daredevilkink | Prompt Post #5

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Prompt Post #5

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Thanks!

Excellent fill! Thank you so much for writing this (and damn AO3 maybe I WANT to leave kudos more than once jeez).

Matt wakes up with a sudden, sharp wave of dizziness. His throat is raw, and he can taste antiseptic; he thinks for a moment that he might be on Claire’s couch, but the texture is wrong, and he can’t--

His head is full of brackish water and brittle sound. Everything is thick and clouded, and Claire didn’t, Claire wouldn’t--it’s like thinking through molasses, a swamp pushing in until his ears are almost popping. He’s drowning in sounds, in smells, and he can’t focus, can’t filter anything: heartbeats scattered across layers and layers of space, conversation in six languages; the subsonic hum of fiberoptic cable; antiseptic and metal and blood and the lingering too-strong scent of someone’s coconut shampoo. From somewhere to his left, rhythmic beeps cut through the cold air in sudden white-hot flares.

Matt tries to ground himself, to pull inward. He’s lying on--not Claire’s couch, a bed--not his--too hard, and he can’t place the texture of the sheets--smooth, synthetic, rasping under the ridges of his fingertips. Everything hurts, but some things hurt more, and Matt follows the pain like a series of beacons: right shoulder; left side; left leg. His left hand is throbbing, something sharp and cold under his skin--an IV line--and when he tries to move his arms, there’s a sharp pull and tug of rough nylon against wrists rubbed raw; which is enough to throw him back out of himself in a sudden burst of terror. The beeping gets faster as if in answer to his panic. He has to get up, get out.

“Welcome back,” says a voice. It’s mild, even--familiar--a man in his 40s or 50s. Matt can smell nitrile and sweat and soap, and a whisper of something strange and chemical that he can’t place. “Do you know where you are?”

Matt tries to focus, remembers--the warehouse, a panicked run, and--”Avengers?” His voice is muffled against something cool and plastic--an oxygen mask, he realizes.

His radar sense is almost useless through whatever drugs he’s on, but he can feel the air shift as the man nods. “Good. Yeah. You’re in Avengers Tower. You came in yesterday. Do you remember?”

Matt finally places him--the doctor from before. Something that starts with B. Brian? Ben? No, Ben’s dead. “The kids, did you--”

“They’re here,” says a second voice, female. This one, he recognizes immediately: Black Widow. “Safe and sound.”

“Why am I--” he tugs at the restraints. His radar is static, and his other senses are dulled to mud, and he can’t get the lay of the room or even work out where they’re standing. For the first time in a long time, Matt feels really, truly blind. “You drugged me.”

“You were in bad shape,” the doctor tells him. “It was pretty touch-and-go there, for a while.” He taps a nylon cuff, and Matt flinches at the sudden sound. “We added those after you ripped out the second chest tube.”

“Oh,” says Matt; and adds, on reflex, “Sorry.”

The air shifts as the doctor shakes his head. “Not your fault. If I take them off, will you stay put?”

Panic swells, pushes taut against the edges of Matt’s chest. All he wants is to get out, get home--but he’s not sure he could run even if he wanted to. He’s not sure he could even stand. Either way, he wants the restraints off even more, so he nods, then winces at the loud rip of the velcro.

“Thanks,” he tells the doctor. Flexes his hands gingerly, and raises the one without the IV to his side to feel the edge of the tube. “How long was I--” He freezes as his fingers skim across not the armor he’s expecting, but the same synthetic stuff the sheets are made of; and he realizes what he’s been missing. “My--” His hand flies to his face, pushes aside the oxygen mask and comes up against bare skin.

Matt’s out of the bed before he can think about it--feels the IV rip out of his hand. He tries to run, and his left leg buckles when he tries to put weight on it, pitching him down onto the floor.

“Okay,” says the doctor. “Not a great start.” There are hands on Matt, pulling at him, and he fights them off, swinging at random with the arm he can still lift, edging away until he realizes he’s backed himself into a corner. His lungs and leg are on fire, and the air tastes like copper, and oh, god, they’ve seen his face, they know who he is.

They’re on him again. Finally a punch connects, and he hears Black Widow swear as her heartbeat spikes. “Fuck. Bruce, get out of--”

The doctor’s--Bruce’s--heartbeat is racing, and his voice suddenly has an inhuman edge to it; something dangerous, bestial. “I’m--okay. I’m just going to--take. A few steps. Back.”

Widow withdraws, too, and he can hear them breathing in slow unison, hear her take Bruce’s hand. “We good?” she asks, after a moment.

“Ten-four,” says Bruce, from further away. His voice is normal again, if a little more ragged than before. Across the room, Matt hears his heartbeat slow down and even out; Black Widow’s--closer--follows.

“Not your fault,” says Widow. She’s walking over now, and Matt tries to edge back further into the corner, tries to find it in himself to get back up. Murdocks always-- He can’t. It hurts to breathe, and he’s freezing, shivering, and everything’s loud. He can hear phones on sixty floors, countless heartbeats, snatches of conversations.

Black Widow sits down on the floor next to him, careful not to touch. “Daredevil.” He curls back further. “Matthew. Listen.”

