"I like lasagna, only crazy people don't," Foggy tells him. "Jack, does your dad know you have his phone?"

"Yup! I liked playing dinosaurs with you, can we play again, Mummy and Aunt Marci are going rock climbing and there will be lasagna, and we could play some more and you can have all the tiny dinosaurs this time."

What.

"Okay...?"

Foggy hears a sigh on the other side of the call. "Jackie," Matt says, his voice muffled, "what did you want to ask Mr. Franklin?"

"He said he likes lasagna," Jack answers, and his voice is quieter too, now, he must have turned his head to address his father.

"And what else did you want to ask...?" Matt prompts.

"Oh!" Jack huffs into the phone. "Do you want to have dinner with us?"

What?

"I'd love to," Foggy answers immediately, before the offer is rescinded or it turns out to be a joke.

"Cool!"

Foggy manages to hear an exasperated "Jack!" from Matt before the line goes dead. Huh. Foggy looks at his mobile. The call was ended. It didn't cut off due to external factors, Jack literally hang up on him. Bizarre, that. Most likely a joke, then.

Foggy doesn't even have the time to put it down before the phone buzzes again. Matt's cell, again.

"Hanging up on people is quite rude, young Jack," he says as he picks up, settling on the most benevolent-mentor-like voice that he can manage. Yoda he is not, but he'll be damned if he doesn't try.

"It's Matt."

Crap. Of course it's Matt.

"Hey," Foggy forces out. Awkward as hell. "So, uh. I heard something about a dinner?"

"Yeah," Matt laughs softly. "Jack got overly excited, he wanted to call you all on his own. In his excitement he forgot about the basic features of an invitation, like the date and time. So. This Saturday, five-ish? Lasagna indeed will be there."

"Sounds great," Foggy murmurs. It's not like he ever has plans for the weekends. There are only that many Saturdays you can spend catching horses on Red Dead Redemption. But there's one important factor to consider. "Why are you doing this, Matt?"

"It's a thank you," Matt says and for some reason Foggy thinks that it's bullshit, "for the babysitting. And, uh, also an apology? For somewhat contributing to the disaster that immediately followed that."

He means the disaster at the office. Foggy feels a pang of guilt when he thinks of the guy he fired. He still doesn't know what his name was. "How did you know about that?"

Matt giggles. He giggles, honest-to-God giggles, and it's a sound Foggy hasn't heard since law school. "You do work for my father-in-law, you know," he reminds Foggy. "I know a lot of things."

"Do you now," Foggy murmurs, but he can't help the amusement that creeps into his voice. "Five-ish, you say?"

"Yup."

"Alright. And thank you. It's very kind of you. I'll--see you on Saturday."

40.

Foggy would like to say that he doesn't count the days till Saturday like a kid waiting for summer holidays or a dumb teenager waiting for their first date, but that would be lying.

He does. He really fucking does.

Oh man, im loving this more and more

You and me both!

Oh man, does that mean that teh dinner will be just Matt, Foggy and Jackie?
OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

A!A: Well, there might be SOMEONE else there as well...

<3<3<3 You're killing me, A!A <3

Everytime I see you have updated I squee a little bit.

YESSSSSSSSSSSS

Every time you post a part of this my heart gets broken and then put back together. I love this, it's amazing.

41.

Early Saturday afternoon Foggy spends way too much time in front of his wardrobe, trying to decide what to wear. It's completely ridiculous, it's just a dinner with Matt and his family, it's not a formal job interview that will decide about the rest of his life. At least that's what Foggy tells himself. It doesn't help. He's survived various official interviews, including the one for the internship at Landman and Zack, and this is so much worse. He's more nervous than he ever remembers being, and he's trying to decide between a suit (don't be dumb, Nelson, it's not an official function) and a simple T-shirt and jeans (but what if it's too casual?). Reminding himself that it doesn't matter, that not only has Matt lived with him for years and experienced him in various states of dishabille, he won't see it anyway, also does nothing to soothe his nerves.

He ends up putting on a dress shirt and jeans. Best of both worlds.

At precisely five o'clock in the afternoon Foggy stands in front of the door to Matt's apartment and raises his hand to knock. The door opens before he even has the chance to. Foggy blinks, confused, and looks down. Jack is grinning widely.

"Were you waiting by the door?" Foggy asks.

Jack, if it's even possible, grins wider. "Daddy said he heard you being nervous," he informs Foggy casually, as if that was the kind of thing that was absolutely normal.

And it was.

When Foggy tries to look for that old and worn-thin long-ago irritation at Matt's particular gifts — powers, talents, abilities, whatever — he finds it gone.

He's actually glad that it's something that's in the open in this house, no more shit secret keeping, Matt learnt that lesson. Plus, how many kids could say that their dad was a superhero, after all?

Probably more than he realised, come to think of it.

Jack leads him into the kitchen and tells him to sit at the table there. He disappears out of it again, smart, kid, because the kitchen is a warzone.

"Hey, Matt," Foggy greets him warmly.

Matt only huffs, navigating between two pots and the oven. His kitchen skills are still abysmal, then. Good to know some things never changed,

"Hey," Matt says back, and reaches for one of the spice boxes. "We've run out of beer, sorry, but there's lemonade in the fridge if you want some."

