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Chapter Text

Foggy plodded his way up the stairs.

Third floor dorm room. Not a big deal if he wasn’t juggling two coffees, his satchel, and three textbooks that hadn’t been designed to fit into anything less than a suitcase or maybe an old-fashioned trunk.

Which… actually, he could appreciate the whimsical charm of a finely crafted oak trunk… one with brass hinges and worn leather straps with ornate buckles, maybe a few well placed scuffs that spoke of adventure rather than dereliction....

But! The point was: how about everyone just agree to stop blending up zillions of trees into paper soup that could be rolled out and printed up with fascinating things like civil procedure and statutory interpretation? Because: electronic media. It’s a thing! And, hey, extra plus, no need for super huge, mega expensive braille texts for Matt.

Oh, damn. Matt needed the trunk more than Foggy did. It could have wheels on one end so Matt could pull it along and still have a free hand for his cane.

And, should such an awesome treasure ever find its way into Foggy’s possession, Foggy knew he would give it to Matt. After a term of mostly happy cohabitation, Foggy was well aware that the whole best buds thing was not for the faint of heart. But it was fine. No problem. Matt didn’t quite have the questing spirit that the hypothetical trunk deserved, but he’d be so earnest in appreciating the convenience. He’d respect the trunk; value it.

Whew! Third floor.

Although, Foggy considered as he schlepped down the corridor, Matt was more like a knight that an explorer. He'd look more at home on a noble steed than hefting a trunk down the gangway of a creaky old sailing ship or onto a wagon. He had the bearing of a knight, and the solemnity as well. Also the self-contained charm and righteousness. And, well, also  also… that face. Foggy gave quick praise to the deities of finely-honed facial proportionality.

And to those of relatively short corridors because: at last! The door!

He crouched to put the books and coffee on the floor so he could dig for his keys, then used both hands to begin the carefully perfected combination of key-turning and handle-jiggling that would open the door.

‘You here, Matt?’ he called. It was part of the turn-and-jiggle routine. These days it was also a bit like the whole tongue-and-sore-tooth deal, a momentary flare of masochistic familiarity, because of course Matt wasn’t in there. It was Saturday afternoon. Matt had disappeared some time yesterday, which was the new normal since Elektra came along.

Yep! By the end of last term, Foggy had acquired one vanishing roommate.

He bent to pick up the coffee and books.

An empty dorm room wasn’t a problem. Not. At. All. It was good, actually. He was all set!

Foggy stared at the second cup of coffee. It was absolutely not a cup full of wishful thinking, or even lament for the old times. It was, in fact, filled to the brim with motivation for Foggy to get the jump on his readings and knock out that Crim Law paper. Sure, it was only the beginning of week three, but this term was all about staying ahead of the game. And, alright, the coffee was black, but that was because there was no point going all fancy on the vanguard beverage. Foggy’d just knock it back, get to work, and then slowly savour the luxury of his caramel mocha latte.

Yep. Time to jump right in and get things done!

He eased through the door and kicked it shut behind him.

‘Holy shit!’ he yelped, in a totally chill and laid-back kind of way.

There was a lump in Matt’s bed. A Matt-shaped lump. It was thoroughly buried, with just the inevitable tuft of floopy hair sticking out the top. Speculation, based upon the admittedly sketchy visible evidence, suggested the Matt-lump was thus far unresponsive to Foggy’s presence, and was also face-planted on the bed.

‘Matt? Are you awake?’ Foggy half-whispered.

He put the coffee, keys, and books on his desk, then dumped the satchel on his bed.

Still no response.

Foggy took off his coat and tossed it over the back of his chair. He pulled off his scarf and sent it to join the coat. The whole time, he watched Matt’s bed, looking for signs of life.

‘Matt? Sorry, it’s just… can you breathe like that, buddy? I mean, you are breathing, right?’

He stepped closer and stared.

Yep. Matt was definitely alive. The covers were moving the slightest bit, in tandem with the unpleasantly rasping breaths Foggy could hear now that he was kind of leaning into Matt’s space.

They didn’t sound like sleep-breaths.

So….

Maybe Matt just wasn’t feeling the whole Q&A thing that would be part of a normal human interaction. No problem. Foggy knew how to give a guy space. If roommates couldn’t do that for each other, life sure got ugly, fast.

‘There’s coffee here for you if you want it, buddy. I’m just gonna... I mean, I’m here if you want to….’ Foggy watched the absence of response emanating from Matt’s bed for a few more seconds, then made himself turn away and sit at his desk.

‘Right! Crim Law,’ he said. ‘You know I’m a study-talker, Murdock. You’re gonna hear all about mandatory sentencing unless you tell me to stop. Or, you know, you can let me know what Marshall had to say about it, or whatever.’

