Foggy was pretty sure it was the arrival of Stick that triggered it to show up three days early. At least it hit after she and Karen had left Ben’s office for the latter’s apartment, and Karen had given her a pad, but she hadn’t had any pills that could hope to deal with Foggy’s cramps, so she hadn’t been able to stay with Karen as long as she might have liked, given the other woman clearly wasn’t fully recovered emotionally from having been attacked. At least she’d left her the bat. Foggy actually wouldn’t have been surprised by a delay for once, given how badly she’d been injured in the explosions. Perhaps that was why the stress of her husband’s secret vigilante identity being framed for them and for mass murder hadn’t triggered anything. But she’d woken up earlier that night to the sound of a strange scornful voice in their apartment and walked out to find an old blind man whose identity she’d just known, and, in retrospect Foggy thought that at the sight of him her uterus had promptly contracted in warning. Even as she headed home, she thought of Stick’s taunts, his telling her she ought to leave or Matt would be dead, even asking her if she knew another woman had been in the apartment, possibly two. At least she’d gotten some satisfaction out of explaining Karen and Claire to him. Claire, who in the hospital had delivered her updates on Matt’s status whenever Karen had stepped out of the ward. Including that on a night he’d been cornered, and framed, and had been lucky to escape arrest multiple times, he had gotten most upset upon learning she was injured. Who had said frankly near the end of it that while she had initially been disappointed to learn her “Mike” was married, she was now thinking it was just as well. “I don’t think I could ever have allowed myself to fall in love with a man who…well, who does what he does,” she’d said, and Foggy wondered just what she’d witnessed; she knew, in a very general sense, what Matt did and what it was like for him on the streets, but it was easier if she didn’t know the gorier details. “I admire you. I don’t envy you.” From that night on, Foggy had known she would never be jealous over Matt again. Not when she now understood both his devotion to her and that most of the people who went starry-eyed over him could never have handled him. Besides, it wasn’t like her biggest rival for his heart could ever be another person. She knew what that rival was, and what it always would be. She actually would’ve liked to have brought Karen back with her, especially since she was pretty sure she’d feel a lot safer with her and Matt. But of course she couldn’t so long as they weren’t telling Karen about Matt being the mysterious man in black she and Ben were looking for. She already was hating having to fake ignorance around them about that, knowing she had answers they needed and couldn’t tell them. Really, Foggy thought both her office mates officially desperately needed to sit down and have a frank exchange of secrets. She was pretty sure they weren’t going to be able to keep Karen’s from Matt anyway. He might have already been wondering. It had partly been a comment from him earlier that day which had sent Foggy, on impulse, out of the apartment and after her after he and Stick had departed on their little joint mission. She was lucky she’d found her in time. In fact, as she unlocked the door of the apartment, she was seriously considering just telling him everything. If he detected she’d been in Ben’s company she’d probably have to. Her mind was even forming words: Anyone finds out about both your and Karen’s activities, and no one will believe she didn’t know about you either. That means she’s a part of this too now, and she didn’t even get a say in that. She deserves to know. But when she stepped in, she was brought up short by the sight before her. The living room looked like there’d been a stampede; the furniture lay broken and overturned everywhere. And sitting in the middle of it was Matt, mask off, black suit on, running his fingers over what looked like some cheap wristband. She was drawing breath for the questions when he answered the first of them: “He lied to me when he said he wouldn’t kill anyone. The Black Sky he talked about…it was a child, Foggy; I could hear his heartbeat. They were unloading him at the docks out of a crate, like he was just a package or something. And Stick intended to kill him. And I stopped him at the docks, but then he tracked him down and killed him anyway when I wasn’t there to stop him. And when…when he came back and to-told me that…” He wouldn’t ask why she’d left the apartment. He wasn’t happy about the fact that when he went roaming the streets at night sometimes she did too, but he understood that sometimes she could sleep and sometimes she couldn’t, and when she couldn’t, it was