The sound of his name is enough to shock him to stillness. “Matthew,” says Black Widow, again. “It’s okay. Listen to me. I know you’re scared, and disoriented, but I need you to calm down. You’re safe here.” Matt tries to listen for her heartbeat, but his own is pounding in his throat, rattling against his ribs, drowning out everything around him. His name. They know his name.

“You know who--” he starts, and cuts himself off with a coughing jag that leaves him winded.

“Yeah,” she says. “I’m sorry about that. You stopped breathing. A couple times. And Bruce needed--Well. This was--the best of some bad options.”

The panic is draining away as rapidly as it came on; suddenly, Matt is exhausted, dizzy. He lets himself slide down until he’s curled up on one side on the floor, back to the wall. Black Widow reaches out, slowly--enough for him to duck away, but he doesn’t, not this time--and strokes his hair back, out of his face. “It’s okay,” she tells him, again. “You’re safe.” He can hear her heartbeat--slow, even--and feel her pulse where her fingertips are resting against his forehead.

“Okay,” Matt says. There’s something else, he knows; something important. “The kids?”

“They’re safe, too,” she tells him.

He nods into her hand. “Good.”

Halfway across the room, Bruce is saying something about shock, but most of the words get caught somewhere in the too-thick air. There’s movement, sound, more hands; but Black Widow keeps talking to Matt, stroking his hair, and he focuses on the cadence of her voice, its rise and fall. There’s something cool and rough against his hip, and then the sudden sting of a needle; and Matt follows Black Widow’s steady heartbeat all the way into the quiet that rises to swallow him.

Ooooh shiiieeeet.

poor Matt. ;_;

eeeeeeee can't wait for more! Of course Matt's first thought is for the kids. Of course.

I love all these descriptions of things Matt can sense even with the drugs, and the way he was so terrified and panicked, especially when he realized that they'd seen his face and knew who he was. I could read that part over and over again. *g* And oh, wow, he almost caused Bruce to Hulk out! What a close call!

Did they have to get Foggy's permission to do complicated medical procedures on Matt, is that part of the reason why they know who he is? Or is Natasha just talking about how they had to take the costume off in order to do surgery? I liked how she sat down close to him, but didn't touch, and when she does reach out, she does it slowly and gives him the chance to duck away. Yeah, she knows how to deal with traumatized people. I could definitely do with more Matt-and-Bruce-and-Natasha.

And of course Matt would ask about the children. :-)

As always, looking forward to more story.

(auth!anon)

Thank you!

They would have had to get the costume off regardless. And Matt responding to stimuli with his senses that out of whack would have led them to check for head injury; at which point the mask would have to go, too, even if they'd done their best to leave it on before.

They have not contacted Foggy. (More on that next chapter.) My thought was that they snagged his (obviously vastly incomplete, but better than nothing) medical records from somewhere. Given the choice between gross and super illegal violation of privacy on one hand, and possibly blowing his cover on the other, the former seems more like the Avengers' style (and certainly well within the capabilities of Stark tech). They don't know this guy from Adam--whether his anatomy is altered, whether he's got inbuilt tech, &c.; and there's clearly something wonky going on with his senses--so...

All the yes please and thank you!!

Yay! I've been checking back here a lot for updates. This is so good hng can't wait for the last part!

I like the way you think anon

I think of it more as Foggy knows he has a scorched earth policy when he's really angry, so he tries to avoid confrontation in general but isn't always successful at managing his anger. He knows how he rips into people when he's angry tends to destroy relationships and salt the earth after, so he really tries not to let it get that far but can't quite stop himself when he's on a roll.

...You know, I feel obligated to point out that there's at least one fanfiction where Matt is literally Satan, and there are several where he's some sort of other demon.

THIS IS GLORIOUS. I LOVE IT. *SHOWERS YOU IN GLITTER*

This Foggy is scary attractive. For real.

Oh, I like this backstory. Of course they would need to know more about him before treating him, given that he is a superhero!

I'M SERIOUSLY READING THIS THROUGH MY FINGERS BECAUSE THIS IS JUST TOO GOOD TO COMPREHEND AHHHHH DON'T STOP

THANK YOU.

this is beautiful. and terrible. but mostly beautiful.

i love karen making foggy get a gun and being awesome at negotiations, and how foggy maneuvers matt out of the way without actually lying to his face, and how this all started as an attempt to sort of keep matt safe and then kind of... snowballed into a weird swamp of criminals and mangled ethics.

SO CUTE. I really hope you share more!

The phones have been ringing off the hook since the video of Daredevil at Avengers Tower went viral. Natasha has given up on keeping track of the headlines: Daredevil Joins the Avengers; Daredevil Fights the Avengers; Daredevil Is Sleeping with the Avengers; and Natasha’s personal favorite, Has Hawkeye Gone Rogue?, which Clint proudly prints out and tapes to his office door. The NYPD wants to know why the hell they have yet to turn Daredevil over; every reporter and his mother wants a quote; and half of Hell’s Kitchen has called to demand the safe release of their hero. A guy claiming to be Daredevil’s lawyer calls half a dozen times, then shows up at the door. Natasha initially dismisses the lawyer as a crank until Clint recognizes him as the other face from the Nelson & Murdock website; which earns Nelson a face-to-face so that Natasha can reassure him that yes, Daredevil is going to be fine; and no, he’s not in any kind of trouble; and yes, the know who he is (although they both dance carefully around the name Matthew Murdock); and no, they’re not going to tell anyone; and no, she can’t release any details or let Nelson up to restricted areas; but yes, if he wants to drop off some personal items, she’ll make sure his friend gets them; and yes, she’ll tell him to call when he can. Nelson shows up two hours later with a stuffed duffel bag, his worry poorly tucked under another set of stern warnings about confidentiality and constitutional rights.

