daredevilkink | Daredevil Prompt Post #10

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Daredevil Prompt Post #10

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THIS POST IS FOR ANYONE WHO HAS SEEN SEASON 2 OF DAREDEVIL or doesn't mind being spoiled for it. If you haven't and you're lost and confused, head back to the safety of Post #9, where no S2 spoilers are allowed.

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Foggy had convinced himself that was the last of it because Foggy was good at denial, to the detriment of his own mental health. No matter how often it didn’t work, Foggy was convinced that if he just pretended his life wasn’t a clusterfuck, a clusterfuck it would not be.

Frank Castle came to visit once and never would he again. Foggy didn’t even bother to upgrade the locks on his door.

So really, he reflected as he watched Frank kneel down to greet a happy Max, this was probably all his own damn fault. Foggy thought about putting his foot down, telling Frank calmly and firmly to leave and never darken his doorway again but Foggy smelled chicken wings.

There was a bag on the table.

“Are those chicken wings?” he asked and Frank glanced over his shoulder at it.

“Yeah, I owed you dinner.”

Foggy pursed his lips. Frank was a notorious killer, wanted in several states. Dangerous and unstable. If Foggy allowed this to continue, only bad things could happen. Getting disbarred would be the nicest outcome, death by giant bullets far more likely. And it might not even be Frank who used those bullets on him. There were ninjas in Hell’s Kitchen for godssake, who knew what kind of monsters trailed in Frank’s wake?

But chicken wings.

“I’m going to go change,” he decided, “Can you give Max one of his treats? They’re on the kitchen counter. He only gets one.”

The routine of getting out of his suit didn’t take much thought, leaving Foggy to wonder at what he was playing at. Dinner, twice, with the Punisher? What would his mother say? What would the police say and would they have to shout it over a bullhorn while Foggy was being held hostage with a gun to his temple?

Oh, to hell with it. Lunch had been a hastily eaten hotdog because the new guy at HCB didn’t get a lot of free time.

When he padded back into the living room, there was a beer on the table for him while Frank had found Max’s chew rope and was currently playing tug of war.

“Was there anything but beer in my fridge?” he asked, even as he picked up the beer and drank.

“There was milk.”

Foggy grimaced.

“Was it still good?”

“No.”

He flopped onto the couch and made a face.

“I keep telling myself to sign up for one of those grocery delivery things. You know, they give you food to cook yourself, like pan seared salmon, basking in lemon sauce, so easy anybody can do it at home!”

He put his beer down.

“I haven’t though. Filling out a form on the internet just seems like a whole lot of work just to get food that I can’t instantly eat. I can just order a pizza on the phone and it comes to me already cooked, melty and delicious.”

Either Frank was ignoring him or... well, it was pretty obvious Frank was ignoring him.

“Hey, quick question.”

He waited patiently until Frank actually looked at him.

“So, do I need to invest in my apartment’s security? Because it seems like you break in pretty easily.”

Frank shook his head.

“No, it’s a good building. It’s a nice place.”

It seemed sincere and Foggy looked around, tried to see the apartment through Frank’s eyes. The walls were mostly bare, just a few photos his mother had put up the first time she had visited. All the furniture was brand new because he had walked into a furniture store and bought the first set he’d seen because it hadn’t seemed to matter.

When he first got Max, having knick knacks and bits and bobs in easy reach of doggy teeth had seemed like a bad idea, so he had tossed a few boxes of things he hadn’t yet unpacked. All in all, the whole apartment seemed a bit hollow, spots of life showing only in Max’s toys strewed around the rooms.

I should probably decorate at some point, Foggy thought vaguely but it just seemed like a lot of effort. Frank went back to tugging at the rope, Max yipping excitedly. Foggy thought about turning on the tv but instead made himself get up to turn on his stereo, Pink's rocking tones filling the air. Better. Pink was always there for him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Frank still for a moment, before continuing to play with Max.

“Oh, don’t you judge me,” Foggy said, pointing an accusing finger at him. “P!nk, and I pronounce it with the exclamation mark, just so you know, speaks to me on a personal level. When I got my new job, I tried listening to jazz because that seemed like the thing a high-powered lawyer would do. It sucked.”

And it had, he and Max had sat on the couch as the strains of some jazz cd Foggy had picked up in the bargain bin had filled the room. It had been depressing. Foggy didn’t need depressing music as the soundtrack of his life. His life was the depressing soundtrack to his life. He had tossed the cd into the recycle bin and taken Max out for a walk, the hue and hubbub of New York erasing the memory of terrible music out of his ears.

He sat back down, pulling the bag over to rummage through it. Two to-go containers filled to the brim of chicken wings. Sweet.

“You eat yet?” he asked, mouth full and Frank shook his head.

“Well, come on and eat then.”

Frank tossed the rope down the hall, Max skittering after it while Frank went to go wash his hands. Hygienic. That was nice. For some reason, whenever Foggy thought about where Frank might be lying low, he imagined a dirty cave, surrounded by bushes. Maybe the park? Living wild, off the land. Trapping gophers and rats and cooking them over an open fire.

It was far more likely Frank just had some shithole apartment, but the imagery was in his head. It was just so manly.

Frank came back, sat down on the couch and they ate together and it said a lot about Foggy’s life that it was nice to have somebody to eat with. He hadn’t had much people over to his new place. Marci, so she could mock his new furniture, his parents, so they could tell him how proud they were.

Foggy pretty much went to work, came home, slept, then started it all over again. He told himself it was because of the new job, that once things calmed down and he was established, his personal life would pick up again. He’d make friends, go on outings, find somebody else to love.

Meanwhile, he had Max.

And Frank, apparently.

“So, I feel like I should ask you about your day but I’m afraid it might involve blood.”

“Just following some leads,” Frank said, vague and a little unfocused. He was eating the chicken wings as methodically as he had eaten the Chinese food last time but something was off. More remote.

He went like that sometimes, Foggy remembered. Karen usually brought him back but Karen wasn’t there.

“We saw a dog on the way home,” Foggy said and Frank turned to look at him. “I stood to the side and had Max sit next to me. Shortened the leash, you know, just in case. He was tense and he kept watching the dog but he didn’t move from his spot. I was proud of him.”

Frank nodded.

“Yeah, I remember you said he was afraid of other dogs.”

“Yup, it’s why we go back to the training facility on Saturdays. They have other dogs there, well trained dogs that Max can mingle with. Plus he gets to run around, they have more space there.”

It should have been strange, being on the other end of that intense stare, sitting on his couch and talking about his dog. But it wasn’t. Foggy was good at talking, at keeping up a one-sided conversation. Usually he was stuck talking to Max and Frank wasn’t really that different.

So Foggy kept up the flow of words, light and steady and Frank’s eyes lost that hazy look. Like he was finally just sitting in a living room eating chicken wings instead of in a nightmare inside his head. That was all Foggy wanted.

He watched as Frank picked up another wing, stripping the skin and flesh with economical movements and then handing it over to Max. The bones were dropped back into the container, safely away from Max’s inquisitive muzzle. He knew he could say something about how Frank shouldn’t shorten his own meal just to feed Max, that Max had his own dog bowl of kibble waiting for him and honestly the last time Max had gone to the vet, the vet had made noises about his weight.

But Foggy didn’t say a word. A chicken wing or two wouldn’t make any difference in the scheme of things. Frank needed more than food in his belly. He needed a chance to be kind.