No response.

Right.

Foggy took a sip of his delicious caramel mocha. He pushed Matt’s coffee over to where Matt would be able to reach it, just in case, then powered up his laptop and got to work.

By Sunday night, Foggy was satisfied with his efforts. He was ahead in all his required reading, had given more than a cursory glance at a lot of the recommendeds, and written a damn fine analysis for his memorandum. Of course, his side of the room was now littered with empty Cheetos bags, coffee cups, so many coffee cups, and instant noodle bowls, but such was the price of success.

Nothing significant had changed on Matt’s side of the room. No signs of study. Minimal signs of life.

By Wednesday morning, things were pretty much the same.

The rubbish was gone, Foggy wasn’t a slob, but Matt had barely moved. Sure, he’d gotten up each night, gone to the bathroom, sometimes disappeared for a bit longer than that would require. And judging by the shoulder-to-knee topography of daytime-Matt, who remained shrouded in his covers, he didn’t seem to be trying to inhale his pillow any more. Still no words, though. No real movement. No class attendance. No actual performance of trivial student-type activities like study or the writing of endless papers. Just Kal-El-Matt, in his blankety Fortress of Solitude.

The whole scene was enough to shake Foggy out of his retrospectively ridiculous respect for Matt’s privacy. It was time for some relentless Nelson interference.

‘C’mon, Matt! Time to shake it off, buddy. You can’t ditch on Professor Alvarez. I’m pretty sure if anyone knows how to kill someone in front of a room full of witnesses and still avoid a conviction, it’s her. Besides, you like her class! And she likes having you in her class! The rest of us can feel it, man: that whole totally-ethical but also super-nerdy mutual appreciation thing you’ve got going on. You’re her favourite, Matty. Don’t make her kill her favourite.’

When there was no response, Foggy eased down onto the edge of Matt’s bed. ‘Buddy, seriously, I’m getting worried here,’ he said. It was true. This wasn’t like Matt at all: not the Matt he’d spent the last five months or so getting to know.

So, yeah, Foggy was concerned.

Less comfortable, but also true: he was becoming just the smallest bit peeved. Because, yes, he cared about Matt more than… well… he cared a lot, but he could also multi-task his own emotions like a pro. And, honestly, after three days, the silent treatment was getting old.

And, hey! Who’d have thought Foggy would come to miss the times when Matt was almost never around? Because, yeah, it hurt when Matt had pretty much bailed on them spending time together, but it turned out it was also painfully uncomfortable being in a room with someone who was hiding during the day and skulking around at night, presumably to specifically avoid interacting with Foggy.

Space? Sure. No problem.

But they were approaching the ninety hour mark, just a ballpark figure, and even Foggy’s robust self-esteem wasn’t totally immune to being ignored.

So, yeah, time to shake things up. Gently, though. Shake gently. Because, mostly, Foggy was concerned.

‘Look, Matt, tell me if I’m wrong here, but I’m guessing Elektra dumped you, right? I’m gonna take silence as agreement, by the way, unless you tell me otherwise. And, yeah, it sucks, man. I know. Lord, do I know. And I get it. She was super-hot, and rich, and you obviously enjoyed being with her. I’m sure she was amazing. But you’re a hot young thing with a future, man!’

No reaction.

‘I’m not gonna be that friend who tells you there are plenty more fish in the sea, or whatever, but, Matty, you can’t blow off everything because of this. She was already messing with your success when you were together… even though she was fully awesome and everything. But, just… you can’t let her ruin everything now that she’s gone. You can’t let her ruin us. We’re best buddies, man. When you’re off-balance, so am I.’

And there it was: the hopeless whining tone Foggy had been choking back ever since Elektra happened and everything started to change.

Matt shuffle-rolled until his blanket-lump self was no longer turned to the wall. And, hey, if it was pathos that moved blanket-mountains, Foggy could go there. He took a calming breath and reminded himself that this was Matt, the guy to whom he would selflessly give a slightly battered but incredibly cool wooden trunk.

‘She’s gone,’ Matt said, and it was obviously more than just the days of not speaking that made his voice sound fragile and small.

Foggy wished, he really did, that he was a better person; the kind who wasn’t even a tiny bit glad for the confirmation that Elektra Natchios was out of Matt’s life. He wasn’t, but he managed to put the swell of satisfaction aside and call on his well-rounded experience in the field of being dumped.

‘I’m sorry, man. Honestly. Do you want to tell me what happened?’

There was a long silence, during which Foggy relaxed his hold on the getting to class on time part of the plan. It was cool. No problem.

