"Give me your hand," Foggy says out of the blue and extends his own expectantly.
Matt frowns. "Why?"
"Matt."
"But why?"
Foggy rolls his eyes. Really, a master champion. "Because I want it, how's that for a reason."
Matt slowly, cautiously, slips his hand into Foggy's. Foggy squeezes Matt's hand and then clasps Matt's wrist, moves his hand so that his index and middle finger are pressed to Matt's wrist, exactly over the pulse point. Foggy stays still for a moment, reveling in the steady beat under his fingertips.
"You're not going to lose me," Foggy tells him, makes sure it sounds extra earnest. "I'm with you all the way. But we've gotta work on some things, Matty. Communication, for one. You can't lie to me anymore. I know it's pretty much compulsive with you, but you've got to try. If you're hurt, if you're in pain, you have to tell me because then I can help you. Tell me what you need, how you feel. If I'm to be your support system, I need to know how to support you."
"Okay," Matt says, slightly dazed.
"Secondly," Foggy licks his lips, "don't just take my bullshit, alright? The right to be pissed goes both ways. When I hurt you or offend you, you have the right to be pissed at me. I'm not--I'm not going to just pack up and leave because of that."
Matt bites down on his lower lip, worries it between his teeth. The fingers of his free hand tap a steady rhythm on his leg. He does that when he has something to say but is unsure of how it'll be received, of how to phrase it.
"You want to say something," Foggy observes, "so out with it."
Matt seems surprised that Foggy knows it. It actually surprises Foggy. Matt anticipates and analyses behaviour based on the changes in heartbeats and breathing patterns, but Foggy has his own ways of doing that. Foggy studies the changes in body language, he can read Matt's facial expressions, he knows what various ticks and quirks and sitting positions means. Come to think of it, Foggy knows as many creepy private facts about Matt's behaviour as Matt does about his.
"Matt," Foggy prompts him when Matt fails to utter a word.
Matt takes a deep breath. "You said," he says and pauses. Bites the inside of his cheek. "You said that you felt sorry for me, all these years" he continues so quietly that Foggy has to strain to hear. "Did you mean that?"
Foggy's brows raise in surprise. "Your in-built polygraph didn't give you an answer to that?"
Matt shrugs and looks away. "You were angry," he says, "so your heart was already racing. I wouldn't--couldn't tell."
"Shit, God, that's--." Foggy squeezes Matt's hand again. "I didn't mean it," he tells him. It's the absolute truth. "I was angry and I wanted to hurt you. I knew that you hate being pitied and I knew that saying that would cut at you. I said it on purpose to make you hurt, but I didn't mean it."
Matt's mouth forms a surprised 'o'. "That's--That's evil, Foggy," he says. There's a teasing edge to his voice. And sure, Foggy would love it if Matt had a healthy reaction to the revelation that his best friend used one of his biggest fears against him to just hurt him — he'd even take a punch for that — because that was one of the shittiest things Foggy could have done, but yeah, if Matt wants to approach it with humour for now, let's go with that.
"I never said that I'm cheerful and cuddly," Foggy says with a shrug. "People only assume that I am because I'm friends with you, and next to you everyone seems cheerful and cuddly. But who knows. Maybe I've been lying to you all this time and I actually double as a supervillain after hours."
Matt smiles, the smile small but fond. "I can't quite see you as a supervillain."
"Yeah, well, you see shit, buddy."
That makes Matt laugh out loud and for Foggy it's a victory.
Fill: nothing he can't endure [5/?]
Matt frowns. "Why?"
"Matt."
"But why?"
Foggy rolls his eyes. Really, a master champion. "Because I want it, how's that for a reason."
Matt slowly, cautiously, slips his hand into Foggy's. Foggy squeezes Matt's hand and then clasps Matt's wrist, moves his hand so that his index and middle finger are pressed to Matt's wrist, exactly over the pulse point. Foggy stays still for a moment, reveling in the steady beat under his fingertips.
"You're not going to lose me," Foggy tells him, makes sure it sounds extra earnest. "I'm with you all the way. But we've gotta work on some things, Matty. Communication, for one. You can't lie to me anymore. I know it's pretty much compulsive with you, but you've got to try. If you're hurt, if you're in pain, you have to tell me because then I can help you. Tell me what you need, how you feel. If I'm to be your support system, I need to know how to support you."
"Okay," Matt says, slightly dazed.
"Secondly," Foggy licks his lips, "don't just take my bullshit, alright? The right to be pissed goes both ways. When I hurt you or offend you, you have the right to be pissed at me. I'm not--I'm not going to just pack up and leave because of that."
Matt bites down on his lower lip, worries it between his teeth. The fingers of his free hand tap a steady rhythm on his leg. He does that when he has something to say but is unsure of how it'll be received, of how to phrase it.
"You want to say something," Foggy observes, "so out with it."
Matt seems surprised that Foggy knows it. It actually surprises Foggy. Matt anticipates and analyses behaviour based on the changes in heartbeats and breathing patterns, but Foggy has his own ways of doing that. Foggy studies the changes in body language, he can read Matt's facial expressions, he knows what various ticks and quirks and sitting positions means. Come to think of it, Foggy knows as many creepy private facts about Matt's behaviour as Matt does about his.
"Matt," Foggy prompts him when Matt fails to utter a word.
Matt takes a deep breath. "You said," he says and pauses. Bites the inside of his cheek. "You said that you felt sorry for me, all these years" he continues so quietly that Foggy has to strain to hear. "Did you mean that?"
Foggy's brows raise in surprise. "Your in-built polygraph didn't give you an answer to that?"
Matt shrugs and looks away. "You were angry," he says, "so your heart was already racing. I wouldn't--couldn't tell."
"Shit, God, that's--." Foggy squeezes Matt's hand again. "I didn't mean it," he tells him. It's the absolute truth. "I was angry and I wanted to hurt you. I knew that you hate being pitied and I knew that saying that would cut at you. I said it on purpose to make you hurt, but I didn't mean it."
Matt's mouth forms a surprised 'o'. "That's--That's evil, Foggy," he says. There's a teasing edge to his voice. And sure, Foggy would love it if Matt had a healthy reaction to the revelation that his best friend used one of his biggest fears against him to just hurt him — he'd even take a punch for that — because that was one of the shittiest things Foggy could have done, but yeah, if Matt wants to approach it with humour for now, let's go with that.
"I never said that I'm cheerful and cuddly," Foggy says with a shrug. "People only assume that I am because I'm friends with you, and next to you everyone seems cheerful and cuddly. But who knows. Maybe I've been lying to you all this time and I actually double as a supervillain after hours."
Matt smiles, the smile small but fond. "I can't quite see you as a supervillain."
"Yeah, well, you see shit, buddy."
That makes Matt laugh out loud and for Foggy it's a victory.
***