This time he got off his lazy ass and helped clean up the detritus of their meal, wrapping the bones up in a trash bag and putting it up on the counter. At Frank’s curious look, he explained,

“I’ll just toss these down the trash chute. Don’t want to risk Max getting into them. He’s dug the trash for food, once or twice.”

Max was better now but in the beginning hadn’t trusted that Foggy would get him the food he needed, had still had the tendency to go foraging. Foggy had hated that time, needing to crate him whenever he left him alone. No matter how often the trainer assured him that locking that crate door was good for him, Foggy had felt horribly guilty.

Fortunately, the trash had been left undisturbed for months now and Foggy had various kong toys hidden around his apartment. Had to keep his puppy happy.

“I’ll take it out,” Frank said and Foggy looked over in surprise although he wasn’t sure why.

“Oh, you’re leaving?” he asked, although it was obvious now looking at Frank’s body language. He was gearing up, Foggy could see the tension forming in his muscles, like he was putting on body armor without even changing his clothes.

Foggy wondered if that was how it felt for Matt and then quickly squashed the thought. Foggy squashed as many thoughts as he could when it came to Matt. Some always managed to get through, though.

“Yeah, got stuff to do.”

Foggy couldn’t squash the wince those words brought out. Frank was studying him, as if waiting for Foggy to get upset or protest. Part of Foggy wanted to get upset because this was probably murder they were talking about. Part of Foggy just felt empty about the whole thing.

In the end, the only thing Foggy said was,

“Thanks for the chicken.”

*

Later that night when Foggy was readying himself for bed, he found himself staring into his bathroom mirror. His hair was fabulous because he had taken the advice of that stylist to heart, he hadn’t gained much weight but hadn’t lost any either so he figured that was a draw.

He wasn’t the man he was when he had last seen Matt.

Now, he asked his appearance, does this make me a hypocrite or does this mean I’m growing as a person? And if I am growing, which direction am I growing in?

In the end, he turned off the light and shuffled off to sleep, shoving Max over because he always hogged the bed, the crate at the foot of the bed empty like it was every night.

Denial, Foggy thought right before he shut his eyes to sleep.

If I pretend my life isn’t a clusterfuck, then it won’t be.

He slept like a baby, dreaming about beer and chicken wings.

There's so much I loved about the Foggy characterization in this part. The internal monologue esp. his catastrophizing imagination. And everything about how his position in HC&B was wearing him down esp. how new job-appropriate jazz was not jiving with him.

I like how Frank is opening up a bit more here and how part of why he comes back is not just to see Max again but because he feels he owes Foggy dinner. Culturally I totally get bonding through food and sharing meals. It is really working for me with these two.

I continue to really enjoy your writing and am looking forward to the next part!

Thank you! When I was trying to figure out how to get Frank and Foggy together repeatedly, sharing meals seemed the way to go. Nothing like food to broker peace!

op here and i love the way you have them bonding over food and not just the dog. I'm really enjoying this

Thank you, I'm so glad you're enjoying this!

There was no pattern to when Frank would visit, at least none that Foggy could discern.

Sometimes Frank was there when he came home, sometimes Foggy would be somewhere in his apartment when he’d hear his door unlock and Max would go running to greet him. If Frank didn’t bring food, Foggy would get on the phone for takeout, even if he had already eaten.

If Max’s other daddy was kind enough to keep up visitation then the least Foggy could do was feed him.

Some days he didn’t talk much so Foggy talked for the both of them. Sometimes he held a conversation with Foggy, stupid things mostly. They talked a lot about what was best for Max, which shows Foggy had gotten invested in only to have them get cancelled, the woman on the second floor who always ended up with Foggy’s mail in her mailbox.

They never talked about what Frank did outside of the apartment.

It wasn’t as hard as Foggy knew it could be. This balance, here? Had been impossible with Matt. Foggy hadn’t realized it at first, thought the house of cards they had built from the wreckage of Matt’s secrets could actually hold steady. It wasn’t until it had all fallen apart that Foggy had come to see just how flimsy their attempts at compromise had been.

Frank didn’t lie, Frank didn’t tell the truth. Frank just showed up, showered Max with love and ate whatever meal Foggy put in front of him.

Maybe this was what marriage was like, for a 1950’s housewife.

Now, Foggy wasn’t much of a cook but he had plenty of takeout numbers programed into his phone and he was reasonably certain he would rock a frilly apron and high heels.

Course if Foggy was the wife, Frank probably wouldn’t be doing so much of the cleaning. Foggy was on his couch again, watching Frank putter around his living room, cleaning up the remnants of their meal. Foggy didn’t know if it was a Frank thing or a military thing but Frank didn’t like to leave a mess and sometimes when Foggy came home to an empty apartment it was to find his bed made with military precision.

It was a little weird.

Frank was tossing out the trash when Foggy’s phone buzzed. Another text from Marci. Probably wanted to meet for drinks. She’d been bothering him lately, coming by his office and trying to bully him into going out. Had some weird idea that he’d become some sort of hermit.

He put his phone down without answering it. He’d just see her tomorrow anyway.

“He took your spot on the sofa,” Foggy told Frank helpfully when he came back. Sure enough, Max was curled on the spot Frank had vacated.

“He steals the warmth. Does it to me all the time on the bed.”

Frank stared down at him and Max just curled up a little tighter, tail wagging frantically.

“Are you strong enough to move him?” Foggy intoned, “Not physical strength, my good man. Spiritual. Willpower. Can you look into his limpid brown eyes and shift him from his preferred spot?”

There was a moment of silence as Frank stared down at Max and Max gazed sweetly up into Frank’s eyes.

“No,” Frank said and Foggy laughed.

“Yeah, I can never move him either. I just feel so guilty.”

With a sigh, Frank sat down next to Foggy since Max was determined to take the other end of the couch. Foggy shifted a bit to give him room and it was only when Frank was comfortable that it occurred to him that physically, this was the closest they had ever been.

All these weeks, Max tended to be between them in one way or another.

Foggy held up the remote.

“I got Netflix,” he said, “And I’ve noticed some new MST3K on there.”

“Now see, I understood all those letters and that number individually but I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Ooh, Frank, are you telling me you’ve never watched MST3K? You are in for a treat.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

“Are you doubting my taste?”

“No. Because I know you have shit taste. Look at your furniture.”

“Why does everybody shit on my furniture?” Foggy demanded, twisting to face him, “I just bought the set, it was on sale, it had all the pieces I needed.”

Frank actually started to chuckle and Foggy was a bit charmed with the way it made his eyes crinkle.

“It’s not that bad,” he insisted, Frank just shaking his head, “It’s got character.”

“It’s got paisley.”

“Now you’re just being mean.”

He clicked on Netflix, scrolled to the movies he had seen a few nights ago alone but hadn’t rustled up the attention span to watch.

“Oh, this one. You are incredibly lucky that you are here with me because I have watched Space Mutiny enough that I have actually figured out the plot.”

“Shouldn’t I figure out the plot just by watching the movie?”

“You clearly do not understand the magic that is MST3K.”

And so they settled in for the wonders of Space Mutiny, Frank a warm solid bulk to his left and as the movie went on, Max slowly stretched his way across both their laps.

*

Sunday, he went to visit his parents. He didn’t want to and felt insanely guilty about it but it seemed such a hassle. But he’d begged off the last few invitations and knew his mother wouldn’t take another excuse. Best to get it out of the way, drop hints in person that work was too hectic for him to visit again in a while.