"I'm fine, thanks." Foggy frowns as he notices Matt's hand hovering over the boxes, undecidedly. He moves his hand back and forth, as if unsure. "It's saffron, salt, black pepper and what appears to be curry, I think, starting from the left."

Matt grabs the salt. "Thank you," he says. "I got them mixed up."

"Can't you smell the contents?"

Matt smiles. "Do you honestly think I'd still be here if I could?" He shakes his head. "Kirsten loves potent spices, we have a lot of those. If I could smell any of that, I'd have to move out."

"Makes sense." Foggy looks around. "Kirsten at home?"

"Out rock climbing with Marci." Matt frowns. "Didn't Jack say?"

Now come to think of it, Jack did mention something about rock climbing. Foggy was just so overwhelmed with the invitation that he failed to file that information for later.

"Wait," Foggy says, "so it's just you, Jack and me?"

Matt makes a non-committal sound, but doesn't out right deny that.

"That's for you!" Jack runs back into the kitchen with a piece of paper in hand. He thrusts it into Foggy's hands with a smile. "We had to make a picture in arts and I made one for you!"

Foggy blinks, stunned. "Oh, Jack, thank you," he murmurs as he takes the paper, "you didn't have to."

"I know," Jack says. "I wanted to."

It's obviously a picture made by a child. The people in it are stick figures with too long arms and too big heads, the sun is just a quarter-circle in the corner, everything is coloured with crayons and doused in too much glitter. Foggy's eyes water.

It's perfect.

"This is me," Jack points at the smaller stick figure, "and this is you. We're riding dinosaurs."

"Jack, this is absolutely amazing," Foggy says and Jack beams with pride. "I'd suggest putting this in a museum, but then I'd have to part with this and that is never gonna happen."

Matt snorts. Foggy looks to him, puzzled, and realises that he's trying not to laugh.

"Daddy, can I show Mr. Franklin my room before dinner?" Jack asks.

"If you're sure you can find it in all that mess..."

"Yup!" Jack grabs the sleeve of Foggy's shirt and tugs. "Let's go! It's upstairs!"

He tugs him off the chair with a clear intention of making Foggy follow him. Foggy does; he folds Jack's picture and hides it in the breastpocket of his shirt. The last time he was in Matt's apartment he was first too busy observing Matt's interactions with Jack and then dressing up to flee, he didn't have the time to take a proper look at the hall and the staircase leading to the first floor.

He has the time now.

Matt's old apartment in Hell's Kitchen was a sparsely furnished, bare thing with hardly anything that could count as decoration, if one excluded the billboard. This apartment clearly belongs to a family.

The wall of the staircase is full of framed--collages, Foggy thinks is the word. Big sheets of decorative paper with photos glued to it. But no, not only photos. Tickets, leaflets, scraps of materials, various tokens. The one from Matt's wedding even has the wedding invitation. But it's not that one — albeit a beautiful one, Matt looked so happy and Kirsten looked radiant — that catches Foggy's attention.

There's one from what Foggy assumes was a family holiday, because most of the photos were taken on a beach. It's one of those that makes Foggy stop on his way up.

As far as holiday photos go, it's nothing unusual. Matt and Kirsten stroll in shallow water with Jack between them, holding his parents' hands, hanging off of them and swinging with a grin so wide it should be physically impossible. Kirstin has been caught laughing, a sparkle in her eyes somehow immortalised in the phot.

But it's Matt that makes Foggy stop and look, for two reasons.

In the picture, Matt is taking a stroll on a beach, relaxed, shirtless and tanned, the scars on his stomach, chest and arms a pale contrast on his skin. And there are so many of them; some Foggy recognises, a few he even saw Claire stitch up, but there are many new ones. Six years' worth of new scars clearly visible on Matt's body. That's one reason.

But even that is not the most shocking thing that makes Foggy pause with one foot on the next step. It's--It's Matt's expression. Foggy has seen it before, caught it a few times as far back as law school. Marci had a name for it. The heart-eyes expression, she used to call it. She would snicker and mock and laugh, and Foggy would tell her that she was delusional. But the picture captured so much love and affection in Matt's expression that Foggy thinks Marci perhaps might have had a point.

"Coming?" Jack asks from the top of the stairs.

Foggy resumes his walk up.

42.

Half an hour later they're once more sitting by the table in Matt's kitchen, all three of them. There's lasagna on the table and four glasses with lemonade. Four glasses. Fours plates and four sets of cutlery. Matt didn't deny when Foggy asked if it would be just the three of them at the dinner, but he didn't confirm it either.

Jack keeps throwing stormy looks at his father, because Matt's wearing that infuriating 'I know more than I let on' face. It's good to know that it's universally irritating to people of all ages.

"There's a surprise waiting for you at the door," Matt tells Jack eventually.

Jack's eyes narrow with suspicion, but he hastily gets off the chair and to the hall. Foggy hears him pad to the door, he hears the door creak open, and then there's only the shriek of a delighted child. Foggy looks to Matt, who's trying to hide his smile behind a clenched fist.

Foggy opens his mouth to ask what was that about when he hears it, coming from the hall, breathless and happy, "how's my favourite godson?"

"Your only godson!"

"Which is why you're my favourite, obviously," Karen Page laughs warmly as she walks into the kitchen, arms full of the kid.

Foggy is frozen in his seat. Matt, however, moves his chair back and stands up abruptly, walks towards Karen. Karen squeaks — squeaks — and puts Jack down only to throw her arms around Matt's neck.

