Foggy put the fifth butterfly stitch - the cut was long - and took a moment to inspect his work. "Well, all done. I can't do better than that."

Matt put a hand to his forehead, fingers trailing along the stitches. "Thank you," he murmured, sounding surprised. Like he somehow didn't expect this to end well the whole time Foggy was dressing his wound.

Whatever happened to Matt, Foggy didn't like it.

"I'm gonna give you some antibiotics, just in case. You should get a tetanus shot, too. I can walk you to a clinic?"

"It's fine," Matt said dismissively. Foggy squinted at him.

"You're sure? I'll pay. Obviously."

Matt rose an eyebrow. "I'm not a charity case," he said archly.

"Well, no," Foggy agreed easily. "Us corrupted lawyers are not in the habit of providing charity. I fully expect you to pay me back with conversation and good company. Three times, at least."

But Matt wasn't all that talkative. He didn't drink his overly sweet tea, either. Instead, he put the mug away and gave an apologetic smile. "I should go."

Foggy observed as his weird-ass guest rose from the chair and retrieved his backpack, taking something out of it. Was that... a cane? Shit. It was. Matt tapped his way to the door and turned around, frowning.

"What's wrong?"

"It's... ugh... I didn't..."

Beneath what must be the most scratched pair of sunglasses to ever exist, Matt beamed mischievously. "Well, don't moonlight as a detective, counselor. I'm sure there are other interesting hobbies you could pick up."

And just like that, he turned around and walked out to the street, tapping all the way.

Foggy reached for his abandoned tea, wincing at the taste - way, way too sweet.

"Asshole," he muttered to himself.