daredevilkink | Prompt Post #5

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The moment he touched him the man shot up and caught both his arms. Foggy screamed.

"Don't kill me!"

Nobody moved to kill anyone. The other man looked just as scared. Disoriented, too.

"What?" he pushed out.

Right. Well, they were equally informed at least.

Foggy wasn't so sure it was a good thing this once. Someone had to gather their shit together and see this situation through. Foggy would be grateful if the other man was better equipped for that than Foggy himself. But, no. That would just be too easy.

Foggy took a breath.

The man jerked. He tensed all over, ready for a jump. Foggy blinked. "Uh, h-hi?"

This wasn't going the way it should. The man looked all wired up for a fight - still holding his arms, and boy, that was one strong grip - and since Foggy wasn't attacking, he seemed clueless as to what to do next. Well, great, Foggy knew the feeling.

"L-look, ah... it seems like you might need some help?"

"No hospitals." It was an automatic response, and Foggy felt a little sick. The man frowned. "Who are you?"

Right. Maybe he should have led with that. "Foggy Nelson," he said with as much flourish as he could muster. "You?"

The man didn't seem convinced. "Matt," he croaked warily.

He did let go of his arms, though. (Oh. Welcome back, circulation. We missed you.)

"Great. Nice to meet you, Matt."

The man - Matt - nodded stiffly, and stood on shaky legs. Foggy looked at him carefully. "So, uh... you okay, Matt?"

"I'm fine."

Right. Foggy snorted. "Tat is the shittiest lie I heard in quite a while, pal. You're bleeding all over the place."

The man - Matt, right - paused, then scrunched up his nose. "Sorry," he muttered.

That did it. He was just like Edna Crilly, and Foggy wasn't about to stand and do nothing.

"Okay, well, sit down before you fall, alright?"

The man didn't seem to react, so Foggy walked up to him and gently guided him to the nearest chair. He went easily - Foggy wondered if he should be worried about that. He always was with Edna.

"Think you have a concussion," he muttered, wishing he had a penlight or something. "Wait here."

It only took a second to grab the first aid kit and put the kettle on. Tea makes everything better, that's what grandma Nelson said.

He knelt in front of-- Matt, right - and propped up his chin. "Well, okay, let me see..."

There was an ugly cut on Matt's forehead, probably the source of all the blood around them. Foggy wouldn't be worried - head wounds bleed A LOT (and boy, did he hate that he knew that) - if it wasn't for the near-black bruise surrounding it and Matt's obvious disorientation.

Why did these things always happen to him?

Matt leaned away from his prodding fingers. "You gonna stitch me up?"

Foggy huffed. "Let's hope not, buddy. I haven't graduated to stitches yet. That handsome look of yours might gravely suffer."

"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."

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.

(first author here) This is awesome, I love it ! :)

Thanks!

Wow I really like the way this is going. Great characterization! Thanks for writing. =)

Thank you! :)

For anyone interested, here is the second chapter: http://archiveofourown.org/works/7843306/chapters/18063256

Hopefully there will be a third chapter soon, too :)

Prompt Post #5

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