"Took you long enough," Matt says.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Karen says, still breathless and still happy. "The flight was delayed, a volcano again. But I'm back, I'm back, God, Matt, you have no idea how happy I am to be back."

"Not as happy as we are to have you back," Matt tells her. Then he drops his voice and adds quietly, perhaps hoping that Foggy won't hear, "please don't freak out, I know what I'm doing."

Karen's frowning when she lets go of Matt and finally gets to look around the kitchen. It's only then that she notices Foggy, who shifts in his chair nervously. Confusion, recognition, shock, anger and worry all appear in quick succession on Karen's face.

"Foggy," she greets him and there's nothing of the warmth with which she addressed Matt and Jack left in her voice. She sounds nothing like the Karen he remembers.

Jack grabs Karen's hand and swings it. "Can we eat now?" he asks.

That seems to break the spell.

"I made lasagna," Matt tells Karen as they all join Foggy by the table, Jack between Karen and his father, Matt on Karen's left, facing Foggy.

Karen snorts. "No," she says, "you made a lasagna-like item. I swear, those super senses of yours allow you to pick up on every ingredient in my recipe, how do you still mess it up?"

"I can pick up on all the ingredients, true, but my super senses do not make me any better at combining them," Matt laughs.

"You're a rubbish cook, Matt."

"Jack doesn't complain."

Jack makes a face. "I like Auntie Karen's cooking better."

Karen bursts out laughing and Foggy finds himself joining in. Even Jack giggles.

"So," Karen says after all the laughter at Matt's expense has run its course, "Foggy Nelson. Back in New York. How did that happen?"

"I got a job here," Foggy shrugs. "About six months ago."

Karen raises a brow and looks at Matt. He must sense her gaze on him, because he shrugs as well. "About two weeks after you left."

"Wow." Karen shakes her head. "I go away for the first time in three years and the impossible happens. We really do live in the age of miracles."

"An you know what's the best part?" Matt points a fork at her. "He works for Wendell."

"You're joking." Matt grins and shakes his head 'no'. "Your pompous father-in-law Wendell? Better beware, Matt," Karen tells him seriously, "the universe is conspiring against you."

"It's not so bad," Foggy cuts in, for some reason feeling obliged to defend his job, his boss, cosmic coincidences and the universe in general.

"How was Europe, Aunt Karen?" Jack asks suddenly, before Karen has a chance to come up with a retort.

Her gaze turns softer when she looks at the kid. "Beautiful," she tells him. "Very, very green. There are boats in the cities and you can use them and not taxis. There are many very old buildings. I'll show you the pictures after dinner, okay? I'll show you the pictures and the presents."

"Presents!" Jack exclaims excitedly.

Matt arches a brow. "Are you glad that Skye pulled a few strings now?" he asks with a grin.

"God, yes," Karen says. "Matt, you have no idea, it was absolutely amazing."

"Where in Europe were you?" Foggy asks.

Karen regards him with narrowed eyes, but decides to grace his question with an answer. "The Netherlands," she tells him. "In the Hague. I had a research internship at the ICC."

Foggy's eyes widen. "Research internship? The ICC? Wow, Karen, that's amazing."

"She's writing a PhD," Matt tells him proudly.

Karen blushes. "Just because I have a boss who graciously allows me to leave whenever I want and need."

"Well," Matt says, "you always come back."

"Of course I do," Karen tells Matt, but her eyes are fixed on Foggy.

43.

"This reminds me of your first day at the office," Foggy tells Karen.

"True," Matt laughs.

"Absolutely not," Karen says sharply.

44.

After dinner — and dessert and a q&a session during which Karen found out what her godson was up to in the seven months she's been gone — Jack drags Karen away, demanding to see pictures of canal streets and the presents that Karen brought back from Europe. Foggy stays in the kitchen to help Matt with the dishes.

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather look at Karen's Dutch photos?"

Foggy thinks about Karen's icy attitude and shakes his head. "I shook my head. No, I'd actually rather help you with the washing up."

Matt laughs and throws a wet tea towel at him. Foggy gets hit right in the face.

"Touché," Foggy murmurs. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"One of the collages in the hall..."

"That's Dana's work," Matt tells him. "Kirsten's step-mother. They don't get on spectacularly well, so Dana likes to make gifts for her. Collages. We still have at least four we have no idea where to put. There are worse tings she could be making, though. Vases, for example."

"There's one from a holiday, I believe," Foggy says and wonders where is he going with these questions. What does he even want to ask about? The scars? They're hardly a surprise, after all. That look? Matt being happy? It's not like Matt even knows what he looks like in that photo. "Where was that?"

"The Caribbean," Matt says. Foggy whistles and makes Matt chuckle. "Don't get too excited, we couldn't afford that. Wendell owns a yacht. He wanted to spend more time with his daughter and apparently decided that taking her family on a cruise around the Caribbean was the way to do it."

"That must have been an amazing holiday."

Matt gets a pained look on his face. "It was for Kirsten and Jack. She loves sailing and he got really into that, and the idea of open water diving. Hence the swimming lessons. Wendell promised to take them to Hawaii this year."

"You didn't enjoy it?" Foggy asks, noting as well that Wendell was apparently only taking his daughter and grandson to Hawaii and has not extended the invitation to include his son-in-law.

