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FILL 4a/7: Matt/OMC, Sexual Harrassment, Protective Foggy

[(Anonymous)]

It’s alive!

This chapter is titled “Suspense.” Do you wonder why? I bet you’re wondering why. (Hint: It’s not because it took so long to write.)

4.

“Now, I’m not complaining or anything,” Foggy says, watching Matt as he removes his day-old shirt to put on a new one, “but next time you’re planning on asking me to bring you a change of clothes after a walk of shame, maybe do it early enough that I don’t almost miss the train, okay?”

Matt turns and beams at him over his shoulder as he buttons up. “This is you not complaining?”

“Nope, not complaining. I’m here, you’re here, the clothes are here, and we were all on time. But next time, you might not be so lucky unless you call me sooner. I’m not going to turn around and go back to the apartment again, not if it means being late.” He has been especially careful lately not to give Zack any excuse to follow through on his threats: since their disastrous meeting in Zack’s office two weeks ago, he has been arriving to work on time, sometimes even early—to his nocturnal roommate’s unending consternation.

“Oh, well look who’s so dedicated to work all of a sudden,” Matt teased.

“Shut up, man, it’s called being professional,” Foggy says. “I’d really rather not get fired right now, especially if it’s just so that you can preserve your dignity. Some things are more important than that.”

Matt is smiling as he tucks his shirt into his suit pants. “Come on, Foggy, they wouldn’t fire you. Landman treats you like a son.”

“That’s an overstatement of the facts and you know it,” Foggy says. It’s true that, since the last incident, he has been doing his best to develop a good rapport with anyone who would have the power of veto over Zack—namely, Landman. Foggy is on good terms with their other boss now—but he doesn’t pretend to think that he’s any higher in his estimation than the firm’s average employee. “On the other hand,” Foggy continued, “Zack treats me like an obstacle, so. No job security for me.”

At the mention of Zack, Matt’s expression immediately sobers, and Foggy reprimands himself for his lack of tact as Matt silently finishes dressing and sits down to his work. “Sorry,” he offers.

“Don’t worry about it,” Matt replies.

Foggy considers trying to revive the conversation: ask Matt how his date with Amanda actually went, discuss the exceptional scrumptiousness of that morning’s batch of bagels. Instead, he takes Matt’s cue and turns to the briefs he has to copy edit.

They work in companionable silence for a few hours until there is a knock at the door. Matt starts to reach for his cane, but Foggy stops him. “I’ll get it,” he says, and opens the door to reveal a harried-looking paralegal.

“Mr. Nelson?” the man confirms. “Could you please come with me? Mr. Landman has requested you. He says that the matter is rather urgent.”

“Okay, sure. Be right with you,” Foggy says, then he turns to grab his jacket. The paralegal waits impatiently in the hallway. “Do you want me to leave the door open?” he asks Matt.

“Yeah, sure,” Matt answers.

“Okay, I’ll be back soon.”

“I won’t wait up,” Matt says, already turning back to his papers.

Foggy emerges to find the paralegal, a small blond man with a prominent brow, scowling at his watch. “Are you quite ready?” the man asked. “Let’s go.”

If Foggy were in any less trouble with the management, he might have teased the man for his rudeness; but as it was, he simply followed, matching the man’s brisk pace. However, they had not gotten far down the hallway when Foggy saw Zack rounding the corner and heading towards them. He nodded at the two of them as they passed, and Foggy nodded politely back. He turned his head, following Zack with his eyes, and watched him saunter up to their office. He knocked on the open door, then entered without waiting for a reply. Foggy’s feet immediately turned him back in the direction from which they came.

“Mr. Nelson, where are you going? Mr. Landman’s office is this way,” the beleaguered paralegal reminded him.

Foggy turned to look at him. Suddenly, he recognized the man: he was the same person who ambushed Matt last week, spilling the coffee and setting up Zack’s attempted move. A foreboding weight settled in Foggy’s chest.

“Actually, I have a lot of work to do—like, a lot of work—and I’m not sure if I have the time to see Mr. Landman right now. I really should get back to the office and get started on that.”