For his part, Daredevil sleeps through most of the shitstorm, waking up for just long enough to accurately identify where he is, lie about how much pain he’s clearly in, and ask after the kids, who are--at least for now--safe. Sam is handling the front-line stuff, and Tony has lawyers working on the asylum question, with Steve on point in D.C. to take advantage of elected officials’ general terror of saying “no” to Captain America. Natasha alternates between working the other end of the puzzle--piecing together where they came from--assiduously avoiding the kids themselves, and stopping down at the med center when she can to check on Daredevil and make sure Bruce eats.

The former has mostly been a formality, but on the third day, Natasha finds Daredevil awake, propped halfway to sitting. He’s listening to something on headphones, fingers tapping aimlessly on the sheet, but he turns and nods as she walks in. He’s tired and clearly in pain--and still pretty heavily drugged--but more lucid than she’s seen him yet.

“Good to see you up,” she says. “How’re you feeling?”

He shrugs his uninjured shoulder. “I don’t know. Kind of--” he wiggles a hand amorphously, which she takes as a reference to the painkillers. “Listen, I’m really sorry. About before, panicking like that.”

“You’re a lucky guy,” she tells him. “Not a lot of people get to take a swing at Bruce and live to tell the tale.”

He winces as he shifts in the bed. “So that’s what lucky feels like.” It’s hard to think of him as Daredevil like this, hair tousled, eyes unfocused. He looks like someone’s kid brother.

“Are you okay?” she asks. “If you’re in pain, I can get Bruce.”

He grimaces. “No. God. I’m on enough of whatever to-- Pain would frankly be preferable.” She doesn’t say anything, and after a moment, he elaborates. “The drugs mess with--I can’t focus, and it gets--” He repeats the amorphous gesture from before. “It’s hard to explain.”

She puts the duffel on the edge of his bed. “Your friend brought you some things.”

He sniffs the air and sighs. “Foggy. He should know better than--” He scowls, running his fingers along the edge of the duffel. “I take it you’ve already been through this.”

“Necessary precaution,” Natasha tells him. “Don’t worry--everything’s still there.” She can’t get used to how unguarded his face is without the mask. She’s trained to read microexpressions, pick up on the subtlest cues, but Daredevil might as well be glaring neon. It’s not a sort of intimacy Natasha is used to with strangers, and it fascinates and unsettles her in equal parts.

“He’s a good friend,” she adds.

“He is. Better than I deserve.” Daredevil’s mouth quirks into a crooked smile as he sorts through the contents of the bag. Natasha watches him touch the travel bottles of toiletries and heavy-duty noise-blocking headphones; pause to smell a sweatshirt; trace the rims of a pair of red-tinted sunglasses before slipping them on. There’s an iPod; and a rosary, which he thumbs for a moment before tucking it back in the bag. Finally, he pulls out a folded white cane.

“Do you really need that?” she asks.

Daredevil’s eyebrows jump. Behind the sunglasses, his bearing is more confident, harder to read. “Are you asking if I’m actually blind?”

“Mm,” says Natasha. She knows it’s a gauche question, but-- “I’ve seen you jump between rooftops. Land impossible shots.”

“Ah,” says Daredevil. “That, yeah.” He fiddles with the shampoo bottle; now that he’s awake, she notices, his hands are almost never still. “Yes. I’m actually blind. Zero light perception.” She doesn’t say anything, and he must realize she’s waiting for an explanation, because after a moment, he says, “You’ve probably heard that losing one sense heightens the others, which is, ah--it's generally true to some extent. In my case--somewhat more. Um. Significantly. I can navigate better than most sighted people, but I have to focus to filter everything down to a useful level, or it gets--overwhelming. Which is why the drugs--did you know fiberoptic cable makes noise? Because it does.” He grimaces. “Anyway, jumping between rooftops is pretty easy, as things go. Walking down a crowded hall while carrying on a complicated conversation and not spilling coffee-- So, no, I don’t strictly need the cane, but it helps.”

“Interesting,” says Natasha. She thinks of the photo from the website, Matthew Murdock, Esq., in a neat suit. “Does it ever feel hypocritical? What you do? Defending criminals by day--”

“I don’t defend criminals,” Daredevil interrupts, bristling. “Do you know how many corrupt cops there are in Hell’s Kitchen? In New York? Believing in due process doesn’t mean ignoring the places where it falls short through human malice or error.”

“It’s risky, though,” she points out. “If you got caught--”

“If I get caught, disbarment is the least of my problems,” says Daredevil. “Incidentally--I’m assuming that if means I’m not under arrest?”

Natasha laughs. “Do you want to be?”

He smiles back. “No. But I thought--”

“Our official stance is that the Avengers reached out to the masked hero known as Daredevil for assistance on a human trafficking case, based on his work in Hell’s Kitchen and knowledge of the local underworld; and Daredevil was injured in an operation related to the same,” Natasha tells him. “Beyond that, we are of course not at liberty to comment on the whereabouts or health of any Avengers operative.”