Eventually, Matt pulled the blanket down enough that Foggy could see the top half of his face. ‘It just… it didn’t work out,’ Matt rasped.

Uh huh.

Right.

‘Matt, you’ve barely moved in the last four days. You haven’t spoken. You haven’t eaten. Oh, wow! You haven’t, have you! Actually, strike that: Nelson conditioning. We’ll come back to the fact you need a decent meal. What I’m trying to say is that it seems like there’s more to it than just saying it didn’t work out. You don’t have to tell me about it, but… actually, yeah, you totally should. Talk it out, man! It’ll help, really.’

He patted awkwardly at Matt’s leg while ruthlessly suppressing the urge to offer him anything from the snack stash Foggy kept in a box under his desk. They were both clear on Matt’s opinion of The Stash.

‘C’mon, buddy. Did you fight? Was it over money, sex, what? Was she a jerk about the blind thing? The Catholic thing? I mean, not every breakup needs to be bitter, but she obviously hurt you, man. So, humour me: complain, lament, analyse, whatever you need. You know you can talk to me.’

‘I don’t…’ Matt paused to clear his throat, then spent a ridiculously long time shuffle-squirming until he was leaning against his headboard.

It was the first time Foggy had seen him clearly in days. The strident facial hair was a bit of a shock.

Having spent so much time with Matt, Foggy knew that at least twenty percent of the unflappable Murdock poise was, in fact, a facade. It was an illusion Matt worked hard to maintain, and Foggy understood. There were way too many people who assumed Matt was somehow vulnerable and lost. He wasn’t, and Foggy’s inner cheerleader had been known to bust some moves in support of the Unshakeable-Murdock guise; because why give ableist arseholes the satisfaction of twisting Matt’s perfectly normal human fragilities into whatever bullshit they believed. Right now, though, there was no poise, real or constructed.

‘I can’t really talk about what happened. It’s, ah….’

Matt took a breath that sounded shaky on its way in and out.

The next one was no better.

Foggy waited.

Sometimes, with Matt, you just had to wait him out.

It didn’t work.

So! A bit less gentle, then.

‘Yeah, no, Matt. You can talk about it. You don’t need secrets from me. Hell, just looking at you is already telling me a lot. You look rough, man. So rough. And sad. Also, guilty or kind of disturbed or something, which is a tiny bit unsettling, honestly. And now I’m imagining all kinds of bad things. Don’t leave me at the mercy of my overactive imagination, buddy. Talk to me.’

Matt visibly tensed, his face moving through a series of complicated expressions. The struggle between fight or flight was causing some of them, Foggy suspected. In Matt, that amounted to a struggle between fight or stony repression. It was impossible to predict which response would win. Matt was highly skilled in both debate and denial.

Foggy waited.

It worked.

‘Alright! I’m sad, Foggy! Of course I am. Elektra… she’s… she’s like no one I’ve ever known. Being with her was like waking up from some tepid dream. She made anything possible. But I couldn’t… I don’t…. You know what? It doesn’t matter, because it’s over and she’s gone! So, yeah, I’m sad! Are we done?’

Aaannd Foggy didn’t have quite as much of a grip on multi-tasking his emotions as he’d believed. Yep, despite knowing Matt was in pain, all the compassion drained away and something cold stabbed right into the pettier corner of Foggy’s mostly generous heart.

‘Of course she made you feel all those things, Matt! Anything is possible when you’re rich and beautiful! No restrictions, no consequences! How nice for her. But maybe part of that feeling of freedom was because you were pretty much ignoring your responsibilities here!’

Ugh! Foggy forced himself to stop talking and take a moment to breathe, because that wasn’t where he wanted this conversation to go. Because he honestly was concerned for Matt.

‘And, hey,’ he said, ‘maybe that was something you needed. You work hard, man; maybe too hard. It makes sense that you’d get caught up in someone who could help you shake off some of the pressure.’

The change in tone didn’t seem to touch Matt, who, even in his half-slumped position, looked tensed to strike.

‘She isn’t just hot and rich, Foggy. That’s rather objectifying, don’t you think? And it wasn’t because I needed a break. Elektra… she knew me like no one ever has. I could be myself. More than that, she helped me to know who I am. She understood me, or at least I thought she did. And now she’s gone. So, like I said, I’m sad. And I’m going back to sleep. You should go to class.’

Matt twisted himself awkwardly towards the wall.

Foggy had rarely seen him use such an intentional sighted cue. Matt was far from unaware of body language, but he didn’t often rely on bold gestures to get his message across. So, hey, apparently verbal evisceration wasn’t enough to let Foggy know just how unwelcome he was.