He didn’t bring Max because it wasn’t unusual for random family members to show up unannounced and new people were always stressors. Safer for everybody if Max just stayed home but Foggy missed him even on the short trip. His left hand felt empty not holding the leash and he found his fingers clenching and unclenching as he walked down the sidewalk.

“You look like you lost weight,” was the first thing his mother said when he walked through the door.

“That’s perjury.”

His mother clucked and came over, wiping her hands on her apron before squishing his cheeks.

“Hmm. Maybe not the weight,” she conceded, “But you still look terrible.”

“This is why I come home,” Foggy said to no one in particular. “To improve my self-esteem.”

“My poor boy. They’re working you so hard at that new firm! You never call, I text you using my tiny phone screen and you know how hard that is for me and you don’t even text back!”

“Ma... ”

“Leave the boy alone,” his dad said from the doorway, “Just put some lasagna in him. Make you both feel better.”

His mom pressed a kiss to his cheek and then Foggy headed dutifully to his father to get a hug. The kitchen smelled good, tomato sauce and spices and Foggy felt a pang.

He had been avoiding his parents’ house as best he could since the shit show of the Castle trial because lying to his parents was easier on the phone or by text. His parents hadn’t really understood what had happened to Nelson & Murdock and Foggy hadn’t had the heart to explain. Far as they knew, he and Matt had been offered better jobs and chosen to shutter their law firm for better opportunities.

They also thought he and Matt were still best friends.

“You tell Matt he needs to visit,” his mom was saying as she set a heaping plate before him, still steaming, “We haven’t seen him in months. I know you say he’s busy but surely he can make time for us.”

“Maybe next time,” he lied, before taking a big forkful of lasagna and shoving it into his mouth, “Mmm, so good! Now what’s this I hear about Cousin Sarah getting pregnant again?”

As his mom launched into a long winded tale about the trial and tribulations of Cousin Sarah, Foggy just kept eating. He could only hope the lasagna filled the empty hollow inside him where Nelson & Murdock used to reside.

It was pretty good lasagna so it was worth a shot.

*

Getting home to Max was a relief.

Foggy could feel the tension melt off him as soon as he shut his door behind him, keeping the rest of the world at bay. His parents had been disappointed but understanding when he had told them it would be a while until he came home again. The disappointment he could hack; it was the understanding that killed him.

“But none of that with you, huh, bud?” Foggy greeted Max, who was nosing the plastic bag swinging from Foggy’s hand with interest. Left over lasagna his mother had insisted he take home and he lifted the bag high.

“No,” he said firmly and Max instantly subsided, sitting down on his haunches with his tongue lolling. It was so easy with Max, who loved and trusted Foggy wholeheartedly.

“Let me put this away and then I’ll take you for a walk.”

He took Max around the block, giving him a little more lead on his leash. There weren’t that many people about and Foggy had rarely come across another dog at this time of night. Routine was good for Max so he and Foggy had quickly learned the circadian rhythm of their neighborhood, when it was busy, when it wasn’t, when they were more likely to come across trouble.

Every day of the week had it’s own sweet spot, a quiet little bubble of time when Foggy could give Max just a little bit more freedom. They stayed out a little longer than usual, just soaking up the city at night before finally heading home.

He took a quick shower and was just trying to figure out if he should just go to bed early when Max, who had been watching Foggy comb his hair in front of the bathroom mirror suddenly trotted down the hall, tail wagging.

Sticking his head out the door into the hall, Foggy could hear someone at the front door but it seemed to be taking longer than usual. Frank was pretty adept at breaking into Foggy’s place by this point so usually the only head’s up Foggy got was Max perking up.

Curious, he headed for the door, reaching it just as it swung open.

“Jesus Christ!”

Frank stumbled in, a little bloody and a little bruised and Foggy caught him without thinking, hauling him inside and shutting the door, closing the lock with a click.

“I’m good, I’m good,” Frank was saying and he smelled like smoke and grime. He sounded exhausted and Foggy was holding up most of his weight and considering Frank was made of solid muscle, there was quite a lot of it. They swayed precariously for a moment before Foggy managed to hold them steady.

At their feet, Max began to whine and paw at the floor.

“Max,” Foggy said sharply, “Go to the room.”

Max only hesitated for a moment before moving off down the hall and into the bedroom. He’d go into his kennel and stay put until Foggy got him.

“You have blood on you,” Foggy said at Frank’s inquisitive look, “I don’t want him to get upset.”

Foggy dragged him to the bathroom, manhandling him to sit on the toilet. Frank slumped there, didn’t make a word of protest, just breathing deep like he was centering himself. Pushing through his exhaustion and at any other time Foggy would be impressed at the display of stamina. Frank was already looking better, as if just by being somewhere safe was enough to make a difference.

Foggy grabbed a hand towel and ran it under the sink, wringing it out before wiping at Frank’s face, the blood and dirt staining the fabric immediately.

“Most of it isn’t mine,” Frank said like being covered in somebody else’s blood was a-ok.

“But some of it is,” Foggy retorted, dabbing a little viciously at a cut near his temple. Frank winced and Foggy instantly went a little gentler. “You hurt anywhere else?”

Frank shook his head then paused, holding up his hands. His knuckles were scraped but not actively bleeding. Foggy clucked over them but didn’t press the towel to them. He frowned, studying Frank, taking in the mess that he was. His little hand towel wasn’t going to cut it.

“You’re filthy.”

“Yeah.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Been better.”

“Can you shower without falling and breaking your neck? It’s just I don’t think I can fit your body down the trash chute and it seems rude to tip your corpse out the window.”

Frank chuffed out a laugh and tilted his head back against the wall, wry little smile on his face. His eyes were crinkling again and he was ridiculous, cut, bruised, bloody and dirty and smiling at Foggy like it was nothing.

“I can shower, hot shot. Don’t worry about it.”

Foggy studied him for a few more moments before nodding.

“Alright, don’t lock the door. I’ll be back with some clothes for you. Make sure to wash out all your cuts and scrapes.”

Foggy didn’t leave until Frank stood up and proved himself steady on his feet. Then Foggy went into the bedroom, Max sticking his head out of his kennel as soon as Foggy entered.

“Good boy,” Foggy told him, heading for his dresser, “You can come out now. Out.”

As Max clamored out, Foggy pulled out a pair of sweats and an old college tee. The underwear stumped him for a moment before he decided Frank was just going to have to go commando. They weren’t close enough to share underwear. Foggy wasn’t sure he’d ever reach that level with intimacy with anybody.

Taking his bundle of clothes, Max on his heels, Foggy went back to the bathroom. The shower was already running and when he opened the door, it was to a blast of steam. He could see the blurry image of Frank behind the curtain, the breadth of his shoulders tapering down to his-

He put the clothes on the counter next to the sink and beat a hasty retreat.

The reheated lasagna was cooling on the counter when Frank came padding into the kitchen, scrubbing a towel over his head. He looked better, more alert, like the warm shower had rejuvenated him.

“What is even the point of that?” Foggy asked, gesturing with his hand when Frank turned to him. “You have no hair. There is nothing to dry there.”

“Sorry I don’t have your long flowing hair, Goldilocks. What’s this?”

He had found the plate of food and was already tugging it closer, picking up the fork Foggy had placed nearby.

