Matt had been sitting in office, dutifully working for the most part of the morning before realizing the fact. When he did, he blinked. Sliding a finger on his clock, he frowned. Foggy was sometimes late, especially if they have gone to drinks the night prior. But it was nearly lunchtime, and Foggy still hasn’t come in nor called.
Matt got up, leaning over the office door into the main area where Karen was probably scrolling something on the internet, going by the sound of her mouse.
“Has Foggy called you?”
She looked at him. “No?” She said, sounding as confused as he feels. “I tried to call him, earlier, but his phone is turned off.
Matt sighed. It was nothing to be worried about, it’s a rare occurrence but it won’t be the first time Foggy forgot to put his phone on charge. He was probably still sleeping in, cellphone forgotten with its battery drained.
Still, there was a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. Matt shook his head. No reason to be paranoid.
He slid his finger on the clock again, before muttering “I’ll give him another couple of hours.” unable to leave the scold out of his voice, and shuffled back into his office again, followed by the sound of Karen’s little laugh.
Day 2
No signs of housebreaking, nor fighting. The door was closed from the inside, as were the windows. The keys were on Foggy’s coffee table. Everything was in neat order, aside from the stained cup on the kitchen counter. It wasn’t the work of a burglar, seeing as not a drawer had been opened and the few object of any real value in Foggy’s apartment were still there.
Foggy’s phone was on his nightstand, near the untouched bed, battery drained.
Foggy was nowhere to be seen.
Matt was full of nervous energy, his foot tapping impatiently on the cheap linoleum floor as they waited the unbelievably slow officer to fill the missing person file. The only thing that kept him from the yelling at the guy was Karen’s hand firm on his bicep.
“I’m sure he’s fine.” She had said earlier that morning when they walked together into the police station. She tried to sound convincing, and she probably would’ve fooled anyone that didn’t had keen super-senses. She then gaped a little, probably trying to make up any reasons why Foggy would disappear and forget to call them for two days. When she couldn’t find any, she said again. “He’s probably fine.”
They had called every each one of the numbers registered into Foggy’s phone, but it had been useless. No one had seen him nor talked to him when he seemingly disappear.
(“He… He will be ok, right?” Matt wanted nothing more than being able to reassure Mrs Nelson that her son was fine, and that he’d probably walk into the office, embarrassed and nervous with an incredible story to tell, at any minute. But he couldn’t find it in him. “I’ll call you as soon as I have any news.” He murmured, instead.)
Brett walked in as soon as the file had finally been filled, short of breath. He had probably run there.
“Ehy.” He said, as they got up from the chairs. “Thanks, Lucas, I’ll take it from here.” He murmured to the officer, that nodded curtly and walked away. “What happened?”
That was the point. They had no idea.
When Matt failed to answer for long, tense seconds, Karen jumped in. “It’s… We don’t know.” She said, her voice barely itching. “We had just a normal day in the office, we all went home at the usual time. And then the day after, he was gone.”
Brett bit his lip. “No strange calls or messages?”
Karen shook her head, her shoulder sagging. Brett silently browsed the missing person report for a long couple of minutes, before looking up at them again.
“Do you think anyone with a grudge against the firm might have decided to act?” He asked, frankly.
Matt tensed slightly. That had been his first thought as soon as they realized that something was wrong.
But Matt wasn’t thinking that the grudge might have been against their firm.
He nearly missed the way Karen’s heart started to beat madly in her chest, too hard, too fast. The way her breath itched just barely. He perked up, just slightly, as she murmured sadly. “Well, we did take the Fisk case, didn’t we?”
Day 4
His searching, both in his everyday clothes and his night ones, had proven fruitless.
He had tracked what was left of Foggy’s scent back and forth like a dog, repeatedly. It had drained his energies, hard and fast, leaving him with an hollow feeling in his stomach and a headache.
But it didn’t matter how many times he searched and searched, managing to track Foggy’s faint scent between the thousands and thousands of people, between the smells of the city and the smog.
Foggy had went home right from the office, and the trace ended there.
Day 6
When Matt entered the office Karen made a little strangled sound, but she said nothing. Shortly after that she got out saying she would be right back.
Half an hour before the client that made an appointment through the phone would walk in, she silently came back and walked into Matt’s office while unwrapping a brand new concealer. She took Matt’s glasses off his face and slowly started to cover the deep purple bruises scattered all over Matt’s left cheek and jaw.
(He had been slow, and stupid. Too tired on lack of sleep, forgot to drink and eat properly. Too worried, worried, worried, as he broke hundreds of bones and punched so many faces he lost count in the spawn of two days.
