Someone wrote in [community profile] daredevilkink 2015-09-14 02:46 am (UTC)

giving the game away, 5/?

Among the many things Stick is wrong about is his assessment of Foggy. Foggy's not Matt's guide dog.

No, it's Matt who's the dog, half feral and poorly trained, hunched and snarling in a circle around Foggy. Waiting steadfastly at his master's feet, sent into raptures by every carelessly-dropped crumb of affection. Bereft every time Foggy leaves, even if Matt's the one who chased him away.

He avoids Foggy all day and shakes off his suggestions that they grab dinner or a drink after work. He knows Foggy’s suspicious, probably that he’s going to meet Stick, but he can’t deny it without telling him in private where Karen can’t hear, and he doesn’t think it’s a good idea for him to be alone with Foggy. At least, not until he figures out how to deal with this.

He does suit up once the sun’s gone down, but he can’t catch a trace of Stick anywhere. He’s not naive enough to think that Stick’s left the city, but he’s gone to ground. Matt puts down two muggers and a burglar and is left to prowl the empty streets until the shifting temperature tells him that sunrise is coming.

“You look like hell,” Foggy says when he slinks into the office on two hours of sleep and dives into a cup of Karen’s coffee. He doesn’t even care about the taste.

“Thanks, Foggy, I can always count on you to make me feel pretty,” he says automatically, then bites his lip. Did that sound flirtatious? It’s instinct to banter and he’s tired, but he needs to rein that in. He’ll give himself away.

“Don’t worry, your perfect bone structure is still intact,” Foggy says. Matt suspects he’s rolling his eyes. “Rough night?”

Karen is listening. “Couldn’t sleep,” Matt says, and goes into his office.

He shuts the door to keep Foggy from following.

There’s no Stick that night either, or the next. On the fourth day of little sleep and aggressively avoiding Foggy, Foggy corners Matt in his office.

“Okay, what the hell are you doing, Matt?” he demands.

“I’m reading the Liu brief,” Matt says, holding up the bound Braille pages.

“Cut the crap, you know that’s not what I mean,” Foggy says. “You won’t talk to me, you look like you haven’t slept in a week, and you clearly let someone play T-ball with your face last night.”

Matt touches the bruise on his temple and tries not to wince visibly. It’s a good guess - it was a baseball bat, but just a glancing blow. It barely even dazed him. He just hadn’t ducked quite fast enough - too tired, probably. “It looks worse than it is.”

“Then why are you avoiding me?”

Because he’s forgotten how to be around Foggy without giving away the fact that he wants to crawl into Foggy’s arms and stay there for at least a week. Or maybe a lifetime. “I’m not.”

“Jesus, Matt. Can’t you even respect my intelligence enough to tell me a good lie?” Matt cringes at that, and Foggy sighs. “Look, just tell me what Stick’s gotten you into, okay? Maybe we can figure out some way to handle it together.”

“He hasn’t gotten me into anything,” Matt insists. Foggy snorts. “I mean it! I haven’t even seen him since that night. And I’ve been looking.” He hears the intake of breath as Foggy starts to say something. “You know what I mean.”

“So what’s the problem, then?” Foggy asks. “You told the old goat to get out of your city, and he got. End of story.”

“He’s not gone. He’s not...I can just tell. He’s out there,” Matt says.

“So, what, you’re just going to go without sleep until you find him?” Foggy asks. “You don’t even know that he’s still in Hell’s Kitchen. He could be anywhere in the city.” He shakes his head. “Look, I know Stick did a number on you, but I feel like this isn’t just about making sure he’s not causing trouble. What did he do that’s got you so worked up?”

“Nothing,” Matt says. It’s not convincing, and they both know it.

“Fine,” Foggy says after a moment. “Well, when you decide you feel like telling me the truth, you know where to find me.”

He walks out of Matt’s office. Foggy’s the one who’s good with people, but even Matt can tell that Foggy’s not really angry - he’s hurt. Hurt that Matt won’t confide in him, and God, Matt wishes he could, but he can’t tell Foggy about this. Not ever. He’ll have to bank on Foggy’s incredible capacity for forgiveness one last time.

Who is he kidding? He is what he is. There’ll never be a last time he’ll be begging Foggy’s forgiveness.

He goes out again that night and beats his knuckles raw on the city. It doesn’t help.

Things go quiet before he’s ready for them to; no screams on the wind, no sirens, no alarms wailing. He moves across the rooftops to a better vantage point, listening for someone who needs him. He’s been craning his head into the relative silence for nearly five minutes when he realizes where he is, where he’s coincidentally ended up.

...Except it wasn’t a coincidence, was it? He knows every building in Hell’s Kitchen. He’d never land on this one by mistake.

He knows he shouldn’t, but he makes his way down the fire escape to the right floor. A sighted person might never be able to pick out the correct window from the street, but for Matt it’s as easy as following a voice calling his name.

Foggy’s heartbeat. Foggy’s window.

He’s asleep. That’s good. It’s nearly three a.m. He still snores a little, just like he did in college, and the familiar sound blindsides Matt a little, leaves him stumbling over the yawning gulf of need it opens up.

Stick was right. He’s pathetic. He’s desperate, and sad, and weak. He needs to leave, to get some sleep or at least do some good for someone. Not just stand here like a dog locked out for the night, shivering and loyal.

He doesn’t make it home until dawn.

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