“My hair is beautiful. That, asshole, is my mom’s lasagna that I was planning on having for lunch tomorrow. But go ahead and eat it.”

He didn’t know why he bothered to say it, Frank was already digging in. He was still standing at the counter, hunched over the plate, his skin flushed from his shower, wearing Foggy’s clothes.

Foggy swallowed hard, busying himself with pouring apple juice into a cup and sliding it over to Frank.

“No beer for people who bleed in my apartment,” he said cheerfully when Frank made a face.

“What? Trying to protect your shitty couch?”

“I’m not going to dignify that with a response.”

Frank snorted, shoveled another forkful in his mouth.

“Man, this is really good lasagna. Your mom’s, you said?”

“Yeah, I went over for dinner today.”

“Why can’t you cook like this?”

“I can,” Foggy admitted, scratching at his nose, “Or at least I used to. Haven’t cooked in so long, is it like riding a bike?”

“Something you never forget? Hell if I know, all I ever managed was barbecue. Throw raw meat on fire, eat when cooked.”

They fell silent as Frank fell to eating, clearly hungry.

His knuckles still looked red and angry and the sight of them reminded Foggy. He began to rummage through his kitchen cabinets because he knew he had a vague memory of shoving it away when he had moved in.

He was ducking down and checking the bottom cabinets when Frank asked,

“What are you looking for?”

“A ha!”

The first aid kit was something he had bought after the night he had found Matt bleeding out on his apartment floor. He had spent one late night (Matt hadn’t been answering his phone and Foggy knew exactly what he was out doing), feverishly googling everything he could about first aid. Just in case.

He held it up over his head so Frank could see it before standing up. Frank’s plate was nearly clean and he was currently putting one last lasagna laden fork into his mouth.

“Did you want more lasagna? Or shall we clean up your injuries?”

Frank snorted.

“These aren’t injuries.”

“Okay, tough guy. Your little boo-boos. Either way, we’re bandaging them up.”

Frank rolled his eyes but followed him into the living room, collapsing on his much maligned couch in such a way that suggested that Frank was still feeling a little punchy. Foggy sat next to him, opening up his first aid kit and putting it on the table before getting to work.

There was one cut above Frank’s ear that needed a butterfly bandage but for the most part, Frank had been right. Most of the cuts were already scabbed over and small enough not to need any band-aids. Foggy smeared a little antibiotic cream on them mostly just to feel like he was doing something.

Frank’s knuckles were by far the worst of it, and he dabbed the cream on each scrape before cracking open the box of H-shaped bandages. He placed them as carefully as he could, trying to recall any of the youtube vids he had binged on. He had watched so many that they all tended to blur in his mind’s eye. He had never used any of his new knowledge for Matt.

He just focused on placing the last bandage, running his thumb along the edge to make sure it was adhered.

“There. I may not be a registered nurse but I’m pretty sure this is the best you’re going to get.”

He began to pull away but was stopped by Frank wrapping his hand around Foggy’s wrist. Foggy could feel the callouses, the rough patches of skin, his warmth. Frank always seemed to radiate heat.

“Hey,” said Frank and his voice could be really gentle sometimes. “Thanks, for all this.”

The was a question on the tip of his tongue and he knew he shouldn’t ask it. That if he did, things would change. Asking would change the rules, destroy the balance - the balance he had created to mimic what he hadn’t given Matt. But Frank wasn’t Matt and Foggy wasn’t the same man he had been when he’d been friends with Matt.

Time to grow, in one direction or another. He still wasn’t sure if he was moving towards the light or not.

He took a deep breath, turned to busy himself by packing way the first aid kit.

“All the bad guys taken care of?” he asked casually and out of the corner of his eye, he saw the glittering edges of Frank’s shark smile.

“Oh, yeah.”

This is incredible. Can't wait for the next part!

Thank you! I got stuck for a little bit but fingers crossed that I've got the rest figured out.

op here
I love how Frank has opened up more to Foggy and starts to banter with him
This is awesome

Thank you!

I just really want Frank and Foggy to be friends so that then they can bang. It is taking so long to get them to bang, I swear.

I was a die-hard Matt/Foggy shipper, but HOLY smokes you are turning me into a rabid, needy Frank/Foggy (Foggy Castle?) shipper. I love your writing voice! I love how you write both of them! All around fantastic!

Mwa-ha-ha!

My evil plan is coming to fruition! Come join me in shipping Frank/Foggy!

I do, I do! I'm the one who posted the prompt whining for more Frank/Foggy after sadly poking at AO3's lack! ;)

DAmn. Damn damnnnnnnnnnnn!!

The slow buron it 's the ebst part of it. I liked that alst bit. Foggy trying to move on from Matt. Heartbreaking but good

Thanks!

Frank and Foggy are moving so slowly but they're getting there!

oh I adore everything about this -- your foggy voice in particular is A+. And I like how you can see the slow progression of them getting more comfortable around each other. Really enjoying this, can't wait to see where you take it.

Thank you!

I really wanted to show how Frank and Foggy become friends before they become something more and I'm glad it's working!

I loved this part of the fill. Seconding the comments about enjoying your Foggy voice still (it remains perfect) and Frank's opening up.

Also must say that I'm hit with all the Matt & Foggy feels. The aftershocks of their estrangement have been pulsing in the background of the fill from the start, but this part really brought that to the fore. I'm really into how you're developing that angle of Frank/Foggy.

Looking forward to more!

Oh, the Matt & Foggy feels... uhm, don't hate me for the next part, okay? ;)

LOVE this!!! I keep checking back for more--it was such a great weekend surprise to see a new update. Thanks! Be sure to put this on A03 so even more people can read/appreciate/enjoy it btw : )

Thanks!

I will be putting it on ao3 as soon as I manage to finish it! It's kinda kicking my ass at points.

Marci was studying him over the fancy menu because she had dragged him out to lunch today and he hadn’t had Max with him. Jeri let him bring Max in a few days a week, not out of the kindness of her heart, which was formed out of pure prehistoric barracuda, but because “animal-lover” tended to sell well with the public.

No Max meant he couldn’t insist on cheap eating, sitting out on the sidewalk so Max didn’t break any health codes. That meant he was in a restaurant with actual cloth napkins and crystal wineglass on the table. For lunch. It also meant he’d be the one footing the bill.

She had showed up in his office and dragged him out of there bodily, insisting they hadn’t spent any quality time together for a while. While it was true, he also knew she had to have some sort of ulterior motive. Marci tended to move on multiple planes.

“I’m getting the roasted duck with spring salad,” he announced, mostly in an attempt to divert whatever the look in her eye meant. She made a face.

“Really? You hate duck.”

“No, not really. Sounds fancy though. Probably just get the steak. You?”

“Mmm.”

“You’re getting the duck, aren’t you?”

She put her menu down, not bothering to answer him.

“It’s been a while, Foggy-Bear, you haven’t been answering my texts,” she said instead, “I’m beginning to feel like we’re strangers. Which is shitty of you, considering I got you this job.”

He winced.

“Hey, it’s not my fault. I’m the new guy. You know they’ve got me doing the scut work.”

“Too busy to take two seconds to answer a text?”

“What is this, a cross-examination? You know I’m no good at texts.”

“Phone calls then, because I’ve call you a few times and you’ve never answered.”

He groaned, slumping back in his uncomfortable chair and letting his head fall back.