No one has seen Foggy. No one has taken Foggy. No one even thought that Foggy was related to the Devil in any way. They probably did, now, after he broke in so many little and big groups of criminals, shuffling around the kitchen trying to fill the power void left by Fisk, and beat the crap out of every single one of them demanding informations about the little lawyer that had disappeared into thin hair without even making the news.)
Day 15
He had just closed the call, Foggy’s mom on the phone sounded like she had been crying, but she had been kind, and reassuring, to Matt.
It was stupid. He was the one that was supposed to comfort her, not the other way around. Matt had been comforted many times in the past two weeks, by everyone, even people he didn’t even realized knew him. He wasn’t sure why.
(“Murdock.” Marci said just outside the entrance door, were Matt was searching for the office keys, the wooden sign that said Nelson and Murdock hanging a little bit on his left. “I was walking by.” Marci continued easily when he stopped searching for the keys, turning towards her without a word. “Just… You’ll get through this, ok?” Matt had nodded, stiffly, before entering in the building. He only realized one hour later that Marci’s new place of employment was way far their office and that she never walked by on her way to work. That he hadn’t said a single word to her. That he didn’t really talk anymore unless it was strictly necessary, his voice scratchy with disuse those rare times when he did. That his night time counterpart talked more than he did, these days.)
He got up the couch, with all the intentions to put on the suit and go out, ignoring his tiredness and the sheer need of sleep. He’d been extending his patrolling a little bit more every night, breaching well out the borders of Hell’s kitchen.
(Though patrolling might not have been the right word. It was more of a desperate search, really.)
He still hasn’t found nothing. Not a voice, not a sighting, not a single lead. Hope was getting dimmer every each day, and with it his patience in dealing with the scum that littered the city.
He had just opened the trunk when a soft knock startled him out the rage boiling at the pit of his stomach. It was a blaring alarm of how far gone he was, that he did not realize Karen had got into the building, climbed all the way up to his place, and was not waiting at the door smelling of tears. He ignored the alarm.
When he opened the door, she walked in without a greeting, slightly shivering. She’d been drinking.
“Matt.” She said, her voice trembling, just after he closed the door. “I think it’s my fault.”
Matt walked in the middle of the living room and stood there, dumbfounded, in his loose t-shirt and sweatpants, glasses forgotten somewhere.
“What is?” He asked, low and slowly, as she hiccuped a little.
“Foggy.” She whispered, voice itching. “I think i-it might my fault- Maybe someone took him— Fisk’s men, probably—“
The police had been on the connection with the Fisk case enough to make it a dead horse, and so did Matt during his nights. It was a total dead end.
“How’s that your fault, Karen?” He asked, tiredly, and in that instant found out exactly why people had been comforting him instead of the other way around.
Because he didn’t had it in him to say that everything would be fine. Not without Foggy.
“I-“ She sobbed, and hand on her mouth, then took a deep breath, and started talking.
Of Fisk’s mother, of the way she had been taken right from her front door. Of henchmen calmly explaining to her how badly she’d fucked up, of guns, of bullet and blood.
Of the way she’d shoot the man who probably was the second most important person in Fisk’s life.
Matt just stood there, a buzz of white noise getting louder and louder in his head as Karen unloaded the truth on him.
And in any other moment, he would’ve hugged her, told her she was only defending herself. Told her she was just trying to do the right thing, that she couldn’t blame herself for that. Told her it was gonna be fine.
In any other moment, when Foggy was safe and sound at their side. In any other moment, not when his best friend had been gone for weeks without the slightest clue of what could have happened to him.
In any other moment. Not this one.
Before he even realized, the coffe table was rolling over the floor with loud crashing noises as Karen let out a startled hiccup and hurriedly took some steps back, softly hitting the wall.
“WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU ONLY TELLING ME THIS NOW?!”
“M-Matt—“ Karen sobbed, as Matt’s throat burned and his breath got heavy and ragged.
“Didn’t you think that, maybe, you should’ve told this to the police oh, I don’t know— Right the fuck away?!” He yelled, irony heavy in his voice. “What is the point, two weeks after?!”
“Matt, I’m sorry—“ She whispered, sounding frightened, letting out a little yelp when he kicked the already flipped table with a frustrated growl. “I—“
“Do you even really care?!” He cut her off, taking some steps in her direction. He stopped abruptly when he realized she was scrambling away from him in fear.
They stood there, as if there was a rift on the floor between them, in silence, for what felt like an eternity. Matt forced himself to ease, calm his mind, shift his posturing from menacing to neutral, let his hands relax from the tight fists he was making.
Then he turned, walked into his bedroom, and closed the door on his back.
A minute later he heard the entrance door softly closing.
Ten minutes later, he went to put on the suit and got out.
Fill: These days we've lost. (part 1)
Foggy was late.
