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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 9/?
(Anonymous) 2016-10-21 04:14 am (UTC)(link)Foggy’s usually sound asleep when Matt sneaks back in from his clandestine trips to Fogwell’s. Except for tonight, which, honestly he should have expected. Well, he can’t avoid Foggy forever. If he were avoiding Foggy, that is. Which he’s not. He’s just been keeping to his workout routine, whether he’s had to travel that day or not.
He takes a fortifying breath and squares back his shoulders, because judging from what he can read off of Foggy, Matt’s presence just outside their door has him in a near panic.
“It’s just me,” he says, sticking just his head in, before entering the room more fully. He offers a reassuring smile, but it doesn’t help, not one bit.
“Matt?” Foggy’s voice shakes on his name, small and unsteady, and he knows Foggy’s terrified. He’s terrified of Matt.
“Yeah, it’s just me,” he says again, and just readies himself for bed like nothing’s out of the ordinary, because he cannot deal with this right now, he just can’t. “G’night, Fog.”
“Yeah. Yeah, Matt. Goodnight.”
*
The following Saturday: “I am not even exaggerating, dude. This week’s been so rough, my anxiety has anxiety. You can’t see it, but my hands are actually shaking right now, that’s how bad it is.”
Foggy holds out one of his hands as if to demonstrate said shakiness, then immediately brings them both up to his face to blow on them before shoving them deep into his coat pockets.
“You should have worn your gloves,” Matt mutters as he briefly frees his own hand from Foggy’s elbow to readjust his scarf, tighten his coat, but Foggy just shrugs. Too late to worry about that now.
It’s mid-September, and they’re taking a stroll through Central Park—Matt’s idea—to clear the air. Matt had suggested that they probably should talk about what happened some place other than in their shared room. Some kind of neutral ground where the reminder of Matt’s fucked up biology wasn’t some kind of palpable weight hanging over their heads. Foggy tried not to sound relieved when Matt floated the idea, and Matt tried not to take that kind of reaction personally.
“I don’t understand how you’re not freaking out about this, too,” Foggy continues. “Like, okay, I get it. You’re all Mister Calm-Cool-and-Collected or whatever, but come on. Be real with me for a minute. You’re shitting just as many bricks as I am, you’re just better at hiding it.”
“I’m really not,” Matt says with a small shrug. “You’ve taken the practice, right?”
Foggy groans. “It’s bad, Matt. I’m gonna fail so hard. Do you know what doesn’t require an admission test? A butcher shop, that’s what. The LSAT’s gonna kick my ass and steal my lunch money, too, but hey. Who needs to get into law school when you have the promise of quality meats to fall back on.”
Matt laughs. “I’m sure they don’t just hand you a butcher’s knife without some kind of training first. But I wouldn’t worry about it. It’s going to be fine, you’ll see.”
Foggy stops short, and Matt nearly collides into him. “That’s not just some empty platitude, is it,” he says slowly. “You actually know.”
Matt opens and closes his mouth several times before he finds the words he wants. “I mean, I don’t know the details of the test itself, no.”
“But you do know.”
“I uh. I know you graduate law school. I know you become a brilliant attorney. I know we go on to do some ‘great work’.”
“We.”
“Yeah, um we have our own--”
“--Murdock and Nelson?”
“The other way around, actually.”
“There’s a bench up ahead,” Foggy mutters. “Let’s go sit.”
From his pocket, Foggy pulls out a cloth or a napkin of some kind, and wipes down the bench before sitting. “Still a little wet,” he mutters.
Cold too, he finds. Matt leaves enough space between their bodies so he doesn’t spook Foggy, and picks at the buttons on his coat as he waits for Foggy to pick up the reins of their conversation and steer it in whichever direction he’s most comfortable with.
Except neither one speaks for what feels like a long time.
Matt spreads out his hands. Well, I’m waiting, it means, and Foggy makes some kind of unhappy noise at him.
“I haven’t been able to sleep--”
Matt keeps his head aimed at the ground.
“— since that night, when you… Jesus, Matt.”
“I didn’t want—this isn’t how I wanted--”
“No, I know. Just. Jesus. I’m having fucking nightmares. You were screaming, Matt, then you vanished right in front of me. And there was that other… That was you? For real. Really, really you.”
Matt just nods, still keeping his down.
“He touched you on the arm and the next thing I know, you’re on the floor writhing in agony. Then poof! Bye-bye Matt.”
“But I explained it all to you, right? It doesn’t have anything to do with… touching. I can exist in the same space--”
“Yeah, he… or you? Or. Fuck. How do personal pronouns even work,” and Matt can’t help a startled laugh at that, and Foggy shrugs. “Yeah, he explained it. Which did not help at first, let me tell you. When he started in with the ‘so I’m a time traveler’ spiel—and you better not laugh at me--I nearly shat my pants, because I thought I just watched my best friend get annihilated due to a time paradox, or some stupid sci-fi bullshit like that.”
Matt keeps his head down.
“I know it’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid,” Matt says. “Just… spectacularly bad timing.”