“I’m not an Avenger,” he says, more sharply than she expects.

“Not officially,” she says. “You could be, though. If you wanted.”

He starts to laugh, then breaks off, clutching his side. “I don’t really see that working out. Is that going to be a problem?”

“Your cover’s safe,” she says. “Our FRS runs on an internal system--proprietary, very secure, very limited access. Stark property, not the government’s.”

He nods. “That’s the party line, right? That the Avengers cooperate at their discretion? Except you’re S.H.I.E.L.D., aren’t you?”

It’s a shame he can’t see the dangerous grin she’s spent so long perfecting. “I operate with a wide discretionary window. And very high clearance.”

“Clearance,” says Daredevil, suddenly serious. “That reminds me. The kids. Bruce said you were looking into sources. Any headway? Was it the Russians?”

Natasha should have known this was coming. “Yes, and no.” She’s considering dodging--telling him she’s still looking into it, that he should leave the case to the pros. But she can’t shake the image of him that first day, bloody and half dead, and if there’s anyone who’s earned the truth on this one-- “Have you ever heard of something called the Red Room?” she asks.

Daredevil shakes his head. “Should I have?”

“Probably not,” Natasha says. She keeps her voice carefully clipped--assistant Natasha, briefing-room Natasha, detached and informative. “The Red Room was buried very deep under the broad umbrella of Soviet Intelligence. To call it a child-soldier program would be reductive: child soldiers are generally deployed at the front lines, artlessly, as cannon fodder. The Red Room trained children--mostly girls--from very, very young, as agents, infiltrators, assassins. The attrition rate was incredibly high--maybe one in twenty survived to graduate--but the ones who did were singularly dangerous.

“When the Soviet Union fell, the Red Room was officially shut down--a remarkable bit of acrobatics, given that officially, it had never existed to begin with. Some of the operatives were grandfathered into Russian Intelligence. Some were strategically eliminated--again, easy, given the program's unusually high attrition rate, on and off the field. As for the men in charge--” She remembers some of them--faces, voices. A few, she suspects she could recognize by scent alone. “In the wake of the fall, a great many Soviet military assets slipped through the resultant cracks. Technology. Weapons. People.”

Daredevil raises an eyebrow. “Are you saying they’re from--that’s impossible. The Soviet Union dissolved in, what, ‘91? Those kids hadn’t even been born.”

“I wasn’t finished,” Natasha says. “The assets that fell through the cracks weren’t just operatives. There were handlers. Trainers. Men who had designed the programs, taught the girls. Men who could build new Red Rooms for anyone with enough money.”

“Oh, god,” he says. Scrubs at his forehead with one hand. “So these are--”

“Flawed copies,” Natasha tells him. “The kids are mostly Sokovian, we think; probably war orphans. Their training is piecemeal, which is the only reason you’re still alive. Whoever’s running their Red Room either doesn’t have the full curriculum, or hasn’t implemented it.”

“Sokovian,” he repeats. “Why would they be in Hell’s Kitchen?” He’s running a thumb back and forth over the zipper of the duffel bag.

“The children are Sokovian,” she corrects him. “The program--who knows? My best guess is that they’re freelancers, renting the kids out. Maybe your Russians were the client--brought them in with a target in mind, but got wiped out themselves before they could deploy the kids. Maybe they were intermediaries.”

“Would the kids know?” he asks.

Natasha sighs. “The Red Room operates field missions with a tiered handler system. And beyond that--the Red Room was built on systematic and aggressive brainwashing techniques. Drugs, hypnosis.” All those layers, all those holes. “Even if they want to talk, I doubt they’ll be able to tell us anything useful.” She sees the look on his face. “Look, I’m going to find them. I’m working every channel I have, cashing in a lot of collateral. It’ll take some time, but we’re going to bring these fuckers down, okay?”

“Will they be okay?” Daredevil asks. Even the glasses aren’t enough to hide the naked worry on his face.

The question cuts straight through Natasha; leaves her tired, leaden. She sits down in the chair by the bed--Bruce’s, comfortably worn and persistently retrieved every time Tony tries to replace it with something shiny and painfully ergonomic. “That’s Sam’s department. The little ones, maybe. They’re not so far gone. The older ones? I don’t know.”

Daredevil is so quiet she thinks for a moment that he’s fallen asleep, but just as she’s turning to slip away, he raises his head and asks, “How old were you?”

So I took four prompts, whirled together in my brain, and made them into one story. I'm choosing to post it under this prompt because it had the largest influence on my story.

The second-biggest influence comes from this prompt:
http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/1742.html?thread=3588046#cmt3588046

where Foggy meets up with the Matt from an alternate universe, who is darker and who ends up hurting him him.

Third and perhaps weakest influence is this prompt:
http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/1742.html?thread=4074702#cmt4074702

where both Matt and Foggy are kidnapped by Bad People. Matt gets tortured, and Foggy is allowed to take care of him.

And finally, Francis absolutely forced his way into my story.
http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/1742.html?thread=3437262#cmt3437262

+++++

Foggy put his phone down and went to stand in the doorway of Matt’s office. “Hey, Matt, you wanna come visit my family this weekend? It’s kind of a big occasion and I’d like you to be there with me.”