“Whatever you have to work on can wait—Mr. Landman specifically requested that you come see him today,” the paralegal said. “Now, in fact,” he added, looking pointedly at his watch—one far too expensive to be within the purchasing power of the typical paralegal. Foggy had a feeling that he knew where his extra pocket money came from.

“I understand, that, I really do, but I—I’m actually not feeling too well right now. I think I need to go sit down,” he said, holding his hand to his forehead as though dizzy.

“The break room is that way, Mr. Nelson,” the paralegal said, indicating the hallway to their right. “But if you are feeling unwell, perhaps it would be better for you to simply go home. If that is the case, I’m sure that Mr. Landman would understand. I’ll even walk you to the elevators, if you need help.”

“That’s really not necessary. I’m sure I would be fine if I could just sit down for a few minutes—”

“Mr. Nelson, are you being insubordinate? I know it’s not my place to say, but I’m not certain that it would be wise for you to disobey a direct order from either Mr. Landman or Mr. Zack just now.”

The awareness of Zack’s presence near Matt was calling him back towards their office like a blaring alarm; but even while distracted, he was not unaware of the implications of the man’s words. If you interrupt them now, the man was saying, you won’t be interrupting them again. Better to go and take care of whatever this is as quickly as possible and get back before anything can happen.

“Alright, let’s go, then,” Foggy said, hurrying past the man to the elevator.

FILL 4b/7: Matt/OMC, Sexual Harrassment, Protective Foggy

[(Anonymous)]

He arrives at the elevator blocks well before his escort, who seems to be moving at a much more leisurely pace than before. The lights above the elevator tell him that it still has 20 more floors to go before it reaches theirs. At floor 43, six floors away from where they stand, the elevator pauses in its movement. How long would it take for something terrible to happen? Foggy wondered. Fifteen minutes? Twenty? Foggy notices that his foot is tapping in impatience; he shifts his weight and focuses on not betraying his restlessness. The light begins to move again.

Finally, the doors slide open. Foggy is in such a rush to get in that he runs into a senior attorney who is coming out. He apologizes, but the man’s frown does not dissipate. When Foggy turns around and leans against the railing of the elevator, he sees his companion’s lips twist into an amused smile at his expense. Foggy wishes that he could wipe it from his face. The doors close. The elevator seems to run more slowly than ever, despite rising only one floor. Foggy checks his own watch: 11:14.

The doors open. Foggy steps out, followed by the paralegal. Foggy makes a beeline for Landman’s secretary.

“Hello, I’m Foggy Nelson. I believe Mr. Landman wanted to see me?”

She smiles up at him. “Yes, of course, let me just check. You said your name was Nelson?”

“Yes. Franklin.”

She continues to smile politely as she checks her notes. She is a motherly type, who, Foggy remembers, has been working as Landman’s secretary for over fifteen years. Foggy struggles not to betray his impatience.

“Ah, yes, here you are,” she says. “Go right ahead, he can see you now.”

“Thank you,” he says to her, already moving towards the door.

Landman is slow to notice his presence. Foggy enters the room fully, then closes the door behind him. His intention is to do it audibly but politely, but the shaking of his hands makes his movements unpredictable. The door closes with a sharp, jolting slam—or so it sounds to Foggy’s ears.

Landman looks up at him, and immediately a jolly smile spreads over his face. “Oh, hello, Franklin,” he says jovially. “It’s good to see you. Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

“Of course, sir. Anytime,” Foggy says, forcing a smile. He can feel the hair at the base of his neck starting to dampen with sweat. “What did you need me for?”

“Hm?” Landman says, looking up from his papers. “Oh yes. Would you mind waiting a moment? I’m afraid I wasn’t expecting you so soon. I’m almost finished with this report.”

Foggy fought to keep a smile on his face. “I actually have quite a lot of work to do myself today, sir, so if you would—”

“Nevermind that, son!” Landman said good-naturedly. “You kids these days are always moving so fast. It won’t kill you to wait a few minutes. Have a seat, I insist. I’ll only be a minute.”

