"Most people, if they find a stranger in their office, they call the police."
Foggy looked up briefly. He was enjoying the silence, dammit. It seemed companionable. As companionable as it can be when one stranger is disinfecting cuts on another stranger's face, anyway. This was *not* how Foggy imagined his life as a lawyer.
"Got a lot of experience in that, buddy?"
Matt shrugged with one shoulder. "Why do you have a med kit in an office?"
For beat-up people who don't want to go to a hospital, Matt. You're not my first. "Wounded and bleeding and still asking somewhat relevant questions. You'd make a fine lawyer, buddy."
The water was boiling. Well, finally. Foggy needed a better kettle. He walked to the kitchenette, perfectly aware that he was stalling. Which was ridiculous, since he had nothing to hide - but, hey, the water was boiling, and tea makes everything better. Grandma Nelson always said so.
He dropped into the mug as much sugar as he thought was edible with vindictive pleasure - Matt was *irritating* - before pushing it into his hand.
"You know, this scrap of yours didn't just magically appear one day. You wanna sue? We can go and sue right now, charge free."
It was a challenge, and a petty one at that, but also an honest offer. Foggy found himself hoping Matt would take it. Whichever asshole was taking his bad day out on the smaller than him should get hit right back.
Matt rose an eyebrow, and Foggy knew what his answer would be. "Judges don't get all that bothered when a homeless man gets roughed up."
The cut wasn't all that bad, now that it was clean of grime and not leaking blood anymore. Foggy resolved to put butterfly stitches on it. "Yeah? I bet police doesn't react well when someone calls in a man *sleeping*"
Matt's smile took a bitter curve. "You'd be surprised," he answered.
Foggy thought about the times Brett got upset enough to go drink with him, and stories he told after his fourth beer. He thought back to Landman and Zack, lawyers and judges that he knew, his last case there. He thought about Edna Crilly's husband, decorated NYPD officer, making no effort to hide what he did at home.
He smiled sadly at his guest. "I'm not so sure, Matt."
Re: Second fill 4
"Most people, if they find a stranger in their office, they call the police."
Foggy looked up briefly. He was enjoying the silence, dammit. It seemed companionable. As companionable as it can be when one stranger is disinfecting cuts on another stranger's face, anyway. This was *not* how Foggy imagined his life as a lawyer.
"Got a lot of experience in that, buddy?"
Matt shrugged with one shoulder. "Why do you have a med kit in an office?"
For beat-up people who don't want to go to a hospital, Matt. You're not my first. "Wounded and bleeding and still asking somewhat relevant questions. You'd make a fine lawyer, buddy."
The water was boiling. Well, finally. Foggy needed a better kettle. He walked to the kitchenette, perfectly aware that he was stalling. Which was ridiculous, since he had nothing to hide - but, hey, the water was boiling, and tea makes everything better. Grandma Nelson always said so.
He dropped into the mug as much sugar as he thought was edible with vindictive pleasure - Matt was *irritating* - before pushing it into his hand.
"You know, this scrap of yours didn't just magically appear one day. You wanna sue? We can go and sue right now, charge free."
It was a challenge, and a petty one at that, but also an honest offer. Foggy found himself hoping Matt would take it. Whichever asshole was taking his bad day out on the smaller than him should get hit right back.
Matt rose an eyebrow, and Foggy knew what his answer would be. "Judges don't get all that bothered when a homeless man gets roughed up."
The cut wasn't all that bad, now that it was clean of grime and not leaking blood anymore. Foggy resolved to put butterfly stitches on it. "Yeah? I bet police doesn't react well when someone calls in a man *sleeping*"
Matt's smile took a bitter curve. "You'd be surprised," he answered.
Foggy thought about the times Brett got upset enough to go drink with him, and stories he told after his fourth beer. He thought back to Landman and Zack, lawyers and judges that he knew, his last case there. He thought about Edna Crilly's husband, decorated NYPD officer, making no effort to hide what he did at home.
He smiled sadly at his guest. "I'm not so sure, Matt."