“Look, after work I’m just tired, that’s all. But things are getting better, I’m getting the rhythm, you know nothing keeps me down for long.”

“Oh good,” she said, so sweetly he knew he had walked into a trap. “Then you can come out with me tonight. Get out of your apartment. Get drunk, maybe get laid, just not with me.”

“Wow, sounds like a fabulous time. However, Max-”

“Max is doing just fine.”

Her voice was sharp and one of their neighbors at the table next door glanced their way. She sucked in a deep breath, folding her hands on the table and Foggy began to feel like maybe he was in the middle of some sort of intervention. He glanced over his shoulder uneasily, his parents and grandmother weren’t going to pop out, were they?

She reached across the table, put one hand on his.

“Foggy, I hate you for making me say these words out loud. I’m worried about you.”

He pulled his hand away.

“What? Why? Everything is fine, just because I don’t go out partying every night-”

“You don’t go out any night. You work, you go home, you work some more. You’re always alone. I can’t believe I’m saying this, god knows in law school I told you you needed to apply yourself more, but Foggy. You can’t keep going like this.”

“I’m not-”

He broke off abruptly. I’m not alone, he wanted to say but how could he? How could he explain Frank? If Marci so much as suspected, she’d call the police in a heartbeat and think she was doing the right thing. Hell, she’d probably be kind enough to set it up so Foggy wouldn’t get busted for harboring a fugitive.

Frank Castle is my friend, Foggy thought in the safety of his own mind and tasted the truth of his words. Marci would never understand, could never understand because this secret was something Foggy would never tell.

Despite various hiccups and bumps in the road, Foggy was good at keeping this particular type of secret. That was something even Matt could attest to. He took a deep breath.

“Marci, I get it, really I do. But I swear, I am fine. I really am just concentrating on my work. My life sorta imploded, remember? And now I’m putting back the pieces and I am completely okay.”

“You haven’t been okay since Murdock threw you under a bus.”

“Don’t talk about Matt,” he said sharply because Matt was off limits and she knew it. They had never spoken about Matt and he wanted to keep it that way. He hadn’t spoken about Matt to anyone and that was how he wanted it.

Her lips thinned and he could tell she was unhappy.

“Pretending things didn’t happen isn’t healthy.”

“I’m not having this conversation with you in the middle of a restaurant.”

“I have tried to have this conversation with you anywhere else. You have avoided me for weeks.”

“I’ve been busy.”

Foggy could hear the edge in his own voice and she was about to respond when their waiter materialized next to their table like one of those ninjas Metro-General swore up and down didn’t exist. Foggy could have kissed him.

They gave him their orders and yes, Marci did order the duck with an extra bit of viciousness in her voice. When the waiter left, Foggy said very calmly,

“I appreciate your concern, Marci, but I don’t need it. Now, let’s talk about anything else.”

She started to interrupt and he held up a hand.

“Anything else, or I walk out of this place.”

She settled back in her chair and he made himself face her head on even though he didn’t want to. The concern on her face pulled at his skin but he shoved it back. He was fine. She was overreacting. She just didn’t have the whole picture.

“Fine,” she said and her voice had that tone that meant she was unhappy but willing to let it go, at least for a while. He knew that tone from law school. Back when they were dating, she used it whenever he had run off to hang out with Matt.

The rest of lunch was strained and Foggy had never been so happy to rush back to work, hiding in his office and burying himself in paperwork. He found himself constantly reaching down to his side, where Max sat when he was in the office with him. No Max today though, no soft doggy head to pat, no wet nose to press against the palm of his hand. Just work to do.

When quitting time finally came, he gathered up his things and headed for the elevator. This whole shitty day was about to be over and he was desperate to go home. In the lobby, right as he was going out the door, he heard her laugh and a quick glance over his shoulder showed Marci stepping off the elevator, talking to one of the other lawyers. Roger? Something like that, Foggy had a vague memory of meeting him.

He ducked out before she saw him and headed home, where he took Max for a walk, ordered takeout and ate dinner in front of the television. Frank didn’t show up but that was okay.

There was nothing wrong with his life.

He was fine.

*

Two days of ducking Marci later, Foggy trudged his way into his apartment, later than usual. Of course, there had been some last minute paperwork he had been handed that absolutely needed to be done by tonight and of course, it fell to the new guy to do it.

When he stepped into his apartment, apologizing profusely to Max, Frank appeared at the end of the hall. Foggy grinned at the sight of him, feeling the weight of the day slip off his shoulders. See? He wasn’t alone.

“You just get in? Later than usual.”

“Yeah, last minute crap that had to get done. You?”

“About a minute ago, I brought sandwiches.”

“Great! Let me take Max out real quick and then I can eat because I am starving.”

He reached for Max’s harness and leash, Max already seated as his feet ready to go, nearly vibrating with excitement.

“I’ll go with you.”

Foggy turned to stare at Frank.

“With me?”

“Yeah, you taking him around the block right?”

“Well, yeah. But. Outside.”

When Frank just squinted at him, Foggy clarified,

“In public. You’re a wanted man, do you not remember this?”

“It’ll be fine,” Frank told him, pulling his baseball cap out of his jacket and putting it on. “Nobody’s going to recognize me.”

“Is that a magic baseball cap? Because that is the only way I see this working.”

“It’ll be fine, hot shot. I’ve been walking through your neighborhood for months now, nobody’s said a thing. Now c’mon, no time to argue, Max needs to go out.”

Frank’s jaw took on that stubborn line and Foggy threw up his hands because the times Frank had gotten stubborn, Foggy had never even come close to winning.

“Ugh, fine. But you have to pick up the poop. And if we get arrested, I’m going to say you threatened me.”

*

“This is such bullshit,” Foggy marveled as they strolled the streets, passing by oblivious pedestrians.

“It’s New York,” Frank said, “Nobody gives a shit.”

Foggy couldn’t help but laugh. It felt wild and freeing, doing this with Frank. He was walking the streets of New York by the side of a notorious vigilante and nobody looked at them twice. It was insane. Max was equally thrilled, trotting beside them with his head held high and tongue lolling out.

“So you just wander the streets in a hat and nobody recognizes you. So that’s how you get around.”

“What did you think I did? Teleport to your apartment?”

“I don’t know, skulk in the shadow like some sort of vampire? Scurry from alleyway to alleyway? Weirdo stuff.”

Frank laughed, shaking his head.

“You got an imagination on you, that’s for sure.”

They meandered along, letting Max sniff his way down the sidewalk, investigating the same street he had checked out that morning like it was undiscovered country.

He and Matt had tried walking like this, being chummy and happy and it had all been a lie. Foggy took a moment to absorb the fact that it was the guy without the mask that he could walk in public with without qualm. He remembered pressing a handkerchief to the back of Matt’s neck to soak up the blood they never talked about. He remembered pressing butterfly bandages to the cut on Frank’s head.

He remembered how one act made him furious and the other made him feel useful.

Fuck, these were really deep thoughts while he was out waiting for his dog to poop.

“What kind of sandwiches did you get?” he asked Frank and if Frank wondered at the abrupt question, he didn’t say.

“Pastrami.”

“Oh nice, that’s my favorite.”

“Yeah, I remembered.”

Finally, Max began to circle around in doggy tradition and Foggy handed Frank the poop bag with a flourish.

“All yours, good sir.”

“Immature,” was all Frank said but he bent down to pick up the poop when Max was done.

