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daredevilkink2016-04-21 06:34 pm
ddk_mod) wrote in daredevilkink2016-04-21 06:34 pm
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Daredevil Prompt Post #11
HEAD OVER TO PROMPT POST #12.
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Re: [Fill] Always Crashing in the Same Car 8/?
(Anonymous) 2016-10-11 02:58 am (UTC)(link)“Weirdest thing happened to me today,” Foggy says. Matt’s got his back propped up against his bed with Foggy’s head resting comfortably against his stomach. Outside, the steady rain provides a nice, soothing blanket of white noise, and that they’re both a little inebriated just adds to the coziness.
And because Foggy’s head is right there in his lap, in such a trusting and vulnerable position, Matt can’t help but to pretend to fumble his empty beer can over Foggy’s head. Just because he can.
“Such an asshole,” Foggy says, though entirely without heat. Matt grins at him.
“Whoops, sorry,” Matt says, as he pretends to fumble it again. He laughs as he sets the offending can firmly on the floor somewhere near his leg.
Foggy lifts his up head and pats down his hair, and huffs like he’s worried some of it actually spilled on him. Matt grumbles about losing that beautiful body heat, but Foggy just snorts at him, clearly not feeling an ounce of sympathy for his plight. Matt imagines there’s probably a good deal of eye-rolling to go along with it, too.
After a minute or two, after he’s situated himself upright, with his back propped up against the side of the bed, same as Matt, he can’t help but notice the gap between them. Matt is tempted, oh so tempted to move closer to him, just to regain what he’d lost. He doesn’t though. He just leans his head back as Foggy continues: “so. I’m coming out of that bakery, you know, the one across the street from St. Agnes’ daycare? Oh my god, Matt, they make these amazing--”
Sitting up straight, he says, “Wait. You were in the Kitchen?”
Foggy’s quiet for what feels like a long time. Glaring at him, probably. Then: “If you’d let me finish my story…”
Matt grimaces. “Sorry,” he says, “just you don’t usually…” Matt trails off, because has no room whatsoever to question Foggy about his comings and goings. “Forget it.”
“Anyway,” he says, “as I was saying, before Mister Buttinski over here oh so rudely interrupted: I thought I’d get one of those strawberry shortcake cupcakes they have there. I’d been craving one for like a solid week, and I kept putting it off, because it’s such a ridiculous indulgence. But after the week I’ve had, I figured what the hell. I deserve a nice treat every once in a while.”
“Sure,” Matt agrees.
“Oh! That reminds me!” Now Foggy’s gesturing emphatically at him, and Matt tries not to laugh. Foggy’s enthusiasm is pretty infectious. “I totally got one for you, too, but,” he pauses to scratch behind his ear, “yours didn’t exactly make it back. Sorry, dude.”
“Eh,” he says, smiling. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“Anyway. So, now I’m not two feet outside the bakery, right, when this kid—who, by the way, comes out of friggen nowhere—runs right into me. Boom.” And Foggy soundlessly claps his hands together to indicate a collision. “Now, I’m not the type of person who yells at dumbass kids for not watching where they’re going, but I was seriously tempted; I mean, yeah, I would have been pissed if my freshly procured slice of strawberry heaven got ruined because of some dumb kid, but it wouldn’t have been the end of the world or anything.”
“Very magnanimous of you.”
“See? You know what’s up. And it turned out it wasn’t all that bad. I mean, they got squished together in a big ol’ ooey-gooey mess, but we managed just fine.”
“Oh?”
“Right! Getting ahead of myself here. So it’s just me and this kid on the sidewalk outside the bakery—and you should’ve seen him, Matt. I mean, the kid was just a mess. Clothes that looked like he fished them out of the garbage, and everything.” Foggy’s quiet for long moment, then: “he didn’t even have any shoes on, you know? And. That’s not even the weird part. Not that I’m trying to imply this is weird! In any way. Promise me you won’t take it that way.”
“Me? Why would I--”
“No, just… okay, so, there I am, right, sticking my paw out at him,” and Foggy illustrates this by thrusting his hand out toward Matt’s chest. He resolutely does not react to it. “But he just makes this scrunched up face at me, like he’s confused or something. I mean, what confusing about a handshake, let me ask you.”
Matt shakes his head. He doesn’t know. (Except for when he does.)
“And… that’s when I notice that he’s not actually looking at me. And he has that same exact--” Foggy coughs. “Because he’s, you know. Blind.”
And Matt’s stomach flops over. “Being blind’s not weird, Foggy,” he says, trying not to choke on his own words.
“And I’m not saying it is!” Foggy says, seemly oblivious to the minefield he’s stepped into. “I mean, give me some credit here.”
“I’m just giving you a hard time,” Matt tries. “Um, so… anyway.”