"Water confuses me and muddles my senses, so I hate swimming." Matt smiles bitterly. "And it turned out that I get seasick easily. Wendell was--less than thrilled about that development."

"Oh," Foggy says. It made sense, Matt getting seasick because of his heightened and sensitive senses.

Foggy thinks he remembers the day Wendell came back from last year's holiday, months ago, when Foggy was still working at the San Francisco office. Wendell was happy that he got to spend his holiday with his daughter from the East Coast. But Foggy also remembers Wendell complaining to everyone who was willing to listen.

Sea quiet and as smooth as glass, and he claims he feels sick, throws up for most of the morning. I honestly don't know what she sees in him.

It was Matt that Wendell meant. It was Matt that Wendell was complaining about all those months ago, and Foggy laughed with him the way you were supposed to when your boss told you about the person who made their holiday miserable.

Foggy finds himself getting angry at Wendell for the very first time.

It's not a bad feeling.

45.

"What did you do to him today?" Karen asks as she enters the kitchen. At Matt's raised brows she points behind herself at the staircase. "Jackie? I was showing him the Amsterdam pictures and he just fell asleep. We didn't see most of the pics, we didn't even get to the presents yet! What did you do today?"

"Softball in Central Park," Matt says. "Barton's in town with his kids, Luke brought Dani, they played a few rounds. But this might be a good thing," he adds, "Jack falling asleep. Otherwise you'd have to show those pictures all over again to Kirsten."

"I don't mind coming over again, Matt," Karen grins, "as long as you don't cook."

"Very funny," he murmurs. "You're staying?"

Karen shakes her head. "I need to go back home, take a long bath, sleep in my own bed for the first time in seven months. My own bed, Matt."

"It is a nice bed."

Foggy looks at his watch. Nine o'clock. "I should get going too," he says. "I need to be at the office early tomorrow."

"Foggy, it's Sunday," Matt reminds.

"And we still have a potential client coming in for a talk." Foggy grins. "The publishing business is not for the weak, Murdock."

Matt walks them to the door. He hugs Karen and bids Foggy goodbye with a wave of his hand. Foggy and Karen get into the elevator together; Karen is trying very hard to look anywhere but at him.

"So," he starts, "a PhD. What's the topic?"

Karen shoots him an irritated glance. "The international criminal jurisdiction over superpowered individuals," she tells him nevertheless.

"Wow."

She nods. They fall silent again. Once they get out of the elevator, Karen rushes towards the door; Foggy follows her.

"Karen!" he calls after her. "Are you taking a taxi?"

"I'm going to take a walk."

She leaves the building and starts walking, towards the park. It's going to be summer soon and the days are long now, so it's still quite bright outside. The sun is setting over New York and reflects gold in Karen's hair.

Foggy catches up with her. "Do you mind if I join you?"

She huffs angrily. "Yes, actually, I do."

"You're angry with me."

"No shit," Karen says.

"Because I left."

"Because you--" She starts laughing, loud and hollow. It's an ugly laugh. Karen he remembers never laughed like that. "That's certainly one way to put it."

Foggy frowns. "I don't follow."

"You know what I mean."

"I don't, actually." She looks at him, clearly surprised. "Karen. I don't know what happened after I... left."

Karen blinks. "You mean he didn't--" She sighs and hits her forehead. "Karen, you dumb idiot. Of course he didn't tell you. It took him a year and a half to tell Kirsten, and he didn't have any complicated history with her."

Foggy catches her elbow. "Karen, please," he says quietly. "I want to know."

She laughs. "I doubt that," she says. "But you definitely should know." She rolls her eyes. "Fine. Walk me home."

They walk in silence for a few minutes. Foggy wonders if Karen still lives in the same apartment she did before. Before he gets the chance to ask, Karen takes up her story.

"The first two months after you left were hell," she tells him. "Matt was miserable, kept blaming himself and I didn't understand why, because what could he have done to help you? It was--a bad time, for both of us. And then Marci came, started bossing us around, but it turned out for the best, because finally there was a reason to do anything. The added bonus was the fact that it took her a week and a half to figure out that Matt was Daredevil."

Karen chuckles, then carries on, "I didn't believe it at first. But he admitted that she was right, and she guilt-tripped him into telling us everything. Then I understood, why Matt felt guilty, why you blamed him. It was his fault, in part. It wasn't good, but it was okay, those first few weeks with Marci. She got a temporary job filling for you, and we just kept waiting for you to come back. It was tough, the fact that you didn't talk with anyone but me, but we knew that you were getting better, so there was that. We waited. Nothing was getting better for us, especially for Matt, and now I'm pretty sure that he flat out stopped eating at some point, but I didn't notice it at the time. We kept waiting. Matt kept waiting. After six months your landlord called him, told him that he got an offer on your flat and was going to rent it again. He told him that he was willing to wait one more month and then someone would have to come and pack your stuff."

"It didn't get thrown away?" Foggy asks. There were some photo albums in there that he'd like to get back and thought lost forever now.

"No." Karen shakes her head. "At the end of that extra month Matt and I went to your place and packed everything. We got all the boxes into storage, turned your keys in to the landlord, and went home. The next thing I know, Marci is calling me, telling me to go to the office and get anything that was signed by Matt, because she needs a sample of his handwriting and signature, and then to get my ass to Metro-General as quickly as I can, because it's bad--"

"Wait, hold up a second." Foggy swallows thickly. "I don't--I don't understand, Metro-General is a hospital, why a hospital, what happened?"

