Daredevil Prompt Post #8

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Comments

FILL: [17/?] Foggy gets Matt as a College Graduation Present

[(Anonymous)]

xxx

“That, um. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a slave owner doing something like that before.”

“Oh god. Don’t remind me,” Foggy has his face buried in his hands. “I’m in so much trouble.”

Foggy is also currently sitting bent almost double on the edge of his dorm room bed after a very long Saturday. A Saturday that involved his best friend getting raped, the cops getting called on Foggy, a trip to the police station where there had been a lot of questions, and now it’s so, so late at night and he’s so tired. But at least they’re both home safe. For now.

(It happened so fast. Foggy remembers only patches now, how he briefly only saw red, and then Matt moved, and suddenly Foggy had been on the floor, Matt above him, asking, ‘Foggy? Foggy, is that you? Did you stumble and fall?’ loudly and waving his hand through the air as if trying to find him. The doctor had been standing there, gaping, and one of the nurses had screamed, and the other immediately called the police, and then there had been more men in the room, and events became even more blurred. He does remember holding on to Matt so tightly, though, that at least nobody took him away from him on the way to the station, and they did allow him to put his clothes back on.)

Matt now is sitting across from him, now again dressed in the soft, thin sweats he prefers for nights spent in, and, by comparison, looks almost more put-together than Foggy, despite what happened to him earlier today and that he had to spent hours kneeling on the floor in a police station afterwards.

“I,” Matt swallows. “Thank you, Foggy.”

“You…you don’t have to thank me,” Foggy manages, although a part of him notes that Matt, despite the events of the day seems somehow more…relaxed now than perhaps ever before. Foggy clears his throat, feeling a bit awkward.

“That wasn’t…that wasn’t right, what that doctor douche was doing. I mean, I don’t like violence, honestly.” He can feel his eyes narrowing. “But I think I’d punch him again, anyway.”

(At this, Matt gives him a smile that almost seems a little bit too sharp for a grateful pet, but again, Foggy only remembers this much, much later.)

Aloud, Matt says, “Well, technically, it was only the standard stim test. It’s usually routinely performed when owners even bother to bring their pets in – in fact, it’s most likely the only reason anyone ever would bring their slave in for a routine check-up, if you listened to slave merchants,” Matt says dryly. “Results of that performance test greatly affect our resale value.”

“Yay for humanity,” Foggy mutters. “For the record, I am so, so sorry I took you there.”

(And he would be more sorry. He would be sorry enough to kill himself, if what he had done would be enough to get Matt taken away from him, permanently. Neither of them know quite what the consequences will be, so for now they're avoiding the topic, desperately wanting to think about anything but Matt maybe getting taken away. Even though Matt isn’t even the one who has broken the law here. In fact, anyone who met Matt would think the entire idea laughable, Foggy tries to tell himself.)

“I’m…fine, I think,” Matt gives him a lop-sided smile that at least doesn’t look like a complete lie. “It’s…nothing I wasn’t used to,” he swallows, “it just…it had been a while. And I had genuinely been hoping to avoid it this time.”

Avoid what? Being finger-fucked specifically or being raped in general? Foggy wants to ask and can feel his stomach turn. Instead he hears himself say,

“Well, for the record, I’m all for you getting used to that not happening again,” Foggy says, throat a bit constricted. “Unless you want to. With a partner of your choice. Uh. And not an asshole in white who probably won his medical licence in a game of Operation. You know, when we’re lawyers we can go on and try to sue him. Y’know, after he’s done sueing me.”

(And oh god, his bio-mom is going to kill him when she hears this.)

Matt, despite their situation, laughs a little, and Foggy thinks it’s the most relieving sound he’s heard since this horrible afternoon. “Sounds great. Although…” he cocks his head. “Weren’t we gonna go for defence?”

“Oh! Yeah!” Foggy (who may or may not have had a couple of beers at this point, to drown out the horror of this day) snips his fingers. “Defence! Right. ‘cause there’s money in that.”

Matt (who seems more than eager to change the topic as well), cocks an eye brow, a snort escaping him. “What, now suddenly money is more important than justice?”

“Noooo. No, no, no,” Foggy protests. “We’re so gonna stand for truth and justice and all that. Right. Just as soon as we’ve worked our way up and made partners somewhere, totally.”

“Hmm,” Matt humms a little, laugh fading into something softer, and almost a little…nervous? He fiddles with his beer bottle, turning his head slightly away from Foggy as he licks his lips. “You know…actually…”

“Hm? What?” Foggy blinks, for a moment feeling a slight uptick in his heart beat. Matt looks slightly tense and almost embarrassed, in a way he hasn’t for a long time.

“I...” Matt swallows. “Back when I was…a kid. I always wanted to be a lawyer.”

Foggy abruptly feels a lot more sober. Matt hasn’t yet shared much of his past at all with him, all Foggy knew so far was that he was an orphan, raised in St Agnes until the day he turned eighteen, and was then sold off to cover the cost of his stay there after nobody wanted to pay to have him adopted before he became an adult. It’s the reason why Matt had both the educational background to be a useful house slave as well as get an undergrad degree – state wards usually receive both the education needed to become free citizens in case they do get adopted, as well as the training necessary to be a working slave in case they don’t. Foggy has tried and failed to avoid imagining what it would have to have been like when that metal collar closed around your neck the day you became eighteen.