Matt lifted his head, his interest piqued, and looked in Foggy’s direction. “What’s the occasion?”

“So, my grandmother’s going to die, but before she goes, she wants to give me her gift.”

“Oh,” Matt said, and his face turned serious. “I’m so sorry, Foggy. Are you two … close?”

“Close enough, I guess,” Foggy replied. “We talk sometimes. I mean, she’s got a few other grandkids, you know, so I was surprised when she said she’d chosen me for the gift, but, hey, maybe it’s my good looks and charm at work, even from a distance. So, please come? There’ll be food.”

“I don’t know,” Matt hedged. “It sounds like a family thing. I don’t want to intrude.”

“Matt, you’re practically family and you wouldn’t be intruding. And like I said, I want you to be there with me. Getting the gift is a big deal.” Foggy watched Matt’s face for any sign that he was weakening, and almost cheered when Matt’s expression softened.

“What, uh, what gift are we talking about?” Matt asked, curious.

“The family healing gift,” Foggy explained. “Grandma’s giving it to me.”

Matt was silent, so Foggy explained. “She can heal people just by laying her hands on them. Just by touching them, actually. She says she got it from her grandmother.”

“Like a faith healer?” Matt looked and sounded sceptical.

“More like something out of a video game or a movie,” Foggy said. “It’s really cool.”

“Uh huh.”

“Maybe you have to see it to believe it.” Foggy hesitated. “I mean, experience it.”

“Good catch, Foggy.” Matt grinned, and Foggy grinned, too. “So you’re coming?”

“If you’re sure I won’t be intruding,” Matt said.

“You won’t be intruding, and even if you were, which you won’t be, I want you there, so there,” Foggy finished. “So you’re coming.”

+++++

Foggy’s grandma lived with one of Foggy’s uncles, and there were already several members of the extended family in the apartment when they got there.

“Hi, Aunt Jean,” Foggy said. “Hi, Uncle Ray.”

“Foggy!” his uncle said. Normally, he would have boomed his words, now he was more subdued. “And who’s this? Is it the legendary Matt we’ve heard so much about?”

Matt smiled his quick, embarrassed-but-pleased smile. “I’m not legendary, but yeah, I’m Matt.”

“Nice to meet you.” Uncle Ray grabbed Matt’s hand and pumped it before Foggy could tell him to at least announce he was going to shake hands. Aunt Jean did the same. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. We’ve heard nothing but Foggy and Matt this, and Foggy and Matt that.”

“Matt That,” Uncle Ray almost laughed. “You’re a poet who doesn’t know it, Jean.”

Everybody chuckled a bit despite the solemnity of the occasion. Just then, Foggy’s parents came out of the bedroom just then, both of them looking sad and even teary-eyed. His mom hugged Foggy tightly. “Oh, Foggy, I heard the news. Are you sure you want this?”

“Hey, she wants to give it to me, she must have a reason,” Foggy said, and hugged his father, both of them silent.

His mother moved on to Matt, touching him lightly on the shoulder. “Matt? Can I hug you?”

“Sure, Mrs Nelson,” he said, opening his arms. Foggy was glad to see that she didn’t squeeze him as tightly, and even gladder to hear her say, “You can call me Anna, you know.”

“Anna,” Matt repeated.

“And I’m Edward,” Foggy’s dad said. “Come on, let’s have a hug.”

“Be careful, Edward, don’t break him,” Foggy’s mom said.

“He’s no Foggy, but he’s not a toothpick, either,” Foggy’s dad said as they embraced. “Are you, Matt?”

“Uh,” said Matt, which made them all laugh again. Then Foggy’s dad let him go and stepped back, his face becoming serious again. “Foggy, she wanted to see you as soon as you came.”

“Okay,” Foggy said. “Come on, Matt.”

“I’ll stay out here,” Matt offered. “Unless you really want me there.”

“I really want you here,” Foggy said, and stepped over to offer his arm. “Come on.”

They went into the bedroom. Foggy’s grandma was sitting up in her bed, looking as lively and chipper as he’d ever seen her, and gave him a big happy smile, so different from all the relatives in the other room. “Franklin!”

“Grandma!” Foggy bent over and gave her a gentle little hug. “You look good!”

“Well, I should hope,” she replied. “I’ve got a lot of people I’m looking forward to seeing again. And speaking of people, is that Matt?”

“Yeah, this is Matt.” Foggy tugged him forward a few steps, and Matt held out one hand, but his grandmother didn’t take it, only frowned. After the awkward moment, Matt retrieved his hand and stepped back again.

“I can see why I knew you were the one,” she said very solemnly. “You’ll have your hands full with him.”

“I already do,” Foggy said, shaking his head for emphasis.

“Well, then, no time like the present,” Grandma Nelson announced, enthusiastic again. “Come here and let’s get on with it. You might want to kneel down so I can reach your head.”

Foggy knelt down at the side of the bed and laid his head in his grandmother’s lap. “Is this okay?”

She ran her fingers along his head. “Harry had hair like this, though he never wore it long. Well, not here on earth, anyway. So beautiful. Probably even more beautiful now that he’s an angel. But enough babble, I’m anxious to get going.”