"Do you really need me to spell it out for you?" Karen asks, faintly disgusted. She shakes her head again. "Fine, you know what, fine. After we got all your stuff in storage, each of us went home. I went home, got a tub of ice cream from my freezer and decided to binge watch Gilmore Girls, the way I used to after Union Allied. So while I was watching Lorelei and Rory and crying into my Ben&Jerry's, Matt went back to his place and tried to kill himself."

Foggy's heart stops. He's--he's pretty sure that it stops beating. He goes as white as a sheet. His heart still stubbornly refuses to move.

"Thank God Marci is stubborn and paranoid, otherwise no one would have known for days, it was a goddamn Friday evening. Thankfully Marci is stubborn and paranoid, she found him. She saved his life." Karen looks at Foggy pointedly, and her eyes are hard and cold as ice. "She called you. She called you a hundred times. I called you a hundred times, left dozens of voice messages. 'Hi, Foggy, sorry to bother you, but Matt's dying, maybe you could give a crap?' But you never answered. You never called back."

"I--"

"Marci had to forge a power of attorney letter so that we could anything, have any say whatsoever when it came to Matt. Things like 'please don't keep him heavily sedated' or 'the smell of antiseptic makes him puke'. These are the things a next of kin usually says and handles, but you were listed as his next of kin and you weren't picking up the damn phone. So Marci risked her career and forged the letter, Claire helped us get it into the hospital files. Those two weeks Matt spent in the hospital were the worst two weeks of my life, and I think that says a lot."

"I never called you again after that," Karen admits after a short pause. "You weren't worth it."

Foggy runs a hand over his eyes. It shakes all the way. "Why--why would Matt--"

"Because he loved you." Foggy makes a small noise. "No, I mean... He was in love with you."

"No," Foggy says and it comes out like a small laugh. That's just ridiculous. "No, that's--No."

Karen shakes her head sadly. "Marci swore up and down that you didn't know, and I didn't believe her at first. How could you not have known? Matt was your best friend, there were days when you would spend eighteen hours straight together. How could you have possibly not known? I couldn't wrap my mind around it."

"I didn't," Foggy whispers. He feels as if his stomach got filled with lead and dropped to rest somewhere around his knees.

"Yeah, I know that now. I used to think that you wouldn't have pulled that shit if you knew. I understand that you were hurt and you blamed Matt, but that was--cruel. You told us that you'd be back and then you left, and you never once talked to him. Not once. Matt loved and missed you, and you didn't even have the decency to pick up a phone and call him. 'Hey, Matt, I'm not coming back, I blame you for everything and I don't want to see you again.' That would have been kinder than what you did."

Karen stops him in the middle of the sidewalk by pressing a hand to his chest. She looks straight at him and her voice is sharp. "And now you're back," she says quietly. "I don't know why or what you want, but I won't let you hurt him again. Matt's happy now, and getting to this point was not easy. I will not let you fuck this up. I'll kill you before that happens."

She pats his chest, small movement of her hand against the material of his shirt, right over the pocket where he put Jack's folded picture.

"I can walk the rest of the way alone."

46.

Alcohol becomes his best friend the moment he steps into his apartment. It even makes him call Marci.

"Why didn't you tell me?" the tequila in his blood slurs into the phone.

"Foggy, it's 2:50am on my day off," Marci hisses in reply.

"You didn't tell me," Foggy says, takes the half-empty bottle in hand and takes a swig . "Why didn't you tell me?"

She doesn't even have to ask what he's talking about. She knows. She just knows. Fucking hell, they all just know. No wonder Kirsten dreamt of kicking him in the face. He'd love to kick himself.

"I promised myself that if I'd ever see you again, the heel of my shoe up your ass would be last thing you feel in your life," Marci says sweetly. "But I grew to love my Manolos, and you weren't worth it, so by the time you reappeared, I've come to the conclusion that it was better to leave that matter where it belonged, in the past."

"You should have told me."

"Perhaps. Next time I'll remember." She sighs. "Now fuck off, Foggy-Bear."

She hangs up. He hurls the phone at the wall.

47.

He doesn't go to work. In the five years he's worked at this company, he never once took sick leave. He's plenty sick now, sick because of the alcohol, sick because of what Karen told him, sick because he's an asshole, sick because Matt still smiles at him.

No one makes a fuss. They wish him a swift recovery and Foggy laughs and hiccups and wishes the earth could swallow him whole.

48.

Matt calls him on Wednesday.

It's a new phone that buzzes on his desk, the previous one having been destroyed in mysterious circumstances that he refuses to provide the details of.

Foggy takes one look at the caller id and feels instantly sick.

He doesn't answer that call, nor any of the six that follow.

Wow is too small a word for everything you have managed to cram into this fic so far. Thank you.

A!A: Thank you! I wasn't sure about this part, but I'm glad it works.

Matt did love him and Foggy never knew. That must be some fucked up shit what will mess with everything. Matt blaming himself for what happened to Foggy and now Foggy feeling guilty for something that is in the past.
Marci was teh oen that kept them grounded, no wonder she is mad at Foggy and Karen looks like that she doesnt want to do anything with him.
How they could ever go back being friends, there is always gonna be that cloud looming over them.
And everyone hates Wendell lol.