*

That night, Frank crashed out on his couch because maybe it was ugly but it sure as hell was comfortable, Foggy picked up his phone and scrolled to Matt’s number. He still had him programmed in, hope springing eternal and all that jazz. His thumb hovered over the text button. Maybe he could just send one message, see how Matt was doing.

He thought about Frank, sleeping in his living room. He thought about the last time he had seen Matt, in the wreckage of their law firm. Matt had been so distant and Foggy had followed suit, like if he just pretended it didn’t hurt, it wouldn’t.

You haven’t been okay since Murdock threw you under a bus.

In the end, he just checked to make sure his alarm was set and then went to bed.

Saturday, he hailed a taxi and he and Max made their way to the dog rehab center.

Colin, his primary trainer, saw him instantly, jogging up and Foggy was hit all over again at what a hot slab of beef Colin was. Pure California muscle, tanned and beautiful and an ass you could bounce a quarter off of.

Foggy just looked though. It was just really nice to look.

“Fog!” Colin said, cheerfully, stretching one hand down for Max to nose at. “Glad you could make it!”

That’s what he said every Saturday, even though Foggy hadn’t missed a single one since Max had graduated their training course. Max loved coming here and in the yard area, Foggy could let him off his leash so he could run around. A little taste of freedom after being cooped up during the week, stuck in buildings and on leashes.

“Glad to be here,” Foggy said, because they had a script and he was going to follow it.

“How’s Max? He been good, any problems?”

“He’s great. We’ve gone past a few dogs during walks and he’s listened to every command. Hasn’t made a move towards them.”

“That’s awesome, man. Good job, Maxy.”

Colin reached into his pocket, presented a treat to Max who took it eagerly.

“Shall we go to the yard?” Colin asked and Foggy nodded and together they made their way out to the grassy area. “You’re the first one here, so Max will have free run of the place, at least for a little while.”

Foggy bent down to unhook Max’s leash, giving him one good head scratch before shooing him off.

“Go on,” he said, “Run around, have fun.”

Permission granted, Max took off like a shot, sniffing his way across the grass like a dog on a mission. His mission would be to pee on everything, Foggy knew. He watched Max for a few moments before he realized Colin hadn’t left.

That wasn’t in the script; Colin usually left Foggy and Max to their own devices at this point. He glanced over at him to find Colin studying him and when Colin noticed, Colin looked away flushing.

“So, uh, how have you been? I’m always asking about Max and not about you.”

Foggy shrugged.

“I’m good, same old, same old, you know? No major changes with me.”

Colin nodded, rocking back on his heels and Foggy was just trying to figure out what Colin wanted, when Nancy, the other trainer, called to Colin from the doorway.

“Oh, man, gotta go. You two have fun, okay?”

Colin reached out, squeezed Foggy’s upper arm once and then was gone, jogging back to where Nancy waited. After watching him go inside, Foggy reached into his bag and pulled out a tennis ball, whistling once to get Max’s attention. Max immediately came loping back towards him, eyes trained on the ball in Foggy’s hand.

“All right, boy,” Foggy said, “Go get it!”

He threw the ball and Max was off like a shot, so exciting he fumbled for a bit before gaining his legs and springing after it. He brought it back to Foggy and Foggy took it, slobber and all and lobbed it again. Then again. And again.

The problem with all this was that it didn’t take much attention and Foggy found his thoughts wandering. Maybe he should call Matt or text him, just to see how he was doing.Why couldn’t Matt have a facebook Foggy could creep on like a normal person?

The stuff they had fought about, it seemed a lifetime ago. It had been months since they had last spoken, Foggy didn’t even know where Matt was working. The only reason he knew Matt was even still in New York was because the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen still made the news.

Foggy had found a balance with Frank Castle, surely that meant he could find one with Matt, too. It was a tiny secret hope that Foggy hadn’t really let himself acknowledge but now, now he was thinking about it.

If they had parted angry, this would be easier. But they didn’t leave angry, they had gone their separate ways like mature adults, like they were saying good-bye permanently. What if Foggy reached out and Matt wasn’t interested?

What if Foggy reached out and Matt didn’t care?

Marci said pretending these things hadn’t happened wasn’t healthy and deep down Foggy knew she was right. But he didn’t want to know for a fact that Matt wasn’t hurting as much as Foggy was. In the end, Foggy was a coward.

He spent an hour with Max, chasing him around the grounds, throwing his ball, playing tug of war with one of the rope toys provided by the facility. Max deserved to have a good time, even if Foggy was beating himself up in his mind.

As he was leaving, a little sweaty and ready to go get lunch, Colin waved him down by the door.

“Foggy! You going already?”

“Yeah, we had a good time. Janine was out there with Cupcake so Max got some socialization in.”

Colin paused.

“You okay, man? You look down.”

Foggy forced a smile.

“Just tired, long week at work you know.”

Colin laughed.

“Gotta make that money, huh? But you gotta take the time to enjoy life, you know?”

Colin pulled him in for a hug, which was something he had started to do a few weeks back. He smelled good, all sweat and sunshine and he was wearing a tank top, his skin smooth and warm. It was nice.

*

“Foggy!”

He turned at the sound of his name and there was Karen, one arm raised and waving. She hurried to him and he met her half-way, his grip on Max’s leash tightening. He hadn’t really seen her since that night they closed the tab at Josie’s.

A few random texts here and there but for the most part, radio silence. He liked reading her articles though, always meant to tell her that. He stopped a few feet from her, held up a hand when she made to move closer.

“Just a sec, okay?”

“Oh, that’s right,” she said, “You got a dog.”

She started to reach down and Foggy took a quick step back.

“Wait,” he repeated, leading Max away from the middle of the sidewalk and closer to the buildings. “Best if you let me introduce you first.”

“Oh, of course, sorry!”

“No biggie.”

He had Max sit and then let Karen extend her hand. Max sniffed her fingers and that was that. Karen was smiling at him and she looked great, pink in her cheeks, her eyes bright.

“It’s so good to see you, Foggy,” she said warmly, leaning in to hug him. “It’s been too long!”

“I know, I know. I keep meaning to text you. Love your articles by the way, you got me buying The Bulletin every day. I cut out your articles, putting them in scrapbook, I’m decoupaging the hell out of it.”

She laughed, smacking at his left shoulder and he ignored the phantom pain. His bullet wound was just scar tissue now. Old news.

“I was just talking about how we needed to call you.”

“We?” Foggy snorted, “Like the royal We? Are we royalty now, Miss Page?”

“Me and Matt,” she explained, tucking her hair behind her ear and scooting a bit closer. Matt?

Foggy began to feel the world dropping out beneath his feet. He felt dizzy, lightheaded.

“You and Matt?...” he trailed off and she blushed, ducking her head.

“We got back together,” she admitted, “We worked things out. I know he screwed over Nelson & Murdock, but Foggy, he had his reasons. He explained it to me.”

Karen leaned forward, voice tipping low.

“I know about how he’s our... mutual friend.”

The words took a second to land and when they did, it was like taking a solid jab to the chest. Rib cage cracking, bruises forming, he couldn’t breathe.

“He told me, Foggy,” Karen said, all soulful eyes, “He came to me and told me the truth.”

She sounded reverent, breathing a secret into his skin. Not his secret, not anymore. Matt had told her, willingly from the sounds of it, not because he was caught bleeding and bloody on the floor. Not because he didn’t have a choice but because he wanted to. Because he trusted her.