torture for her to just wait there, so she often didn’t; half her evenings out with Karen had come out of that. Though she did usually try to get back first; obviously tonight there had been highly unusual circumstances. She still wasn’t sure what she was going to say to him about those, but all that, she decided, could wait until morning. First there were more questions to ask him. “Where is he now?” “Gone. I told him to get out of the city. After…” He waved his hand around at the wreckage of their living room; she’d already guessed as much. “Sorry about…” She should be angry. Maybe she would be later, when she was less worried, and she got around to doing a proper survey of the damage. For now, though she walked over to him, leaned down, and took a good look at what he was holding in his hands. Her heart stopped. It was made out of paper, woven into a bracelet, and bore a cheery colorful pattern, like one would find on… “The ice cream wrapper,” she breathed. “The bracelet you made him.” “It must have fallen off while we were fighting,” he said. “He kept it, Foggy. He kept it.” He spoke like that little boy, reaching out desperately for affection from the father figure who was doing nothing but hit him, and Foggy felt a new feeling rise in her. An ugly, angry possessiveness, completely unlike the jealousy and fear she had spent years feeling before finally leaving it behind only days ago. “Put it away,” she said through gritted teeth. He made a confused noise, and she spat out, “Get it out of my sight. I never want to look at that thing again.” “Foggy…” he started to protest, rising to his feet. “Please!” she cried. “Do you know how badly I want to rip that thing to shreds? If you want to keep it, get it away from me!” He darted away, into the bedroom, which thankfully hadn’t been too affected by his and Stick’s fight. She watched as he put the bracelet in the bottom drawer by the bed, where he kept a few Bible-related braille readers. Then he said, “You need your painkillers, don’t you? Although Karen gave you a pad?” “Yeah,” said Foggy, and her cramps were definitely getting worse now. He went to get them. Of course he did. Got water and crackers, the whole lot. She, meanwhile, went to the bathroom and got a pair of towels and a washcloth, and filled a bowl with water. He came back to find her, now jacketless and barefoot, carefully laying the towels out on the bed, one on top of the other in case she bled through it, which made clear what she wanted, even before she said, “Yes, that fat co-ed who was foolish enough to marry you to going to require you between her legs tonight, Mr. Murdock,” because yes, she’d woken up in time to hear Stick’s remark about where Matt was burying his sorrows. As well as Matt’s angry hiss of “You leave me wife out of this,” which she’d loved him for.
Fill: Prescription Strength (7a/8)
Foggy actually wouldn’t have been surprised by a delay for once, given how badly she’d been injured in the explosions. Perhaps that was why the stress of her husband’s secret vigilante identity being framed for them and for mass murder hadn’t triggered anything. But she’d woken up earlier that night to the sound of a strange scornful voice in their apartment and walked out to find an old blind man whose identity she’d just known, and, in retrospect Foggy thought that at the sight of him her uterus had promptly contracted in warning.
Even as she headed home, she thought of Stick’s taunts, his telling her she ought to leave or Matt would be dead, even asking her if she knew another woman had been in the apartment, possibly two. At least she’d gotten some satisfaction out of explaining Karen and Claire to him.
Claire, who in the hospital had delivered her updates on Matt’s status whenever Karen had stepped out of the ward. Including that on a night he’d been cornered, and framed, and had been lucky to escape arrest multiple times, he had gotten most upset upon learning she was injured. Who had said frankly near the end of it that while she had initially been disappointed to learn her “Mike” was married, she was now thinking it was just as well. “I don’t think I could ever have allowed myself to fall in love with a man who…well, who does what he does,” she’d said, and Foggy wondered just what she’d witnessed; she knew, in a very general sense, what Matt did and what it was like for him on the streets, but it was easier if she didn’t know the gorier details. “I admire you. I don’t envy you.”
From that night on, Foggy had known she would never be jealous over Matt again. Not when she now understood both his devotion to her and that most of the people who went starry-eyed over him could never have handled him.
Besides, it wasn’t like her biggest rival for his heart could ever be another person. She knew what that rival was, and what it always would be.