Foggy sits, and he waits. He checks his watch: 11:18. He looks out behind Landman, to the window behind him. The day is oppressively hot, but Landman still has his drapes thrown open to the sunlight, which is only just beginning to pass behind the buildings on the opposite side of the street. The room is baking, the cloying scents of warm leather and of the cinnamon candies melting in the bowl on Landman’s desk gathering in his throat like phlegm. 11:19.

Foggy’s heart seems to pound on his ribcage with each passing second. He worries his tongue incessantly against the roof of his mouth. His foot is tapping again, so he crosses his legs, then uncrosses them and recrosses them the other way. What if something like this happens again, Matt had said two weeks ago, and you’re not there next time?

11:20. He had made a promise to Matt that he would keep him safe. He caught himself raising his hand to his mouth, ready to indulge the old bad habit of chewing his nails. Instead, he interlocked the fingers of his hands, sweaty-palmed, and without conscious thought, began to move his thumbs back and forth. He had made a promise. What if he had already broken it? What if he had already waited too long? 11:21.

Landman had rows of bookshelves along the walls, many of them dedicated to old case files and law books. There are a few different dictionaries, a writer’s reference. Foggy spots a well-loved copy of Thurgood Marshall lying on top of the shelf, as though it had been recently consulted.

Foggy shivered despite the heat of the room, then stood. “Sir, I’m very sorry, but I really have to—”

“Sit down, Franklin! Goodness, boy, you do need to calm yourself down.” He capped his pen, and straightened his papers. “I’m all finished now, so why don’t you just sit down and we can have our chat.” Foggy lacked the presence of mind to try to look appropriately mollified as he returned to his seat.

Landman resumed his paternal smile. “Patience is a wonderful asset to cultivate, especially in this profession of ours. What are the lawyer’s two most important tools? Truth and justice? History and the law? No: patience and diligence. If you ever have the chance to watch Mr. Zack in court, you might realize just how important those two things are in any case you’re working. I don’t know that I’ve ever met a man with more patience, or with better instincts for timing.”

Foggy smiled, laboriously separating his woolen tongue from a palate desiccated by heat and worry. “Of course, Sir. What did you need me for?”

Landman’s ebullient smile fades slightly, becoming less energetic, but not less fond. “Well, Mr. Nelson—or can I call you Foggy?” Foggy nods stiffly. Landman smiles again. “Foggy—I hope that you have been enjoying your time here so far. We always prefer to select interns from my alma mater, for professional reasons as well as personal. Interns from Columbia are, at least in my estimation, capable of things we could never ask of students from other institutions.” Despite having lived in New York for at least 40 years, Landman’s southern accent was still thick. His vowels crawled laboriously from the passage of his vocal cords elongated by more serious deformities than any Foggy had ever heard. Surreptitiously, he checked his watch again—11:25. “Every year, it seems that the applications get more and more competitive—so believe me when I say that you and Mr. Murdock were not selected by accident. I remember that he wrote his personal statement about Thurgood Marshall, and never once mentioned his blindness. Of course, his grades and recommendations had already distinguished him; but the fact that he was able to make a case for himself without mentioning something that, for most people, would be a defining attribute, a God-given personal statement topic—that really impressed me. And he’s certainly lived up to our expectations: I was personally unable to attend the presentation he gave, but Mr. Zack assures me that it was a thing of beauty.” Foggy’s throat constricted, his thirst imbuing the action with a prickly, wincing pain. “And then, of course, there was you. What really grabbed us about you, even more than your impeccable records, was your sheer goodness. Every page of your application demonstrated the sort of unselfish consideration and grounded idealism that we hardly ever see among people your age, especially in our proud but often austere profession. Seeing you in action here only confirmed that impression—it has been years since I’ve seen such honest enthusiasm about our work, or such open friendliness to people at every point in the firm’s hierarchy. That you and Mr. Murdock turned out to already be close friends when you arrived made our choices seem even better, as though it was the Lord himself guiding our hands.” His gaze, warmer than the sun streaming in behind him, returned to Foggy’s. “Mr. Nelson—Foggy—I think that it was no accident that you and Mr. Murdock came to us this summer; but I do believe that it would be a serious error to let our association end in the Fall. We would like to offer you—both of you—positions as junior attorneys here at the firm, contingent upon your graduation in the spring.”

