Foggy went back into the room, fixing a small and awkward smile on his face. "Hey kiddo," he said cheerily, "finished my talk with our disembodied friend. How're you doing?"

JARVIS paused the audiobook and Matthew shrugged. "Okay."

"Okay, that's good. So, I've decided I'm uncomfortable with you telling me things that you wouldn't as a grownup. It feels like I'm violating adult-you's trust. Do you get that?"

"Okay."

"What am I talking about, of course you get it. You're a little nerd, I'm sure you'd thought a lot about complex moral dilemma's at age ten. So, what I'm thinking is, instead I'm going to tell you stories. Stories about two really great friends. Us. While we're at it, we can see what you remember. Sound good?"

"Sure." Matthew nodded. "How did we meet? Did we meet in high school?"

"Naw, we were roommates in college. And law school, but that comes later. I don't know much about you in high school, though you were apparently valedictorian. No, I'm getting side tracked. Let's start with the first day of college, this one's a good story."

Foggy was a good storyteller. He'd probably been a babysitter when he was younger, or maybe he had a lot of relatives. It would be intrusive to check without a good reason. But he was a good storyteller. By the story of the time the power went out for twelve hours and they'd ordered pizza at midnight and had to walk through freezing rain to fetch it, Matthew had crawled back out of his shell.

"What kind of pizza do you like?" Matthew asked.

"I like all sorts of pizzas. Veggies. Sausage. Hawaiian. Pretty much, besides anchovies, if you put it on pizza, I like it. But that doesn't really matter, because we got cheese pizza, light on the sauce. Somehow you always ended up with pizza veto powers."

"I don't like pizza toppings?" Matthew asked. He frowned. "I don't think I remember having pizza since," he pointed at his left eye in explanation. "I used to like pepperoni a lot. But a lot of things don't taste as good now."

"I can confirm that you never ordered pizza with any toppings to my recollection. But maybe you just didn't want to look all hedonistic in front of me, ordering all the toppings. It'd go with your cheapskate aesthetic."

Matthew's stomach made a loud rumbling sound. His hands pressed to his abdomen, hunching a bit around his guilty midsection. "I'm not hungry," he said, heading Foggy off at the pass.

"Sure you aren't." Foggy leaned over and poked his hand into the water. "Damn, that's cold. Jarvis, how long has it been since Matty here had something to eat?"

Seven hours since the transformation. But it was impossible to confirm that he'd eaten before heading out for the night and getting caught up with the Avengers. Foggy frowned to hear that.

"Okay, kiddo. I understand that getting out of the water sounds really unpleasant. But I can confirm that older you? He wanders around in the air just like plain folks. And I'm not going to sit here and let you freeze or starve. Not under my watch."

"I'm not that hungry," Matthew said. "With Stick, I..." he trailed off. "That's probably something I wouldn't tell you. Never mind."

"Yep, I can confirm you've never told me anything about Stick."

"You never met him?" Matthew asked.

"Nope."

"He didn't come to my graduation?"

Foggy frowned. "I don't think you guys had that kind of relationship. I think he was pretty exclusively interested in the ninja parts of your life."

"Oh." Matthew said. "I don't remember-remember him yet. Just bits and pieces, so he must be when I'm older. But I have a lot of, of..." he trailed off, clearly grasping for a word. He grabbed at his chest, just where his heart was. "Feelings? How can I care so much if he wasn't even around long enough to see me graduate?"

"Sometimes people aren't in our lives a very long time but they still mean a lot to us. I don't think time is the main factor."

"I thought for sure he was around," Matthew said. "I remember being old and him breaking my coffee table."

"Really? I was wondering what happened to that poor thing. I spend all Saturday with you, picking out rubbish second-hand furniture and you manage to break the one piece I'd liked enough to want in my own apartment."

"Umm," Matthew closed his eyes, eyebrows furrowed, a picture of concentration. A lot of his expressions were very exaggerated, like he wasn't sure if his message was getting across so he played every detail up. "I think he threw me into the table and the legs collapsed. We were fighting about something."

"Sparring?" Foggy suggested.

"No. I was angry and...feelings? Disappointed, maybe? I don't remember what he did, but I know I started the fight."

"Did you win?"

"I think so. He left, anyway. I don't know if that was winning."

"Well this has been enlightening, but I would like to point out that you are still in a bathtub and we're no closer to eating food. Jarvis, could you check the kitchenette for butter, cinnamon, sugar and white bread? I have something particular in mind." He opened the little cabinet under the sink and pulled out an enormous white towel. He rubbed it on his his cheek with a expression of intense concentration, then nodded. "This towel should be soft enough to do. I'm going to the bedroom to find you some pajamas, I expect you to be out of the tub when I get back."

"Foggy," Matthew whined.

"We can make up a new tub when you're done eating if we must. But I draw the line at eating in the bathtub. I'll be right there, you're going to be fine."

"The air is loud," Matthew said, curling up in the tub.

"That doesn't make any sense. What are you actually feeling? Pressure changes? Temperature changes? Air currents?"

"I don't know. It's not labeled! It just hurts."

"Okay, calm down." Foggy slipped out of the chair to kneel by the tub. "Jarvis, can you temporarily shut down any heat or air circulation in this apartment? That's probably most of what he's feeling."

That was easily done. A quick check on infrared showed that there were patches of hot and cold throughout the apartment, but they were fairly consistent in the kitchenette and away from the windows.

Slowly and grudgingly, Matthew climbed out of the tub and wrapped himself in the towel, swim shorts dripping onto the bath mat. Foggy came back with a set of microfiber pajamas, then retreated out of the room to let Matthew dress in privacy. JARVIS switched off the visual sensors, leaving audio on in case Matthew required assistance.

It took nearly ten minutes, but Matthew eventually called for Foggy to come back, having successfully changed into the pajamas. Foggy came with a blue and incredibly plush blanket draped over his shoulder. He took one look at Matthew shivering on the soaking bathmat and swept the blanked over his shoulder's like a cape. "I'm going to pick you up now," he said, and then lifted the boy and the blanket in one movement, shifting a bit awkwardly to carry him bridal style.

"Foggy, I'm ten, not three," Matthew grumbled.

"You don't think I carry my ten year old cousins? I don't, actually, but only because they're made out of lead. You, however, are made of bird bones and spiderwebs. I could carry you all day. Headphones comfortable? They're not going to fall off like this, right?"

"They're okay," Matthew said.

"Good. Then we're going on an adventure. To the kitchen!"

They made a swift journey to the kitchen, Foggy filling the still air with a steady stream of chatter on those cousins Matthew had at one point known. Aiden was a real monster, it sounded like. Dropping a perfectly functioning cell phone into a fish tank so that 'the fish could talk back', the horror. All the while, Matthew gathered up more and more of the fabric in his hands, kneading at the soft fleece. By the time Foggy lowered him back onto his feet in the kitchen he had it grappled into a death grip that pulled it tight across his shoulders. Foggy ignored that, rapping his knuckles on the back of one of the kitchen chairs. "If you want to sit. Now, do you have anything you want to eat?"

Matthew shook his head.

"That's okay, because I already know you. Isn't that convenient? So we're making your favorite late-night drunken snack. Volcanoes."

Matthew sat down and transferred his hold on the fabric in his left hand into his right, freeing up one hand to spider-crawl over the blanket draped over his leg and pluck at the burs and inconsistencies in the knit. "Are we alcoholics as grown ups?"