Matt had been sitting in office, dutifully working for the most part of the morning before realizing the fact.
When he did, he blinked. Sliding a finger on his clock, he frowned.
Foggy was sometimes late, especially if they have gone to drinks the night prior. But it was nearly lunchtime, and Foggy still hasn’t come in nor called.
Matt got up, leaning over the office door into the main area where Karen was probably scrolling something on the internet, going by the sound of her mouse.
“Has Foggy called you?”
She looked at him. “No?” She said, sounding as confused as he feels. “I tried to call him, earlier, but his phone is turned off.
Matt sighed. It was nothing to be worried about, it’s a rare occurrence but it won’t be the first time Foggy forgot to put his phone on charge. He was probably still sleeping in, cellphone forgotten with its battery drained.
Still, there was a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. Matt shook his head. No reason to be paranoid.
He slid his finger on the clock again, before muttering “I’ll give him another couple of hours.” unable to leave the scold out of his voice, and shuffled back into his office again, followed by the sound of Karen’s little laugh.
Day 2
No signs of housebreaking, nor fighting. The door was closed from the inside, as were the windows. The keys were on Foggy’s coffee table. Everything was in neat order, aside from the stained cup on the kitchen counter. It wasn’t the work of a burglar, seeing as not a drawer had been opened and the few object of any real value in Foggy’s apartment were still there.
Foggy’s phone was on his nightstand, near the untouched bed, battery drained.
Foggy was nowhere to be seen.
Matt was full of nervous energy, his foot tapping impatiently on the cheap linoleum floor as they waited the unbelievably slow officer to fill the missing person file. The only thing that kept him from the yelling at the guy was Karen’s hand firm on his bicep.
“I’m sure he’s fine.” She had said earlier that morning when they walked together into the police station. She tried to sound convincing, and she probably would’ve fooled anyone that didn’t had keen super-senses. She then gaped a little, probably trying to make up any reasons why Foggy would disappear and forget to call them for two days. When she couldn’t find any, she said again. “He’s probably fine.”
They had called every each one of the numbers registered into Foggy’s phone, but it had been useless. No one had seen him nor talked to him when he seemingly disappear.
(“He… He will be ok, right?”
Matt wanted nothing more than being able to reassure Mrs Nelson that her son was fine, and that he’d probably walk into the office, embarrassed and nervous with an incredible story to tell, at any minute. But he couldn’t find it in him.
“I’ll call you as soon as I have any news.” He murmured, instead.)
Brett walked in as soon as the file had finally been filled, short of breath. He had probably run there.
“Ehy.” He said, as they got up from the chairs. “Thanks, Lucas, I’ll take it from here.” He murmured to the officer, that nodded curtly and walked away. “What happened?”
That was the point. They had no idea.
When Matt failed to answer for long, tense seconds, Karen jumped in. “It’s… We don’t know.” She said, her voice barely itching. “We had just a normal day in the office, we all went home at the usual time. And then the day after, he was gone.”
Brett bit his lip. “No strange calls or messages?”
Karen shook her head, her shoulder sagging. Brett silently browsed the missing person report for a long couple of minutes, before looking up at them again.
“Do you think anyone with a grudge against the firm might have decided to act?” He asked, frankly.
Matt tensed slightly. That had been his first thought as soon as they realized that something was wrong.
But Matt wasn’t thinking that the grudge might have been against their firm.
He nearly missed the way Karen’s heart started to beat madly in her chest, too hard, too fast. The way her breath itched just barely.
He perked up, just slightly, as she murmured sadly. “Well, we did take the Fisk case, didn’t we?”
Day 4
His searching, both in his everyday clothes and his night ones, had proven fruitless.
He had tracked what was left of Foggy’s scent back and forth like a dog, repeatedly. It had drained his energies, hard and fast, leaving him with an hollow feeling in his stomach and a headache.
But it didn’t matter how many times he searched and searched, managing to track Foggy’s faint scent between the thousands and thousands of people, between the smells of the city and the smog.
Foggy had went home right from the office, and the trace ended there.
Day 6
When Matt entered the office Karen made a little strangled sound, but she said nothing. Shortly after that she got out saying she would be right back.
Half an hour before the client that made an appointment through the phone would walk in, she silently came back and walked into Matt’s office while unwrapping a brand new concealer. She took Matt’s glasses off his face and slowly started to cover the deep purple bruises scattered all over Matt’s left cheek and jaw.
(He had been slow, and stupid. Too tired on lack of sleep, forgot to drink and eat properly. Too worried, worried, worried, as he broke hundreds of bones and punched so many faces he lost count in the spawn of two days.