By now, Foggy was covered in a cold sweat. A part of him—the part of him that still remembered the original logic of accepting these positions—recognized that he should be jumping up and down in excitement at this offer, and observed his revulsion with fatalistic detachment. “Uh,” he managed to croak out. “That’s—well. I don’t—um. Thanks?” Landman’s gaze was amused. Foggy cleared his throat. “I, um—I don’t know what to say. I mean, what I mean is, I’ll need to talk to Matt first. We have to—um. Discuss our future plans.”

Landman smiled again. “Well of course you do! I didn’t expect an answer this very minute, Foggy. Go talk it over with your friend, and let us know what you decide. There’s no rush.” He paused, and smiled in the direction of a picture on his desk. “You know, I find it just incredibly comforting that you two are so close to one another. You don’t find too many friends like the two of you these days. Young people have trouble getting that close to one another anymore. Actually, the two of you are so close, it almost reminds me of me and my wife—before she was my wife, of course. Not that I mean to accuse y’all of nothing—and not that it would be a problem if there was anything.” Landman chuckled at himself. “I just mean that you’re so close that it’s impossible to be selfish, because you might as well be the same person. I know that most of the other interns we’ve had would have jumped on this offer without a second thought; but the very fact that you do need to think about it is exactly why we need you here. Patience and diligence, that’s what we need. But loyalty, consideration, and enthusiasm certainly don’t hurt none!”

Foggy nodded and smiled, trying to allow Landman’s gregarious joviality to infect his own features. “Yeah, right. Loyalty and enthusiasm, that’s me!” he said, giving his arm a little swing.

Landman smiled at him for a moment more, the sunlight still streaming into the room as though no time had passed between Foggy’s entrance and the present. It took a conscious effort not to look at his watch for the time. “Well, I suppose I should let you get back to your work now—and let my work get back to me! Do let us know what you and Mr. Murdock decide on, and in the meantime, we’ll go through the motions of getting the positions approved, in case you do decide to stay on.”

“Alright. Thank you, Sir,” Foggy said, rising and preparing to leave with the least amount of undue haste he could muster. As he stood, he felt beads of sweat rolling down his legs and back. He grabbed the handle of the door and closed it behind him, careful not to let it slam as it had before. Then, safely out of sight of his employer, he hurried to the elevator bay.

FILL 4c/7: Matt/OMC, Sexual Harrassment, Protective Foggy

[(Anonymous)]

He hammered several times on the down button, muttering tacit encouragement under his breath. He looked up at the display, seeing that the elevator was hovering around the 20th floor. He cursed, looked at his watch—11:31—and turned the corner towards the staircase. He hurtled down the stairs to the lower floor as quickly as he could, emerging onto the office floor and heading in the direction of their office.

He turned the last corner just in time to see Zack emerge from the room. Two pairs of eyes—one sneering, one glaring—met as they passed. Foggy broke eye contact first, then turned into the office, closing the door quickly behind him. “Matt?” he said, turning to face his friend.

“I’m fine, Foggy, we just talked,” Matt said, anticipating his concern. “The door was open the whole time.”

Foggy let out a breath and fell into his chair, his body sagging in relief. Matt’s face was drawn up in concern as he directed his attention to his beleaguered friend. “Are you okay Foggy? You sound like you just ran a marathon.”

Foggy giggled nervously, removing the cap from a bottle of water. “Yeah, that’s sort of how it feels, too,” he said as he took a long, deep drink from the bottle. “I—It’s just that I saw him going in as I was leaving, and the whole time I was with Landman, all I could think about was that I had left you here alone.”

Matt’s lips turned downward and he looked away—one of the many tells Foggy had identified for when Matt was feeling guilty. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but there was nothing to worry about. Like I said, we just talked. The door was open. Nothing happened.”