A!A: Yup, Matt has been in love with Foggy for years, that's why he took Foggy leaving so hard. But he moved on and got over it. (Mostly. *evi cackle*) Marci and Karen got very protective of him and that's why they're less than thrilled about Foggy edging himself into their lives again. It was difficult enough the first time round.

I just love taking a piss out of Wendell.

Oh for fuck's sake Foggy, you're doing it again. >(

His response mechanism to emotional trauma is not the best, is it? :(

Oh, god... I need to hug everyone.

A!A: We're getting closer and closer to the end! Just one or two parts after this one and we'll be done. I hope you enjoy. :D

***

49.

The rest of the week passes in a blur; he's the first person at the office in the morning and he's the last to leave, in the dead of the night, long after even the janitor has left. Foggy tries to bury himself in work, but it doesn't work as well as it did in the past.

When the weekend rolls around, he hits the bottle. The floor of his living room is quite cozy, so he sits there, surrounded by progressively more empty bottles of gin, and stares at the wall. It's a nice wall, in a soothing shade of peach. Foggy tries very hard to numb himself into not thinking and to resist the urge to throw his buzzing phone off the balcony.

He spends a lot of time thinking about Matt anyway. The phone survives.

Somehow he manages to drag himself to work come Monday morning. His smiles are strained and he curses everyone in his mind. He hates this job.

The week goes on.

Rinse and repeat.

50.

On Friday morning an unknown number appears on the screen when his mobile starts buzzing cheerfully. Foggy eyes it suspiciously, but decides that it's rather unlikely that Matt would steep down to tactics such as using burner phones to try and reach him.

It's not like he'd be worth it, anyway.

Deciding that he's probably safe, Foggy picks up. "Yes?"

"Hi, Franklin," says the woman on the other side of the connection, "it's Kirsten."

"Kirsten," Foggy says, throat suddenly tight. God, oh God. "I'm sorry, Kirsten, but I'm busy at work--"

"This is a professional call," Kirsten says. "There's this case I'm handling, it involves questions of copyright, and I've always been crap at intellectual property law. I'm calling for help."

"Help," Foggy repeats. He takes a deep breath. "If you could send me the files, I'll--"

"It's more urgent than that," Kirsten interrupts him. "I need to know something before 3pm. Perhaps we could meet over lunch and you'd fill me in with the basics?"

Foggy glances at his watch. 12:45pm. "My lunch break starts in half an hour," he tells Kirsten. "Take your case files and meet me at the Italian place down the block from the office. You know which one?"

"The cute corner place, I know." Kirsten sighs in relief. "Thank you, Franklin, you're saving my life."

Foggy grunts his acknowledgement and hangs up. Only after he does it it occurs to him that — while he is pretty much what passes as a specialist these days — there are at least six other people Kirsten could have discussed this with, including her own husband.

51.

It's precisely 1:14pm when Foggy gets to the Italian bistro, and Kirsten is already there. She's sitting by a small table in the back of the restaurant, and she waves at him when she notices his entry. He joins her by the table and takes the menu when a waiter appears to hand them out.

"Forgive me for saying this, but you look like shit," Kirsten says.

"Then my looks have finally managed to catch up with how I feel."

Kirsten hums. "I've been reliving my urge to kick you in the face."

Foggy closes his eyes. "You should kick me in the face."

"Aaand it's gone." Kirsten closes her menu and puts it down. Foggy opens his eyes again and looks at her. "Jack misses you. He wants to know if you're angry with him."

He didn't know he could feel any worse than he already does, but yup, he can. "What? No, no, God." It physically pains him to talk. "No, it's not--Fuck."

Kirsten nods empathically. "Yeah. He's a lot like Matt. If I don't keep an eye on him, he'll end up convincing himself that just because he has no evidence of it, it doesn't mean polar bears dying is not somehow his fault."

Foggy cringes. "How--How's Matt?"

"Busy out of town, it's Steve's bi-annual 'let's try to poach Matt for the Avengers' initiative time. Also, currently not on speaking terms with Karen." Foggy's brows raise in surprise. "He wasn't happy when he found out that she told you. They argued. Loudly."

"She was right to tell me." Foggy puts his head in his hands and murmurs through his fingers, "he must hate me."

"Well, if you think that's how people who hate you act then I'm not sure what you'd expect from people who actually like you." Kirsten waves the waiter back to their table and hands him her menu. "I'll take the mushroom ravioli. Franklin?"

"Wine."

Kirsten frowns and cocks her head. "When was the last time you ate anything?"

Foggy shrugs. "I don't know. Tuesday maybe?"

She sighs. "He'll have the same," she tells the waiter, who nods and collects Foggy's menu as well. "And a bottle of sparkling water, we'll pass on the wine." The waiter leaves. Kirsten laces her fingers together and rests her chin on them. "So."

"So. The case?"

Kirsten smiles sweetly. "What case?"

"Your--" Foggy's eyes narrow and he grits his teeth. Of course. Of-fucking-course. "There is no case, is there?" Kirsten shrugs. "You lured me here under false pretenses to talk about Matt?"

"No, actually." She folds her hands on the table and leans towards him a bit. "I lured you here under false pretenses to talk about you."