“Yeah, so. Homeless blind kid. I thought about calling you, too, but, I um. Thought that it might be... weird. Or a little insensitive or something.”
Foggy pushes himself up to grab the rest of the six-pack still sitting on his nightstand, then wordlessly passes a can to Matt.
“How would it be insensitive,” he says as he picks at the pull tab with his thumb and index finger.
Foggy breathes out, says, “I don’t know.” He pauses for a long time. “I didn’t want you to think—or I didn’t want him to think—but it doesn’t matter because I didn’t.”
Matt presses his lips together. Set down his can and lets his shoulders sag and his hands pool in his lap.
His memories are about this whole thing are incredibly gauzy, the way long forgotten memories often are, but he does remember it. When he was a kid, he once (literally) ran into a man who told him that he wanted to help. He knew how adults would sometimes materialize into his life with offers of help, so he knew to be wary, but the man was funny, and kind, and honest, and he knew that was a rare thing. So Matt went with him even though he knew, somewhere in the back of his mind that this could be a trick, or a test somehow, but he could take the man if it came to that. He knew he could.
And this kind of indulgence... it could get him into a lot of trouble. So he wrapped the moment up tight, squirreled it away deep in his ribcage, somewhere near his heart where no one could ever steal it from him. It was stupid, he knew it was, but he had so little that was his and his alone. Time was precious; he knew better than anyone.
So they sat outside the bakery at a tiny round table (because he had no shoes on) and they ate gourmet cupcakes, with strawberries so fat they had to eat them with forks. Actual silverware, even, not plastic ones.
And now it turns out that his kind benefactor is none other than Franklin Nelson: broke college kid.
“Small world,” Matt mutters, and then shakes his head to indicate never mind when Foggy makes an inquisitive noise at him.
“So what’s the weird part,” he says, trying not to sound resigned to fate.
Foggy tells him all about the thrilling adventure of taking the kid across the street to speak to the kind folks in the administration office at St. Agnes’ daycare--Matt has no memory of this part of the story—even though he knew the kid had to have been too old to attend daycare. “It was just so strange. He kept insisting that I just leave him there. I mean, then the lady at the desk basically kicked us out when it was clear we didn’t belong there, and I felt just awful, Matt, you have no idea.”
Matt just shrugs. He really doesn’t remember this little side trip, and even if he did, what could he possibly say about it? ‘I was that kid, and at the time I didn’t know the orphanage had closed and become a daycare?’ Obviously not.
“And that’s why you gave him my cupcake,” he says, all faux-incredulity.
“Yes! I… Wait. How did you--”
“Lucky guess.”
Quietly Foggy says, “I owe you a cupcake.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he starts to say, but cuts himself off mid-sentence when he picks up a familiar heartbeat somewhere just outside their door. He moves his hand across to his other wrist to check his pulse, and sure enough, the two beat in time.
“Shit,” he mutters, and he’s on his feet before he even realizes it. He casts around for any wayward clothing still left of the floor, and when he comes up empty, rushes across the room to his dresser to paw through his clothes.
“Matt! What the hell’s--” Foggy starts to say just as he plucks out the first t-shirt his probing hands land on. In the hallway just outside their room there’s a loud thud and a second later the doorknob turns and the hinges groan as the door swings open. “Hey, pal, you’ve got the wrong,” and the door shuts behind a wet and naked Matt as he presses his full body weight against it. “Room,” Foggy finishes weakly.
Other Matt rushes over and grabs the shirt still dangling from Matt’s hand, starts pulling it over his head as he says all in a rush, “God, I’m sorry but I’m cold and wet and--”
“Behind the bushes?” Matt asks.
“Yeah. Every damn time.”
Foggy’s vital signs are a riot of confusion and panic, and once his breathing levels out, he mutters, “What the hell was in that beer?”
“You aren’t hallucinating,” Other Matt says as he shimmies into a pair of jeans. He seems to be struggling with them for some reason, and confirms it when he mutters, “why are these so tight.”
“Jesus! You even sound--”
“So,” Matt interrupts, “how should we--”
Other Matt stands up straight and tugs at his shirt. Smacks Matt’s upper arm and says, “you can do it next time,” which is just about the worst joke ever.
Foggy’s bed groans under his weight as he drops himself down onto it. "You never said you had a brother,” he says carefully, as if the very ground might drop out from under him if he so much as breathed wrong.
“I don’t have any family, Foggy,” Other Matt mutters. “You know that.”
“Okay,” Matt starts to say, but has to cut himself off as he doubles over. A monster headache blooms and spreads, and through it he manages to say, “Jesus, now?” His stomach clenches hard and he’s going to end up vomiting everywhere, he just knows it.
“Yeah, sorry,” Other Matt says.
“What the fuck is happening!”