Why did people keep having these conversations with him in public? Why couldn’t they lure him to an abandoned alleyway so he could at least brace himself because clearly a terrible talk was coming? Next to him, Max began to whine and tug at his leash.

Shit.

No.

He took a deep breath, then another. He pushed it down hard, he had to stay calm. Max was sensitive to his emotions, he was going to fuck this up for Max. He had to be in control.

“Wow,” he said, when he felt like he could speak without cracking. “That’s good, right? So good.”

She nodded and the look on her face... seemed she had no problem accepting Matt, vigilanting ways and all. It shone from her, the conviction that Matt was doing the right thing. Foggy’s envy at her confidence was bitter.

“He does so much good.”

“Yeah,” Foggy said hoarsely, grip tightening on Max’s leash, the leather cutting into his skin. “You know, I’ve got to go. I’m meeting up with someone, probably already running late. Come on, Max.”

He stumbled back from her, Max quick to trot after him, eager to move away from whatever strange tension his doggy senses could feel. Karen reached a hand out for him, startled, and it only made Foggy jerk back faster.

“Foggy,” she said concerned, finally started to twig that maybe this wasn’t the world’s best news. Foggy waved her away.

“I’ve got to go,” he repeated and fled.

Blood was rushing in his ears as he and Max set off across the city. Home was a beacon he was desperate for, he needed to get somewhere safe and secure and he kept moving, only the fact that he had walked this particular path a thousand times keeping in the right direction.

The world was spinning and he thought he was done with that. He thought he had finally landed on solid ground, thought it couldn’t shift on him anymore. He had a new life, a new job. He was a new Foggy, growing in a different direction.

Why did he feel like he was withering and dying?

It was only seeing the corner store that made him stop his wild careen through the city. Home, home, home was still beating in his blood stream but...

Home, yeah. But he was going to need something else too.

Foggy bought two bottles of scotch, not even the expensive kind that he could afford now. He bought the cheap shit because he knew the taste wasn’t going to matter. Just the alcohol content. Just as long as it burned.

Clutching his bag in one hand, Max’s leash in the other, he took the next few blocks at a more reasonable pace. The chink of the bottles calmed him, the shape of the glass pressed against his chest grounded him.

He could do this.

He made it home, putting his bottles carefully on the counter before bending to take off Max’s harness. Max swiped his tongue across Foggy’s chin and Foggy just kept going down, until he was on his knees, arms wrapped around his dog.

He pressed his face to Max’s warm, soft fur, let it soak up his tears.

Matt had sought Karen out, repaired their relationship, gave her the secrets he had so carefully guarded from Foggy for all those years.

Foggy hadn’t been worth a second chance. Not to Matt.

After making sure Max’s food and water bowls were full, Foggy cracked open the first bottle and started drinking.

Re: [FILL] A Dog's Life, 4/?, Foggy/Frank, Karen/Matt

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Re: [FILL] A Dog's Life, 4/?, Foggy/Frank, Karen/Matt

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Re: [FILL] A Dog's Life, 4/?, Foggy/Frank, Karen/Matt

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Re: [FILL] A Dog's Life, 4/?, Foggy/Frank, Karen/Matt

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Re: [FILL] A Dog's Life, 4/?, Foggy/Frank, Karen/Matt

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Re: [FILL] A Dog's Life, 4/?, Foggy/Frank, Karen/Matt

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Re: [FILL] A Dog's Life, 4/?, Foggy/Frank, Karen/Matt

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Foggy woke up in his bed.

Which felt weird for a moment because he had the strangest feeling he shouldn’t be in bed. But that didn’t make sense. When Foggy slept, he slept in his bed like a normal person. Why wouldn’t he be in bed?

He had a vague memory of lying on his living room floor and having a pair of black combat boots come into focus.

Shit.

“Afternoon, sunshine.”

He groaned, pressing his face back into his pillow. His head was pounding, his mouth tasted like poison and his bladder was informing him he really needed to pee. And Frank Castle was here to witness it all.

“Tylenol and water next to the bed, might want to knock some back there.”

Foggy groaned again then twisted his head to open one eye in Frank’s direction.

“Max?”

“I took him out this morning and fed him. He’s good.”

Foggy flopped out an arm, reaching rather haphazardly for the Tylenol Frank had promised, almost knocking over the water. Frank reached out, stopped the glass from tipping and handed Foggy the pills. Foggy dragged himself up so he could toss them into his mouth and then grabbed the cup to drink them down.

“What time is it?”

“A little after noon.”

“Oh, god.”

He staggered to his feet and Frank was kind enough to get out of the way, but not kind enough to hide his amusement as Foggy flailed his way to the bathroom. Foggy took great pleasure in shutting the door in his smirking face.

There, he emptied his bladder, washed his face, brushed his teeth, brushed his teeth for a second time and then made his way back to his bedroom. God, his head hurt and his eyes were scratchy and he didn’t want to think about Matt. He collapsed back on his bed.

He just wanted to go back to sleep but then Frank returned, plate in hand.

“Eat this,” he said, prodding at Foggy to sit up.

“I just want to sleep,” he moaned, knowing he was pathetic but unable to rustle up the concern to care. Caring was for suckers. Look at what it had gotten him so far.

“You can, but eat this first. It’ll help the hangover.”

Foggy lifted his head, eyeing the plate suspiciously.

“What is it?”

“Bacon sandwich.”

“That sounds like a really bad idea.”

“Just eat, hot shot. It’ll help.”

After choking down the bacon sandwich under Frank’s watchful eye, Foggy crawled back on his bed and slept like the dead.

When he woke up again, a quick fumble for his phone told him it was a little past five. Shit. He had slept most of the day away but at least he was feeling a bit better. Better enough to realize just how gross he felt, still wearing the remnants of yesterday’s outfit. Which made him pause as he realized he still had his shirt on but was down to his boxers.

Frank undressed him.

God, his life sucked.

He dragged himself out of bed, rummaged for a clean set of clothes and headed for the bathroom. In the hall, he could hear the tv, that plus the fact that Max hadn’t made an appearance told Foggy that Frank was still there. Of course.

(He didn’t think about Matt.)

He took a long shower, water as hot as he could stand, scrubbing at his skin with his shower poof until he was pink and clean. The warmth of the water helped with the kinks sleeping all day had injected into all his muscles and he mused on the fact that he could afford a fancy spa complete with pretty masseuse. Or handsome masseur.

Foggy had been more into dudes lately.

But still, fancy spa seemed like something rich people did and Foggy, despite his current salary didn’t feel like a rich person. He felt like a guy who had grown up in Hell’s Kitchen and got paid in produce and peach cobbler.

(He didn’t think about Matt.)

When he stepped out of the shower and towel dried himself off, he took a moment to study himself in the mirror. His eyes weren’t bloodshot, which was nice. His mouth was dry, he had a bit of a lingering headache but other than that he felt pretty good, all things considered. Frank’s bacon sandwich was apparently right on the money.

(He didn’t think about Matt.)

Tossing the damp towel over the shower curtain to dry, he shuffled out the bathroom and down the hall. Just as he entered the living room, Frank was heading towards the kitchen, empty plate in hand.

“Not a word,” Foggy groused and Frank held up his free hand in surrender.

“Wasn’t going to say a thing,” Frank said, “You ready to eat?”

Foggy paused to take stock of his stomach.