Having calmed down a bit now, Foggy took a moment as he drank to assess his friend’s appearance more closely. The amount of tension in his body, especially around his jaw, was definitely alarming, as was his nervous plucking at the upholstery of his chair. This was Matt as Foggy saw him during midterms and finals—stressed, worried, looking desperately for the way out. “You know last week, when I threw up?” Foggy said. “That was after ‘just talking’ to Zack. I’m not going to just let that stand as a final answer.”

The nervous movements of Matt’s hands stopped as Matt considered him—unlike usual, he didn’t turn his face towards Foggy to give the illusion of looking at him. His lips thinned, and he took a few shallow breaths. “He came to offer a promotion.”

“Right.”

“He said that—that they were thinking of offering us jobs here, after we graduate. He, um—he said some very nice things about my presentation.”

“Right. Go on.”

Matt sank forward in his chair, resting his arms on his knees without releasing any tension from his shoulders and back. He reached up to run a hand through his hair. “Do—do you want to stay here, Foggy?”

“What? What does that matter?”

“This—isn’t this the reason we came here? To get jobs? Or recommendations? This is—it’s an amazing offer. Our classmates would kill for something like this.” He paused. Foggy watched him slowly twisting his hands. He finally turned his head in Foggy’s direction. “This is what you want, isn’t it? To work here, with me?”

“Okay, let me get this straight,” Foggy said, now clenching his own jaw. “He offered you a job, but said that there might not be a position for me.” He clenched his fist, and tried to keep the anger out of his voice. “What would you have to do to make sure that I got an offer?”

Matt swallowed, constricting the muscles in his throat, then parted his lips—are they as pretty wrapped around a cock?—and tried to speak—once, then twice. Finally, he sighed and turned his head away. “It—it um. It doesn’t—doesn’t bear repeating.”

Foggy had never hated anyone so much as he hated Zack. Seething, he turned to his desk, laid his elbow on it, and buried his hand in his hair. “I could kill him right now, I swear I could.”

“Foggy?” Matt said, finally turning his face towards his friend. It was hard to know for certain with his glasses on, but judging by the rest of his face, Foggy suspected that he was holding back tears.

Foggy sighed. “Sorry, man. This is just so fucking fucked up.” He paused to gather his thoughts. “I just met with Landman. We talked about something similar—performance review, a job offer for after graduation. I don’t remember most of it—but he said something about us. He said that we’re so close that it’s impossible to be selfish, because we’re practically the same person. That you’re even asking me about this, that you’re even thinking about it, just proves how right he was. But if it’s true, then it goes both ways, right?” he said. Matt was listening closely; some of the tension seemed to have left his shoulders. “Matt, you’re asking the wrong question. It doesn’t matter if I want to work here, because I only want to stay if you do. You’re the one who’s in danger here. It’s your choice. If you want to leave, then I will be right behind you. If you want to stay, I’ll be right here beside you. Nelson and Murdock, right? That’s all that matters to me,” Foggy concluded, feeling tears in his eyes. “So, Matt, the question to ask is: do you want to stay here?”

Matt shook his head. “No,” he said, his voice breaking.

Foggy smiled through his tears. “Then there’s your answer,” he said. “We don’t need him. We don’t need his cases. We don’t need his endorsement. Just Nelson and Murdock, Avocados at Law.”

Matt sat back up and smiled shakily back at him. “Nelson & Murdock. Our own practice.”

“That’s right. No bosses to push us around. No shitty cases keeping poor people down.”

“But no fresh bagels in the mornings, either.”

“Matt, my friend, some things in life are more important than bagels.”

Matt’s smile widened. “Thanks, Foggy.”

Foggy smiled back, pausing as he waited for the right moment. Patience and diligence. “What makes you think I was talking about you?”

Matt just laughed.

Re: FILL 4c/7: Matt/OMC, Sexual Harrassment, Protective Foggy

[(Anonymous)]

YAAAAASSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!

I'm right there with you Foggy, I was sweating so much reading this update!!! lol

Get out of there fast boys! Zack will NOT be happy about this!!!