“Fog, I’m so sorry,” Matt grits out. He’s on the floor, curled in on himself, and is just bracing for it. Here it comes, any second. “But Foggy, I’m not going anywhere, you have to believe me. Just… let me explain everything,” he says as he tries to move his arm in his other self’s general direction. “Will you let me do that? Please?” He tries not to groan from the pain as the pressure in and around his body builds and builds, but it doesn’t work, and he knows he’s scaring Foggy, but he can’t help it. He can’t. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes, and the last thing he hears is Foggy screaming out his name.
*
“Ow,” Matt says after he bangs his head up against something solid. He curses under his breath for trying to get himself upright before getting a better feel for his surroundings, which is like, Time Travel 101. He knows better than that.
“Matt?” It’s Foggy. Of course, who else would it be. It’s not as though their lives are irrevocably intertwined, or anything. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I just—am I under a table?”
Foggy laughs from the next room, makes a lot of shuffling noises, and then he’s standing in front of him, framed in the doorway of whatever room Matt’s currently in. “Do you know where you are?”
“I, uh. No. Well, under a table, apparently.” He crawls out, the floor hard on his knees, and it’s a little awkward when he emerges and stands, but Foggy’s on top of the situation because he’s as much a pro at this as Matt is; he’s handing Matt a long piece of clothing, a coat, he thinks, before he even needs to ask. “Thanks,” he mutters as he shrugs into it. It’s just barely long enough to cover him, but he knows how to make do.
“You know, maybe we should think about keeping a set of spare clothes around here, seeing how we’re going to be spending a real lot of time here from now on.” Foggy sounds proud. And hopeful.
“Is this… is this Nelson and Murdock?” He can’t help the wonder from his voice.
Foggy is practically bouncing. “This is your first time here, huh. Oh, man, you gotta let me give you the grand tour.”
Matt beams at him.
“So this is the conference room,” which explains the large table, “and out here we’re gonna eventually get a real office desk,” the main room (lobby, maybe?) has a very nice card table and a couple folding chairs. They cross to an office with a desk, “this is me,” cross again, back the way they came, “and this is you.”
When he finds his Braille terminal, he feels like someone’s squeezed all the air from of his lungs. “This is real. Oh my god, Foggy, this is--”
“I know! It’s great, right? We literally just opened shop. Got a sweet deal on the place, too.”
“How do we afford this kind of office space?” Matt says as they move over to the card table. Matt has to readjust the coat a bit when he sits, but he doesn’t think Foggy’ll be able to see anything. And besides, it’s not like he’s never seen Matt before… “Hell’s Kitchen is gentrifying,” he continues, “I would have assumed we’d be priced out.”
“Yeah, back when we were in coll— oh shit, is that when you’re coming from?”
“Yeah. I am, but--”
Foggy shakes his head. “Trust me on this one. Your usual brand of out-of-contextness is not your friend here,” which is Foggy-speak for ‘I’m not really up for talking about it.’ Which is fair, he supposes.
After some time, Foggy proposes ordering take-out, so Matt says, “you don’t have stay and babysit, if you have somewhere else you need to be.”
“Who’s babysitting?” he says. “Actually, do you know who is babysitting right now? You are,” Foggy says, gesturing toward Matt.
“Somehow I find that unlikely.”
“Okay, ‘babysitting’ is probably inappropriate, considering, but our client is staying at your place until this whole thing blows over. I’m sure you’re being a perfect gentleman.”
Matt raises his eyebrows at that. It’s probably best he doesn’t know. “So that explains why you haven’t offered to drop me off. I mean, besides the fact that I’m not exactly dressed for the occasion.”
Foggy’s quiet for a long moment. “Did you want me to? Honestly, it didn’t even occur to me you’d want that. I mean, you don’t live there yet.”
“I’ve been there a few times now.”
“Huh. I’ll keep that in mind. So. Tell me about when you’re coming from.”
*
Re: [Fill] Always Crashing in the Same Car 8/?
(Anonymous) 2016-10-11 03:22 am (UTC)(link)Re: [Fill] Always Crashing in the Same Car 8/?
(Anonymous) 2016-10-12 07:39 pm (UTC)(link)ha, poor Foggy. thanks for reading <3
Re: [Fill] Always Crashing in the Same Car 8/?
(Anonymous) 2016-10-12 02:15 pm (UTC)(link)Is Matt going to return to his time and deal with Foggy's many questions, or is Other Matt in the tight jeans going to do all the explaining? Or is Foggy STILL going to have barrage of questions for Matt despite the explanation Other Matt gives?
I love this story so much thank you for updating!
Re: [Fill] Always Crashing in the Same Car 8/?
(Anonymous) 2016-10-12 07:37 pm (UTC)(link)Oh yeah, the fallout's next.
<3