She actually would’ve liked to have brought Karen back with her, especially since she was pretty sure she’d feel a lot safer with her and Matt. But of course she couldn’t so long as they weren’t telling Karen about Matt being the mysterious man in black she and Ben were looking for. She already was hating having to fake ignorance around them about that, knowing she had answers they needed and couldn’t tell them. Really, Foggy thought both her office mates officially desperately needed to sit down and have a frank exchange of secrets. She was pretty sure they weren’t going to be able to keep Karen’s from Matt anyway. He might have already been wondering. It had partly been a comment from him earlier that day which had sent Foggy, on impulse, out of the apartment and after her after he and Stick had departed on their little joint mission. She was lucky she’d found her in time.
In fact, as she unlocked the door of the apartment, she was seriously considering just telling him everything. If he detected she’d been in Ben’s company she’d probably have to. Her mind was even forming words: Anyone finds out about both your and Karen’s activities, and no one will believe she didn’t know about you either. That means she’s a part of this too now, and she didn’t even get a say in that. She deserves to know.
But when she stepped in, she was brought up short by the sight before her. The living room looked like there’d been a stampede; the furniture lay broken and overturned everywhere. And sitting in the middle of it was Matt, mask off, black suit on, running his fingers over what looked like some cheap wristband.
She was drawing breath for the questions when he answered the first of them: “He lied to me when he said he wouldn’t kill anyone. The Black Sky he talked about…it was a child, Foggy; I could hear his heartbeat. They were unloading him at the docks out of a crate, like he was just a package or something. And Stick intended to kill him. And I stopped him at the docks, but then he tracked him down and killed him anyway when I wasn’t there to stop him. And when…when he came back and to-told me that…”
He wouldn’t ask why she’d left the apartment. He wasn’t happy about the fact that when he went roaming the streets at night sometimes she did too, but he understood that sometimes she could sleep and sometimes she couldn’t, and when she couldn’t, it was torture for her to just wait there, so she often didn’t; half her evenings out with Karen had come out of that. Though she did usually try to get back first; obviously tonight there had been highly unusual circumstances.
She still wasn’t sure what she was going to say to him about those, but all that, she decided, could wait until morning. First there were more questions to ask him. “Where is he now?”
“Gone. I told him to get out of the city. After…” He waved his hand around at the wreckage of their living room; she’d already guessed as much. “Sorry about…”
She should be angry. Maybe she would be later, when she was less worried, and she got around to doing a proper survey of the damage. For now, though she walked over to him, leaned down, and took a good look at what he was holding in his hands.
Her heart stopped. It was made out of paper, woven into a bracelet, and bore a cheery colorful pattern, like one would find on… “The ice cream wrapper,” she breathed. “The bracelet you made him.”
“It must have fallen off while we were fighting,” he said. “He kept it, Foggy. He kept it.”
He spoke like that little boy, reaching out desperately for affection from the father figure who was doing nothing but hit him, and Foggy felt a new feeling rise in her. An ugly, angry possessiveness, completely unlike the jealousy and fear she had spent years feeling before finally leaving it behind only days ago. “Put it away,” she said through gritted teeth.
He made a confused noise, and she spat out, “Get it out of my sight. I never want to look at that thing again.”
“Foggy…” he started to protest, rising to his feet.
“Please!” she cried. “Do you know how badly I want to rip that thing to shreds? If you want to keep it, get it away from me!”
He darted away, into the bedroom, which thankfully hadn’t been too affected by his and Stick’s fight. She watched as he put the bracelet in the bottom drawer by the bed, where he kept a few Bible-related braille readers. Then he said, “You need your painkillers, don’t you? Although Karen gave you a pad?”
“Yeah,” said Foggy, and her cramps were definitely getting worse now. He went to get them. Of course he did. Got water and crackers, the whole lot.
She, meanwhile, went to the bathroom and got a pair of towels and a washcloth, and filled a bowl with water. He came back to find her, now jacketless and barefoot, carefully laying the towels out on the bed, one on top of the other in case she bled through it, which made clear what she wanted, even before she said, “Yes, that fat co-ed who was foolish enough to marry you to going to require you between her legs tonight, Mr. Murdock,” because yes, she’d woken up in time to hear Stick’s remark about where Matt was burying his sorrows. As well as Matt’s angry hiss of “You leave me wife out of this,” which she’d loved him for.