"Me?" Foggy blinks. "Why would want to talk about me?"

"Because it's the second time you get hurt and run away. Your response to emotional trauma is shit, frankly, and people I love suffer as a consequence. I don't know what is it about you, but you make the Murdock boys love you so effortlessly. My dad would sure like a few tips on that."

Foggy hunches in his chair, folds in on himself in an attempt to look smaller. Damn. Damn it. "The third time," he says, because the other part of Kirsten's speech? He's not touching with a foot-long pole. Kirsten blinks, confused. Foggy takes a breath. "It's the third time. When I found out about--Matt's second job, I--I ended up walking out on him and slamming the door behind me."

"He never told me. Well. Your track record is abysmal, then." Kirsten sighs again and drums her fingers on the table's surface. It seems she's steeling herself to say something, and Foggy feels a shudder go through his frame. "You limp."

"Excuse me?"

"It's almost unnoticeable, just a barely-there slight shift of weight," Kirsten carries on. "You favour your left leg. It's much less obvious than your hand — that one is obvious, and not just because of how it looks. You flex your fingers a lot, you rub your left hand over them when you're distracted, it seems to ache a lot and I think it gets worse when you have to grip something for longer periods, like a pen or a fork. That's the part everyone sees. But you also limp, and that I can promise you is not obvious to most people. Just the ones who have intimate knowledge of such injuries."

"And you have because of Matt?"

Kirsten shakes her head. "Because of my college's athletics department," she clarifies. "I was the team captain of the cross-country relay team. We've done it all in all conditions imaginable and I've seen my fair share of broken legs and bones sticking out of places that they shouldn't stick out of. I know what a clean break looks like and this wasn't one." It's not a question, but Foggy shakes his head 'no' nevertheless. "Then kudos to the surgeon, because he did a damn good job. It's easy to fuck up."

"The surgeon and more than half a year of physical therapy. My aunt's sister in Kansas is a therapist. Not having to pay was very nice on my wallet." Foggy clears his throat. "No one noticed before, you know? Not even my wife."

"Matt noticed," Kirsten says. "Your steps sound uneven to him." She bites on her lower lip. "This doesn't make your wife sound--good."

Foggy smiles. "Ella was--She didn't care. She didn't care about any of that shit. She was new and exciting and safe, she was wild and loud and larger than life, and I got swept up in her. I think...I think I even loved her, at some point."

"How long were you two married?"

"Close to three years."

"That's a long time to be married to someone you think you loved at some point."

Foggy grimaces. "I was thinking about going back to New York when I met her," he tells Kirsten. He's never told this to anyone before. "And I didn't. I went to San Francisco with her, after her, because it was safe, she was safe. I suppose I held onto that marriage as long as I did, because I didn't want to think that the thing that I've abandoned my whole life for was not even working."

"Fair enough," Kirsten nods. She plays with her cutlery.

"How do you do it?" Foggy asks quietly. "How can you not be afraid?"

He doesn't have to clarify. Kirsten knows what he means.

"I am afraid," she admits, equally quiet. "I'm scared all the damn time. I wake up in the morning and I wonder if I get back home that evening, if Matt gets back home or if this is the last time I see him, if Jack ends up growing up with only one parent."

"Then why--"

"My mother died when I was six," Kirsten tells him. "Just a year older than Jack is now. She was shot. It was a Saturday morning and we've run out of milk. Mum went out to buy some in the corner shop, just four minutes away from our house. She never came back. She went out to buy milk and she never came back."

"I suppose it comes down to the fact that we can be certain of nothing," Kirsten continues after a pause. The waiter brought their ravioli and a bottle of water, and Kirsten thanked him with a smile. "One of us could be killed because of Daredevil. I could just as easily be taken and tortured because of a case we're handling and because we make life miserable for mobsters. But I could also be run over by a car outside our office. I might die in a traffic accident. I might get shot while getting milk for my kid."

"Association with Daredevil definitely makes one's life more dangerous," Foggy points out.

"True," Kirsten admits. "But it's the question of worth. Is that extra danger worth it? Back when we first met, Matt tried very hard to push ma away. He said he didn't want to be responsible for another of his loved ones getting hurt. It was sweet, in a way, but also condescending as hell. Because it was my decision. I chose to be with him. I knew the risks and I chose to be with him."

Kirsten pours water into their glasses while Foggy stabs his ravioli with a fork. He is hungry, he knows he is, but the sole thought of actually eating, of chewing and swallowing anything, makes his stomach turn.

"So we're back to the question of worth. The extra danger, the risks. We could die any day, but there's the possibility of dying horribly. Is being with Matt, being a part of his life, worth taking that risk?" Kirsten takes a sip of her water. "Contrary to what Matt thinks, I've thought long and hard about this. And I've decided that yes, of course it is worth it. He is worth it. I'd rather take the possibility of a horrible death, the fear and the pain and the grief that will no doubt come one day over not being with him. Over opening a newspaper one morning, or getting a Google alert, and finding out that he's dead, and regretting the time we didn't have. I know regret. I know what regret looks like, I've seen it go downhill right into a crippling depression. I don't want it. I'll take Luke Cage pounding on my door in the middle of the night to tell me that something bad has happened over regret any day. I'll take all the time we can have over having no time at all."

Foggy puts his fork down and away. He won't be eating anyway. "I--never thought about it that way."