“Yeah, that’s how he put it, too.”
Matt gives a half-hearted smile. “That’s ‘cause we’re the same person.”
“Yeah,” Foggy says. “I just can’t wrap my head around it. I mean, how do you even do it?”
Matt breathes out. “It’s… it’s like epilepsy? Something inside my brain goes haywire, and then I can’t control it, it just… it just happens, and I don’t always know what sets it off, but God, Foggy, it’s awful, you have no idea. I uh. I haven’t read up on it or anything, but I know it’s incredibly rare. No more than five hundred documented cases, I think.”
“Five hundred cases of people who can time travel? Oh, is that all? Because that’s five hundred cases too many, if you ask me. But that’s not what I’m asking.”
“So what are you asking.”
“Matt, you’re… I keep thinking about you out there alone some place, and, I mean, how do you get around, how do you survive like that when you can’t even… I mean, you’re… When I’m not having nightmares about you literally vanishing into thin air, I’m full out panicking at the thought of you out there in another time, cold and alone. It’s terrifying. I’m scared for you. All the time now.”
“Foggy,” Matt says, his voice breaking on his friend’s name. He wants to cover Foggy’s hand with his own, offer him some kind of physical comfort. Instead, he says, “I’ve been dealing with this my whole life, you don’t… you don’t have to worry about me.”
“How can I not, though? And… you said there are documented cases? That must mean there’s research out there, medication, maybe. Why aren’t you looking into that? There are people—doctors, scientists--who know about this stuff, people who could help--”
“No, absolutely not. I am not subjecting myself to… to tests, and drugs, and. No. I refuse.”
“But, Matt--”
“You have to promise me something, Foggy. You can’t tell anyone else about this. You can’t tell anyone, and you can’t ask… I won’t—don’t ask me to do things--I won’t give you winning lottery numbers, or that kind of thing, so. And don’t ask me to change things, either. I don’t actually know if it’s even possible to change things, I haven’t tried, but please. Don’t ask it of me.”
“Jesus, I hadn’t even thought of that.”
“Yeah,” Matt says, forcing out a hard breath. “It’s happened.” What was it Foggy called him? Evil David Carradine? It’s not often Matt’s grateful he can’t actually control it, but when he thinks back to when he was a kid, to what he was actually being trained for, he knows he seriously dodged a bullet.
Foggy elbows him in the rib. “So no tips on the stock market?”
Matt tilts his head up. “No, sorry.”
“Damn, what’s the point of having a cool ability if you’re not even gonna cash in on it.”
“'Cool ability.' Sure.”
“It is pretty cool, you gotta admit. Yeah, I mean, it sounds like it might actually kind of suck at times, but,” Foggy shrugs. “Gotta take the good with the bad, right?”
“I don’t think so. It’s more like yet another thing I have to deal with.”
“Like being blind.”
“That, too.”
They’re both quiet for a long time. Then Foggy says, “my butt’s cold. Your butt cold?”
Matt laughs. “It is pretty chilly.”
“We should head back.”
Matt stills. “You really want to go back?”
“Yeah,” Foggy says. “I think I do.”
*
When he shuts the door behind him, Foggy says, “What do you call it when you, you know, go poof!”
“Um. Poof?” Matt sets his cane in its spot near the door, and readies for bed.
Foggy kicks off his covers and swings his legs around so they’re hanging off the side of the bed. “Come on, don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”
Matt sighs as he crawls into his own bed. “I don’t call it anything special. Why do you ask.”
“No reason.”
“Foggy.”
“Okay, just. You don’t… time travel every day, do you? I mean, ‘cause that seems like a lot.”
“No, no. That would be a lot. I’d never get anything done in the present.”
“Well, good, then. I’m glad. It’s just… you disappear for hours on end, and sneak in late at night. I thought that maybe time travel was a daily thing.”
“No,” Matt says quietly. “You’re right. I do. I sneak out. I’m sorry for--”
“It’s to work out, isn’t it.”
“What?” Matt says, startled.
“You sneak off somewhere to work out.”
“What? Um, no! Why would you--”
“Matt, it’s okay. I’m not mad or anything.”
“…you aren’t?”
“God no. I saw how that’ll pay off for you. A-plus abs, by the way.”
“Um, okay? I’m glad you approve?”
“Not yet I don’t. Few years from now, though? Yeah, I can see it.” Matt’s momentarily mortified, then he’s holding in a sharp laugh, because Foggy has no idea how true that it. Or maybe he does. God, that old fantasy about going back and revisiting that future version of Foggy hits him full force now, and he half hopes he’d travel right now, just to hide his embarrassment.
“I get it, I think. If you were too self-conscious to tell me about it before, it’s cool. Maybe you can even show me some time.”
“Yeah,” he says, “okay, sure.”
“Cool,” Foggy says. Then: “Goodnight, Matt.”
“’night, Foggy.”
*
Re: [Fill] Always Crashing in the Same Car 9/?
(Anonymous) 2016-10-21 03:01 pm (UTC)(link)