“Oh, really?” he tries now, because he can sense this must be kind of big for Matt. After all, a slave telling their owner about their childhood dreams for their future…it’s obvious to how much hurt and ridicule Matt could be opening himself up here. What kind of weapons he is giving Foggy by even sharing this much.

“Yes,” Matt nods, now, more firmly than before. “My dad, when he was still alive, he…” he almost seems to stop himself, there but then appears to steel himself and press on regardless. “I promised him I’d make him proud. Someday. That I’d…I’d own my own legal firm. To fight for those nobody else will fight for.” Foggy stares at Matt, still, as his slave adds a humourless huff to his words. “Well. I don’t think that turned out quite like anybody hoped for. Don’t even own myself, these days, never mind a firm.”

“Matt…” Foggy’s voice is hoarse, and Matt almost flinches at his name, turning his face firmly toward the floor.

“No, don’t…I’m sorry, I have everything I could ask for, Foggy. Really. That was out of line. I’m sorry.”

“Matt, no.” Foggy abruptly leans forward, grasping Matt’s wrist before his slave, now obviously thoroughly uncomfortable and embarrassed, having stripped himself bare figuratively after the doctor today did so literally, can turn away and potentially burrow himself into his blankets with his face against the wall. Matt freezes in his grip, like he did the first time Foggy grabbed him, and Foggy sighs, relenting a little, and letting his thumb massage some circles into the inside of Matt’s wrist. It does seem to relax him a little, or at least, stop him from pulling away even more.

“Matt,” Foggy says again, more firmly.

Matt huffs, shifting awkwardly. “Yes, Foggy. I’m fine. It was just…a long day. Never mind,” he tries a small, hopeful smile. “Let’s go to sleep so we can become rich, successful lawyers faster?”

“Sure,” Foggy says, tone casual. “Just tell me one thing.”

“Always,” Matt says.

“Do you still dream of your own law practice?”

(Slaves don’t have dreams, the manual says. Slaves only wish for the immediate comfort and reassurance of their master’s approval.)

“Yes,” says Matt, and even though he looks like he expects Foggy to hit him for it, his voice sounds utterly assured.

“Alright, then,” Foggy says, utterly serious, “Our sign will say, ‘Murdock and Nelson, Free Avocados at Law’.”

Again, Matt stares at him, blindly, for one or two heart beats, and then he starts laughing, going ‘It’s not avocados, Foggy, it’s avogabos’ and ‘I have heard all of your puns, and this one’s the worst’, and, finally, ‘and besides, it should be ‘Nelson and Murdock’ which sounds better - you can trust me, there’s this guy who told me blind people have spectacular hearing’.

And Foggy grins, and clinks his half-empty beer against Matt, and he tells him about what it was like to be a chubby, poor kid at school who was only really good at debate team and music, and how his mom had wanted him to be a butcher. Matt tells him about one last fight he heard, and that mixture of pride and loss, and they do end up on the floor in front of the same bed somehow, more drunk and leaning against each other for support, swapping stories and laughing (at Foggy’s, anyway, but also at some of Matt’s). And then, when the night is turning to a close, and Matt (the lightweight) is definitely about to be out of it soonish, he lets his head slump against Foggy’s shoulder and chest, murmuring ‘Nelson and Murdock. Sounds good, Foggy’, before losing consciousness and ending up in his owner’s lap entirely.

Foggy groans, and huffs, attempting to wrestle them into a position at least marginally suited for sleeping, and, even though Matt might have been just a liiiiittle bit drunk as he said it, Foggy couldn’t help but notice that for the first time it sounded like he genuinely believed Foggy would actually free him.

Somehow, this means that even the day at court and likely fine for assault that Foggy knows is coming his way doesn’t seem so bad anymore.

xxx

It’s about a week after their visit at the clinic, and a day before their letter to appear before court, when Foggy gets sick.

“Matty. You don’t have to do this.”

Matt, in between heating water for a new hot water bottle, cooking chicken soup, figuring out the Braille on the lozenges and pain killers he got from the campus drug store, and trying to brew three different head cold teas for Foggy at once, shoots him a consternated expression. “You do know that this is what I’m here for, right?”

Foggy groans and rolls his head into the pillow on the other side, hoping that this one might be marginally less painful. “I thought we went over this. Matt, you know to me you’re just my friend, nothing more and nothing less.”

“I know, Foggy. That’s what I just said,” Matt replies, and when Foggy’s feverish brain finally manages to make sense of that comment, he wonders whether it’s just his high temperature making him feel this warm.

xxx

Re: FILL: [17/?] Foggy gets Matt as a College Graduation Present

[(Anonymous)]

-oh my goodness, consequences for my babies!

-MATT MY SON. MATT.

-Does Foggy realize just the degree to which Matt is trusting him? Does he understand the sheer leap of faith there?

-Oh, MATT.

-Will Rosalind make an appearance wrt them being sued?

-FUCK YEAH DAY AT COURT. I CAN'T WAIT.

Re: FILL: [17/?] Foggy gets Matt as a College Graduation Present

[(Anonymous)]

POOR MATT FOGGY IS THE ONLY ONE HE TRUSTS.

Re: FILL: [17/?] Foggy gets Matt as a College Graduation Present

[(Anonymous)]

Oh god, the parts about slaves not having dreams is so dehumanizing. it's chilling.