“Yeah, but something light. Toast and peanut butter?”

“Alright, hot shot, just sit your ass down. I’ll get you some toast for your tender tummy.”

Foggy flipped him off and Frank flipped him off right back before heading into the kitchen. Max came over, nosed at Foggy until Foggy bent down to cuddle him for a bit.

“I’m sorry, Max,” Foggy said, pressing a kiss to his forehead, “I won’t drink like that again, okay?”

He wasn’t sorry about the lost brain cells, he wasn’t sorry for the liver damage but he was really sorry that Max had to see the whole thing. Maybe this is what it felt like to let down your children.

One last head pat and Foggy went over to the couch and dropped down.

And that’s when it hit him.

Disjointed flashes of memory. Frank hauling him off the ground and getting him back on the couch. Foggy bursting into tears, so drunk as to be nearly incoherent. Foggy - dear, god, Foggy flinging himself into Frank’s arms, a blubbering and sobbing mess.

Frank walked back in with his toast and Foggy turned to him in horror.

“I cried on you,” he breathed and Frank had the decency to look a little embarrassed. “I totally cried all over you.”

Frank made a strange face, reaching up to scratch at his nose.

“I didn’t think you’d remember.”

“I just did. You sat me down right here and then I just, like, my face just exploded in tears!”

Foggy clawed at the air, because the memories were too much, he could see his ugly crying face, Foggy was an ugly crier, he always had been. Some people could cry gracefully, some people could cry manfully, some people could cry and actually look more attractive but Foggy was none of those people.

And Frank! Poor Frank had let Foggy cry on his shoulder, Foggy had practically been on his lap, soaking Frank’s shirt with tears and other bodily fluids. Foggy was a disgusting crier.

“Oh god,” Foggy moaned, covering his face in the here and now, “Just shoot me, I know you own like a million guns, pick the most lethal one and put me out of my misery.”

“It wasn’t so bad,” Frank said, clearly only to make Foggy feel better. The joke was on him though; nothing could make Foggy feel better about this.

“What did I say?” Foggy asked, without uncovering his eyes and he heard Frank sigh.

“Honestly, you did talk a lot but you were slurring so much I didn’t understand most of it.”

That was a relief. Right? He hadn’t mentioned Matt, Karen or the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, everybody was safe, everything was fine.

He didn’t feel fine. He felt like crying again but this time he had no alcohol to blame it on. Guess he had to think about Matt, after all.

“You want to talk about it?” Frank asked and it sounded like an honest question.

Foggy dropped his hands to look at him in surprise.

“You want to talk about my emotions? We’re two dudes, I thought dudes didn’t do that.”

“Well, you did cry on me.”

He gave Foggy a wry, half-smile and he made it sound so reasonable, like of course, Foggy cried all over the Punisher and of course, the day after, he should spill his heart to him. Share his problems, get a second opinion.

And Foggy suddenly did want to talk about it, to Frank who had dragged him off the floor and tucked his drunken ass into bed. To finally just say this shit out loud, the stuff he’d been burying down for months now, desperately ignoring how it was eating away at his insides. He wanted to talk to Frank who had showed up uninvited and ended up with a place in Foggy’s life, who loved Max as much as Foggy did.

All the things he had been bottling inside, refusing to talk about with anybody and he knew if anybody but Frank had been here for this moment, he wouldn’t have wanted to say a word. If his mother were here, if Marci was here, hell if that priest Matt knew was here, Foggy wouldn’t speak. But, somehow, the idea of talking to Frank made it bearable.

But how? Matt’s secret was still Matt’s secret, Foggy would never betray Matt like that, no matter the broken thing their friendship had become. At the same time, Foggy could feel the words bubbling up inside him, eager to be free. He was tired, so tired of carrying this weight around. He wanted to get it out where it couldn’t poison him anymore.

He made a decision.

He would talk around it; Foggy was a lawyer for a reason and one of those reasons was his god-given ability to bullshit.

He took a deep breath.

“Max, go to your room.”

This was going to get emotional, he knew it. He had already made poor Max witness his drunken crying, least he could do now was spare him from seeing it again. He waited until Max was gone before turning to Frank.

“I had a friend, a friend who did, uhm, things. Things I didn’t agree with. My friend thought these things were necessary-”

“This is about Red.”

Foggy gaped at him.

“What? No! What? Who? Red? Red Vines?”

His voice had gone up several octaves and Frank was rolling his eyes.

“Red is Murdock.”

“No. No, you are wrong, how can a blind man be the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, hahaha that makes no sense.”

“Matt Murdock is the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. I know this, you know this.”

“I know nothing, you know nothing-”

“How am I not supposed to recognize the bottom half of his face?” Frank asked, exasperated and that’s when Foggy began to hyperventilate. Frank cursed, joined him on the couch, coaxing him to lean forward and put his head between his knees, rubbing Foggy’s back with one hand.

“Just breathe for me, hot shot.”

So Foggy did, sucking in deep breaths and trying to get his body under control. The Punisher knew who the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen was. Foggy never knew exactly what went down between the two of them, knew only the vaguest of broad strokes. He and Matt hadn’t exactly been communicating by then; Foggy just knew Matt had something to do with Frank getting handed over to the police, even if Brett got the credit.

The secret Foggy had been carrying like a stone, it wasn’t even a secret, at least not to Frank.

Eventually, he got his breathing close to normal and he lifted his head, even if he stayed hunched over. Frank didn’t push, didn’t say a word, just stayed next to Foggy and waited. Foggy turned to look at him, Frank Castle, the Punisher, the man at the center of the case that had proved the death knell to the deepest friendship Foggy had ever had. Frank Castle, the man Foggy had created a space for in his lonely life, the man Foggy had managed to accept in a way he hadn’t with Matt.

Foggy felt his face crumple and it was sheer willpower alone that kept him from crying.

“So you know,” he said dully, scrubbing at his eyes. “I’m a hypocrite.”

“You’re not a hypocrite,” Frank scoffed, his hand still rubbing warm circles on Foggy’s back. “How are you a hypocrite?”

“I didn’t help Matt. I didn’t support him, I couldn’t accept the things he did. And now here I am with you! I’ve given you a place to crash, I’ve bandaged your wounds, I have never called the police!”

“That doesn’t make you a hypocrite.”

“Yeah, it does. Everything I refused to do for Matt, I’ve done for you and you never even asked me to! I turned my back on my best friend because I couldn’t accept who he was and honestly, you do much, much worse! And yet, I’m somehow okay with it! And I don’t know why, I don’t know how I got here, I just know I did and it doesn’t feel wrong but I know it should!”

Foggy was on his feet now, shouting now, fists clenched and Frank was just watching him, watching his anger, his rage, his despair.

“I’m a lawyer, I’m supposed to revere the law, I’m supposed to uphold it. I’m not supposed to be okay eating dinner with a killer!”

Frank got up and left and Foggy felt the bottom of his world drop out for the second time in as many days. He should have kept his mouth shut, should have just kept holding it in. But he didn’t, he opened his big fat mouth and now he was going to lose Frank the exact same way he lost Matt.

The exact same fucking way.

Frank came back, Foggy’s jacket in his hands. He threw it at him and Foggy caught it automatically.

“C’mon, get dressed, get your shoes, we’re going out.”

“What?” Foggy asked, feeling as though he had gotten whiplash. “Where?”

“You’ll see.”