"And that means you're less of an optimist than Matt likes to paint you as."

They sit in silence for a moment. Kirsten eats her lunch while Foggy drains one then two then three glasses of water. He never thought about that, about the choices he made. After he found out about Daredevil, he came back. He came to Matt's gym and he offered him their friendship back. He offered to come back, and he did. He knew it was going to be dangerous — and perhaps he couldn't imagine just what exactly those dangers entailed, but he knew. And it was his choice to stay. What happened, it might have been Matt's fault, but it also was his choice that led to that, and he didn't see it.

"He misses you," Kirsten says. "He blames himself and thinks that every bad thing that ever happened to you is his fault, but he misses you. And then he considers that to be selfish, because you'd be safer and happier without him around and yet he can't stop."

"Karen said he loved and missed me," Foggy whispers, so quiet that Kirsten has to strain and lean forward over the table to hear him. "After I left."

"He did. Even at his lowest and angriest, even long after he met me, he still loved and missed you." Kirsten moves her hand and covers Foggy's with it, entangles their fingers together. "He never stopped. It's not something we talk about a lot, because discussions about your first big love can turn awkward quickly, trust me on that, but I know he didn't. He still loves and misses you."

She lets go of his hand. "For a long time I only knew of you from Matt and from what Karen and Marci were willing to seethe out to me. Matt doesn't have any photos from law school, no videos, nothing, so I kept imagining you as that smug asshole that you just want to punch at first sight. I liked that mental image that I had, and I couldn't understand why would Matt be sad that you weren't at our wedding or why would he want to name his son after you. You were that asshole who abandoned him." She starts playing with the rim of her glass. "And then I met you. You're a kind and big-hearted damaged person who I know for a fact cares a great deal about both of my boys. Hating you quickly became impossible, and I realised why Matt could have missed you all those years. You're an easy person to love and an easy person to miss."

"I shouldn't be." Matt shouldn't miss him, for fuck's sake, Jack shouldn't miss him, he's only known him for a few months.

"Perhaps." Kirsten drains the contents of her glass. "But you are, and I'd be grateful if you stopped being an asshole. Go be a friend, I was told you're good at that."

"We're not friends, Kirsten," Foggy laughs bitterly. They aren't, he and Matt. There is too much history between them now, too much hurt and betrayal hanging over their heads like a storm cloud. All the hurt feelings and despair and sadness that threatened to fall on their heads at any moment leaving them anxious and unsure; they knew it would rain eventually, but it wasn't possible to have an umbrella with them at all times. "We're not even the same people we were back then."

"Maybe you're right," Kirsten says. She waves at the waiter and requests the bill. "But I didn't know you back then. I only know you as you are now, and Matt was already broken when I met him."

They split the bill and Foggy declines Kirsten's offer to walk him back to his office.

52.

That night Foggy leans over the railings on his balcony and looks at New York.

When he came back to the city close to seven months ago, he didn't expect to find it so changed. To find the people in it so changed. Sure, he didn't think everything stayed exactly the same — he's not an idiot, and six years is a long time — but he didn't think he wouldn't be able to recognise anything. He never thought that his leaving would have had any impact on anyone, let alone one this big. He was just Foggy Nelson, the side addition to Matt Murdock's awesome and handsome and lawyer, the inevitable plus one that was difficult to get rid of.

They aren't those people anymore. Foggy ponders what he told Kirsten at lunch and realises that it holds more truth than he thought. They really aren't those people, and they most certainly aren't friends. Men who tried to play-pretend a friendship for a few weeks at best. Lousy losers trying to cling to an idealised and untrue image of something long-gone at worst.

Matt has his own world now. A wife and a son — a sweet, amazing son and Foggy feels a pang of guilt at the thought that, if things went differently once, he could have been Jack's godfather and Uncle Foggy — a prospering practice that he runs with someone he trusts, a circle of friends who go to the zoo and play softball in Central Park and celebrate Halloween together. Foggy doesn't fit into all that. He's the spare part that will ruin everything if you try to squeeze it in. Just look. He already caused a falling out between Matt and Karen.

They aren't friends. They're just two strangers who were friends once, who once knew each other and knew how to care about each other.

It'll be better if he leaves, it occurs to him suddenly.

Yes, yes it would be. It will be. He could go back to San Francisco, far enough not to cause any more trouble in his world that's not his anymore, far enough that all the miles between would ensure that they stay apart. He still has some people in San Fran, he could get a job. He even misses the beaches a little bit.

He'll call Matt. He'll call Matt and he'll explain everything — he'll not be an asshole this time, no disappearing act, you leave properly this time, Nelson, finish a job, finish a relationship, finish a life. Matt'll agree with his reasoning, because Matt is a smart and reasonable man. He'll see that Foggy is right, he'll see that it'll be better that way, he'll see that it's the only way to get his nice and put-together life back.

The seven months Foggy Nelson spent in New York will be filed away as an anomaly, perhaps will become an anecdote that will be told years in the future, and Jack Murdock will blink and say that he doesn't remember the man for whom he drew a picture in arts class when he was five.

It'll be better if he leaves. It'll be better, because Matt and his family deserve the best.

53.

On Monday morning, Foggy turns in his resignation. In the evening, he starts packing.

FOGGY YOU IDIOT DID YOU LISTEN TO ANYTHING SHE SAID AT ALL XD

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