“Any last minute instructions?” Foggy asked.

“You’ll know what to do,” she said. “You’ll feel it. Use it well. I trust you.”

Then she was silent and her hands became still. Foggy waited, and after a moment, he felt a kind of pinprick in the space between her hands. Then there was a sensation of hot wind, blowing in through the tiny hole, turning into warmth that spread through his entire body. After that, there was nothing else, and when Foggy felt his grandmother’s hands relax, he lifted his head gently. Her hands slid away and fell to her sides, and when he looked at her face, her eyes had closed. All the animation had drained out of her face and she looked so much older than he had ever imagined. For a moment, he wasn’t even sure it was the same woman.

“Grandma?” Foggy asked, his voice already choking up and tears coming to his eyes. He stayed where he was for a long moment, just staring at her, but then he began to be aware of Matt, standing reverently behind him. The awareness became acute, almost physical, and he turned around, practically expecting to see Matt glaring daggers at him even though that was impossible. But Matt’s head was bowed and his lips were moving silently; he didn’t even seem to notice Foggy.

“Amen,” Matt finally whispered, just loud enough for Foggy to hear, then he crossed himself and lifted his head. “Foggy, I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you,” Foggy replied automatically, blinking. Two tears ran down his cheeks, but he ignored them. There was something stirring inside him, something that made him raise his hand and slowly reach out for Matt’s face. “Matt … you’re injured again, aren’t you?”

“I’m fine,” Matt replied, a little too quickly for Foggy’s liking. Foggy touched the side of his face and caught his breath in surprise.

“No, you’re not, you idiot! You’re hurt! It’s your … ribs … again … and your shoulder?” Foggy guessed. He was almost as aware of Matt’s body as he was of his own, though it didn’t hurt; he simply sensed a wrongness in specific areas. Matt tried to step away, but Foggy caught the back of his neck. “Relax, buddy, it’s okay. I can help you. Just don’t run away, okay?”

Foggy closed his eyes and concentrated, wanting to heal Matt, but not quite knowing how. But as his grandmother had promised, he felt the warmth rise up in him, going down his arm and into his hand, and passing from his fingertips into Matt’s skin. The urgency inside him faded, and eventually the warmth faded, too. He opened his eyes.

“Wow,” Matt breathed, and Foggy laughed a little. “Yeah. Wow. Pretty cool, huh? Or … pretty hot?”

“Kind of warm, actually,” Matt said. “I – uh – I didn’t believe you could do that, but I – I actually felt … something. And now it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“Don’t Catholics believe in healing by the laying on of hands?” Foggy asked, then felt his knees start to tremble. “No, you know what? Let’s have this conversation later. I, uh, I think I need to sit down.”

They went back out into the living room, where Foggy’s mother immediately jumped up and guided him to her chair. He sank down and heaved a sigh, then jumped when his father pushed a paper cup into his hands.

“Just juice,” he said. “You can have the heavy stuff later if you want. Matt, you want a drink, too? I’ll get you something.”

As Matt sat down next to him, Foggy drank, and felt better immediately. “Thanks.”

“So you’ve used the gift already?” That was Uncle Ray, suddenly hovering over him. “I was going to ask you to heal my diabetes, but that’ll have to wait until you recover, I guess.”

Foggy glanced up in alarm. “Sorry, yeah, I’ve already used it. Matt, uh, fell down the steps when he was taking out the trash, and bruised his shoulder.”

“Ray, don’t pester the boy with your diabetes. Your mother already did what she could for you, several times,” Aunt Jean put in. “You know it wouldn’t keep coming back if you’d do what she told you.”

“Huh,” Uncle Ray muttered, but he moved away from Foggy, going straight into the kitchen. Probably to get a snack, Foggy thought. He could use a snack himself, and maybe a nap, too.

“Hey, Aunt Jean?” he asked. “Can I get something to eat?”

“I’ll get you something,” his mom said, and his father followed her into the kitchen.

“It’ll take a while for you to get used to it,” Aunt Jean said, and Foggy nodded. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Just do what feels right,” she went on. “That’s what she always said. Except when she was talking to Ray. Then she always said, Make sure you eat right, then I won’t have to make you right.”

Foggy smiled sleepily. As his eyes fell shut, he could tell he was going to have as much trouble with Matt as his grandmother had had with Uncle Ray.

Sorry about the wait folks...

**

“You took him to Maria’s,” Karen raised an eyebrow as she spoke. “You never took me to Maria’s…”

They were at one of Karen’s favourite café’s. Murdock kept his face blank. “We met long before I met Maria, and I was right. He was completely charmed by her. It will go a long way to his good impression of me.”

Karen snorted. “The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn’t exist.”

Murdock let himself smirk just a little. “I managed to sound him out a little more. He’s very idealistic. But then again he’s young. And he smart enough to know that things don’t always work out perfectly. Plus he’s loyal. All we have to do is convince him that we’re the good guys doing the best we can in an imperfect system. I told him Nelson knew you were innocent when he got you convicted…”

“Which is true…” interrupted Karen.

“All the best lies are,” drawled Murdock. “I think now maybe the time for you to happen past the office. He’s working there, on a consultant basis. “

“Isn’t that dangerous?” asked Karen. “If too many people know about him you won’t be able to swap him for Nelson.”