No one has seen Foggy. No one has taken Foggy. No one even thought that Foggy was related to the Devil in any way. They probably did, now, after he broke in so many little and big groups of criminals, shuffling around the kitchen trying to fill the power void left by Fisk, and beat the crap out of every single one of them demanding informations about the little lawyer that had disappeared into thin hair without even making the news.)
Day 15
He had just closed the call, Foggy’s mom on the phone sounded like she had been crying, but she had been kind, and reassuring, to Matt.
It was stupid. He was the one that was supposed to comfort her, not the other way around.
Matt had been comforted many times in the past two weeks, by everyone, even people he didn’t even realized knew him. He wasn’t sure why.
(“Murdock.” Marci said just outside the entrance door, were Matt was searching for the office keys, the wooden sign that said Nelson and Murdock hanging a little bit on his left.
“I was walking by.” Marci continued easily when he stopped searching for the keys, turning towards her without a word. “Just… You’ll get through this, ok?”
Matt had nodded, stiffly, before entering in the building. He only realized one hour later that Marci’s new place of employment was way far their office and that she never walked by on her way to work. That he hadn’t said a single word to her. That he didn’t really talk anymore unless it was strictly necessary, his voice scratchy with disuse those rare times when he did. That his night time counterpart talked more than he did, these days.)
He got up the couch, with all the intentions to put on the suit and go out, ignoring his tiredness and the sheer need of sleep. He’d been extending his patrolling a little bit more every night, breaching well out the borders of Hell’s kitchen.
(Though patrolling might not have been the right word. It was more of a desperate search, really.)
He still hasn’t found nothing. Not a voice, not a sighting, not a single lead. Hope was getting dimmer every each day, and with it his patience in dealing with the scum that littered the city.
He had just opened the trunk when a soft knock startled him out the rage boiling at the pit of his stomach. It was a blaring alarm of how far gone he was, that he did not realize Karen had got into the building, climbed all the way up to his place, and was not waiting at the door smelling of tears.
He ignored the alarm.
When he opened the door, she walked in without a greeting, slightly shivering. She’d been drinking.
“Matt.” She said, her voice trembling, just after he closed the door. “I think it’s my fault.”
Matt walked in the middle of the living room and stood there, dumbfounded, in his loose t-shirt and sweatpants, glasses forgotten somewhere.
“What is?” He asked, low and slowly, as she hiccuped a little.
“Foggy.” She whispered, voice itching. “I think i-it might my fault- Maybe someone took him— Fisk’s men, probably—“
The police had been on the connection with the Fisk case enough to make it a dead horse, and so did Matt during his nights.
It was a total dead end.
“How’s that your fault, Karen?” He asked, tiredly, and in that instant found out exactly why people had been comforting him instead of the other way around.
Because he didn’t had it in him to say that everything would be fine. Not without Foggy.
“I-“ She sobbed, and hand on her mouth, then took a deep breath, and started talking.
Of Fisk’s mother, of the way she had been taken right from her front door. Of henchmen calmly explaining to her how badly she’d fucked up, of guns, of bullet and blood.
Of the way she’d shoot the man who probably was the second most important person in Fisk’s life.
Matt just stood there, a buzz of white noise getting louder and louder in his head as Karen unloaded the truth on him.
And in any other moment, he would’ve hugged her, told her she was only defending herself. Told her she was just trying to do the right thing, that she couldn’t blame herself for that. Told her it was gonna be fine.
In any other moment, when Foggy was safe and sound at their side. In any other moment, not when his best friend had been gone for weeks without the slightest clue of what could have happened to him.
In any other moment. Not this one.
Before he even realized, the coffe table was rolling over the floor with loud crashing noises as Karen let out a startled hiccup and hurriedly took some steps back, softly hitting the wall.
“WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU ONLY TELLING ME THIS NOW?!”
“M-Matt—“ Karen sobbed, as Matt’s throat burned and his breath got heavy and ragged.
“Didn’t you think that, maybe, you should’ve told this to the police oh, I don’t know— Right the fuck away?!” He yelled, irony heavy in his voice. “What is the point, two weeks after?!”
“Matt, I’m sorry—“ She whispered, sounding frightened, letting out a little yelp when he kicked the already flipped table with a frustrated growl. “I—“
“Do you even really care?!” He cut her off, taking some steps in her direction. He stopped abruptly when he realized she was scrambling away from him in fear.
They stood there, as if there was a rift on the floor between them, in silence, for what felt like an eternity. Matt forced himself to ease, calm his mind, shift his posturing from menacing to neutral, let his hands relax from the tight fists he was making.
Then he turned, walked into his bedroom, and closed the door on his back.
A minute later he heard the entrance door softly closing.
Ten minutes later, he went to put on the suit and got out.