“I made sure he’s pretty isolated, everyone is under orders to leave him alone. They send up carefully vetted cases for him to comment on, then he sends his comments back. His office is right next to mine, so I can keep an eye out. He arrives and leaves with me. It’s a better set up than his wandering the city nearly every day.”

“Are you sleeping with him,” asked Karen bluntly.

“I don’t see the relevance,” said Murdock coldly.

Karen shrugged and smiled coyly. “It changes my approach immensely if he’s… taken.”

“He’s taken,” said Murdock through gritted teeth.

Karen’s eyes widened and she grinned. “I do believe you’re smitten. You have been smitten since…”

“We don’t need to talk about that,” said Murdock standing to leave. “Do you understand what I want you to do?”

Karen sighed and stood up herself, “Lay on the damsel in distress act. Convince him you were my knight-in-slightly-tarnished amour.”

“Wasn’t I?” asked Murdock with a smile that Karen would see through in an instant.

“Of course you were,” she lied, not even trying to be sincere.

**

Foggy went through to Murdock’s office around the same time every day. Murdock was usually too busy to go to lunch but he’d sit and talk with Foggy while they ate and worked. It was like home, except this office was a good deal nicer than ‘Nelson and Murdock’. No not nicer, more expensive certainly. Glass, and steel, and chairs that looked uncomfortable but actually weren’t. Colder. Sterile. With Murdock there it was enough like home to be comforting. Different enough to make him homesick.

Today however Murdock wasn’t by himself. There was a woman sat in Foggy’s normal chair, she had her back to the door Foggy came through. She had jet black hair cut into a sharp bob, she wore dark clothes, trousers and a t-shirt, cut for ease of movement.

“Hey, sorry, am I interrupting?” asked Foggy, eyeing the woman, there was something familiar about her.

“Foggy,” greeted Murdock, smiling widely. “Is it that time already? I don’t think you’ve met…”

The woman stood and turned smiling at Foggy and Foggy knows that face, even if the smile seems wrong and forced. “Karen!” he said out loud, unable to keep it in.

“Well, probably not the one you’re thinking of,” she said with another forced smile that doesn’t seem to affect any part of her face other than her mouth.

Murdock just chuckles and comes round the desk. ”Foggy, this is my oldest and best friend. Karen Page.”

“Charmed I’m sure,” said Karen holding out a hand.

Foggy shook her hand still staring. Then he managed to shake himself out of it. “Sorry, you just… You’re so different to my Karen back home.”

Murdock stiffens a little when Foggy says ‘home’ but Karen laughs over his reaction, her laugh is exactly the same, which makes the other differences stand out more. “Really?” she asks.

“You’re blonde for a start, and it’s strange not to see you in heels.” said Foggy.

Karen pulled a face. “Hard to run in heels.”

“You do a lot of running?” asked Foggy

“Don’t we all?” said Karen, glancing at Murdock briefly. “But, Foggy. Back me up here. Matt should get out of this office right? Staying here all the hours god sends is not healthy. He should come to lunch with me. You both should,” she smiled and this time it was a little bit more natural.

“Sounds like a good idea to me,” agreed Foggy. “Murdock?”

Murdock laughed. “I have so much to do. There’s an appeals hearing next week that I absolutely need to work on. You two go, bring me back something nice?”

Karen gave him a sly look. “I promise to bring you Foggy back. Does that count?” Murdock actually blushed a little at that, and Karen laughed. “Smitten,” she stage whispered to Foggy. “I’ll get you an ice-cream,” she said to Murdock with a wink.

“Suddenly this seems like less than a good idea,” said Matt still smiling. “I’m not sure I want you two ganging up on me.”

Karen took Foggy to a diner just round the corner from Murdock’s building. They found a booth and the waitress came to take their order.

“Claire!” said Foggy happily.

“Sorry? Do I know you?” asked the waitress.

“Oh… erm… you look like a nurse who helped a friend of mine once,” stammered Foggy. He gestured her name tag. “She was called Claire too.”

The waitress smiled at them. “Weird, I always wanted to be a nurse. But you know how life goes sometimes. I guess I married the wrong guy.”

Karen nodded her head. “I can relate to that.”

Claire smiled again. “Still, I got my kids out of the deal, and I wouldn’t give them up for the world.”

“Oh, how old,” asked Foggy. “I’ve got some nieces and nephews…” he stopped dead. They were an actual world away. He never got around to seeing them as much as he liked before, but at least they were only a train ride away. Now, he might never see them again.

Claire noticed his expression. “How about I get you two some coffee? Yeah?” she said kindly.

“Thanks,” said Karen, smiling as the other woman walked away. “You okay?” she asked Foggy.

“Just… homesick,” said Foggy with a half-smile.

“Listen, Matt’s told me a little about where you’re from and… I’m sorry. It sucks that you got dragged here,” she said placing a hand over his.

“Thanks,” said Foggy.

“Let’s start at the beginning, shall we?” asked Karen with a smile, she straightened up and held out a hand for Foggy to shake. “I’m Karen Page, pleased to meet you.”

Foggy took her hand. “Foggy Nelson.”

“And what is it that you do, Mr Nelson,” asked Karen a smiled playing about her lips.

“Call me Foggy, please,” replied Foggy with a chuckle. “I work as a consultant to a law firm.”

“Oh, that does sound interesting,” said Karen, struggling to keep her grin under control. “I’m a temp myself. Secretarial mostly, but I’m a bit of a jack of all trades when a situation requires it.”

Foggy laughed. Claire came over with the coffee. “So,” she said pulling out her notebook. “What can I get you?”

“What’s good?” asked Foggy.

Claire made a show of thinking it over, tapping her pencil against her lip. “I reckon we do pretty good pancakes…”

“Pancakes it is then!” announced Foggy. He was happy to see Claire smile at him. She looked tired, run-down, missing a certain spark of the Claire back home.

“Me too,” said Karen smiling sweetly.

They talked for a while and Foggy enjoyed himself. This Karen was just as clever and funny as his Karen, but sharper, somehow. Uneasy, she was constantly scanning the area around them looking for threats. Murdock said she’d been in prison. Maybe she’d picked up this edge there.

“You can ask me you know?” she said when the pancakes were all gone. “Whatever it is.”

Foggy looked her in the eye. “There’s a lot,” he warned her. Karen just nodded. “I… well the other me, put you in prison, for something you didn’t do?”

Karen ducked her head and tucked her hair behind her ear. The hair was too dark and too short but the gesture was 100% Karen. “I was arrested for the murder of Derek Eaton. He was a clerk at the DA’s office. We’d been out a few times but… I didn’t really know him that well to be honest. I didn’t kill him,” she stared at Foggy as if she stared hard enough she could make him believe her.

“I believe you,” said Foggy, because he did.

Karen laughed but the sound was bitter. “He said that. Nelson. He said he believed me and he didn’t care. He had enough to put me away anyway. If it hadn’t been for Matt…” Karen shook her head. “Well, I would have gone down for murder, instead of manslaughter. And I wouldn’t be here now.”

Foggy was shocked, he could feel his face freeze in horror. “I would never…”

Karen smiled at him. “I know that, Foggy. One lunch with you and I know you’re not him. I’m not excusing him. Believe me, I’m not. But his wife died a few months before that. He was in a pretty dark place.” Foggy couldn’t think of anything else to say. “Come on,” said Karen kindly. “I promised Matt I’d get you back to him. And I owe him and ice-cream. Let’s go.”

They paid their bill and walked back to the office. Foggy and Karen ate their ice-creams on the way. The walk and the company went a long way to lifting Foggy’s mood. But all in all in had been a very strange day.

**

Karen waited for Matt at the park bench. No children to watch this time. But then it was two in the morning. Matt arrived and sat next to her, “Sorry, I had to wait for Foggy to fall asleep, he’s been a little clingy since lunch. I take it you spoke to him about Nelson?”

Karen nodded. “That and he knew the waitress from his world. Claire? I think he said his version was a nurse.”

“Interesting detail,” said Matt thoughtfully. “Worth knowing.”

“I like him,” said Karen. “Didn’t think I would.”

“He has that effect,” agreed Matt. “Is that going to be a problem?”

“Not really, I hate Nelson more than I like Foggy,” shrugged Karen. “But just tell me one thing. Do you know a way to get him home?”

Matt didn’t answer, stubbornly keeping his head down.

“I need to know,” argued Karen. “You always told me, you can’t play the game if you don’t know what’s in your hand.”

“When I found him, he was holding a… talisman. I took it from him while he was unconscious, Nobu did some digging. There’s an old legend about a way to travel between worlds. A wizard, or an elder, or a witch, someone created a whole bunch of these talismen. You hold it and read the inscription on the back then you are transported to a far off land. If you break the talisman, you go home,” explained Matt.

“And you want to keep him,” said Karen. “So did you destroy it?”

Matt shook his head. “Accounts are unclear as to what would happen. Could be nothing, it could send him ho… back there anyway, or it could kill him. Besides, I never throw away a bargaining chip. You know that.”

“I do,” said Karen somewhat bitterly, she caught herself, and made herself smile. “So we continue as planned.

“Yes,” said Matt standing to leave. “Excellent work, as always.”

Karen let him hug her and they went their separate ways. Karen allowed herself the tight warm feeling of satisfaction when she was sure Murdock was far enough away not to pick up on some subtle clue of it. She was so close to getting all the payback she wanted.

Oh, yes, I'm sure that's exactly the kind of headline Clint would put on his door. *snort* And of course Matt would lie about how much pain he's really in. I liked the line where Natasha is making sure that Bruce eats. Until the movie Age of Ultron, I never thought Natasha would do that kind of thing, especially not for Bruce. But here it seems right.

Poor Matt, drugged, unable to focus, and still in pain. I liked the way Natasha was used to seeing and interpreting micro-expressions, only for Matt not to have anything that subtle.

I did not know that fiber optic cables make noise.

Good explanation of the Red Room program and how it could have been continued after the fall of the Soviet Union. And Matt might not be able to disguise his own emotions, but he can certainly pick up on subtle things from others. Loved that question at the end!

this is lovely. and kinda scary to knwo that Foggy can heal anything

Anyway, jumping between rooftops is pretty easy, as things go. Walking down a crowded hall while carrying on a complicated conversation and not spilling coffee

This is a great description.

I love Matt and Natasha interacting.

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