He stood up. He wasn’t ready for class, hadn’t showered or gathered his things, but he still found himself heading for the door. He only hesitated when he realised he was wearing his Velma Dinkley pyjamas. They’d been his favourites even before he’d started at Columbia, a birthday gift his mom had ordered from a friend online, but he was aware the super-smart-but-can’t-see-for-shit thing could be seen as some kind of sly jab at Matt. He’d told Matt about them, actually, and they’d spent way too long making ridiculous comparisons between Matt and Velma. Matt had gone around for days saying jinkies at the most inappropriate times, just to make Foggy laugh.

But Foggy was probably crediting the general dorm population with too much awareness or interest or whatever.

He stood facing the door, floundering, then made himself pause to pull on his robe. His hands were shaking.

He just wanted to go, but there was that infuriating part of him that always needed to have the last word.

‘You’re really something, you know, Murdock,’ he said. ‘But you’re right. Elektra’s not an object, and I’m sure she’s more than just hot and rich. I wouldn’t know though. It’s not like you’ve ever told me about her. I guess you save that for people who really know you. So, I’ll just… I’ll go.’ Foggy grabbed his shower kit and towel. ‘I’ll be back later, I guess, because it’s my room too, so, you know, it’s not like I have a choice.’

‘No. Foggy, wait,’ Matt said.

And, hey! Looked like he was actually willing to acknowledge Foggy’s existence.

Foggy paused at the door. ‘You’d better be planning to follow that up with something good, Matt, ‘cause, at the moment, I’m imagining something like: I’m so sorry I just fucked up the sweet pseudo-friendship of convenience I had going with my chump of a roommate.’

There was no immediate response and, this time, Foggy was in no mood to wait.

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I thought so.’

He walked to the bathroom in a haze, then stood under the shower for what turned out to be a spectacularly inconsiderate length of time, given the shared facilities. It wasn’t till he was drying off that he realised he hadn’t remembered to wash. Also, that he had nothing to dress in other than last night’s briefs and pyjamas.

Awesome.

Once he was finished in the bathroom, Foggy wandered the common areas of the dorm for a while. It wasn’t a good plan. Too many people were taking his robe-and-slippers look as a sign that he had time to sympathise with their impossible study loads and personal dramas. Usually, Foggy would be happy to do that. Today: not so much.

Eventually, he found sanctuary in the deserted laundry room.

It was kind of hypnotic, actually, watching the driers tumble things over and over and over.

Nothing was going to change while he stood there though. At the very least, he needed to ditch his towel and toiletries and put on some real clothes.

Enough acting like an exile.

Foggy was expecting to find the now-familiar blanket lump when he returned to their room.

Instead, Matt was perched on the edge of his desk, hands gripping the sides, and legs swinging.

‘You matter to me,’ he blurted out, like he’d been waiting to say it.

As far as opening statements were concerned, it wasn’t great. It was vague enough to be subject to a broad range of interpretations, not all of which were helpful to Matt’s case, while also avoiding the central issue of contention, which came down to Foggy’s apparent delusion that in the preceding handful of months he’d been getting to know Matt Murdock.

Foggy stood just inside the closed door. He wasn’t sure he wanted to move further into the room.

Matt seemed to take the ongoing silence as disbelief, which, yeah, it pretty much was.

‘You do, Foggy. Of course you matter,’ he said.

It was a bold statement in the face of so much evidence to the contrary. Any other time, Foggy might even have appreciate the audacity of it.

This wasn’t any other time, but Matt was either oblivious to the shaky ground he was on or determined to lay down his version of reality no matter what.

‘I can’t imagine being here without you,’ he said. ‘You’re smart, funny, friendly… and you take a genuine interest in the people around you. You’re a good person. I wasn’t trying to hurt you or devalue what we have. We’re just… different, that’s all.’

‘Yeah. I got that. I’m part of the tepid nightmare you were saved from. And a super-rich Greek socialite is, what, your gender-bent mirror self?’

‘Foggy, can you just listen?’

‘Alright. I’m sorry. But help me understand this! For months now we’ve studied together, gotten drunk together, ploughed our way through exam-prep together. We must have spent hundreds of hours talking about pop culture, politics, justice, ethics. I thought nothing was off the table between us.’

Matt rubbed a hand over the frankly ridiculous hair on his face, and grimaced.

Foggy wasn’t sure if it was the tactile sensation or the conversation that had caused the reaction.

‘Maybe I should have said it differently. It’s just… think of it as a Venn diagram,’ Matt said. ‘The things that you and I have in common, the places where we align, are important. Of course they are. It’s just… they’re a specific area of overlap and I was talking about the bigger picture, that’s all. That’s true with most people… pretty much everyone, actually. That’s not an insult, Foggy.’

‘You suck at this, Murdock. Is that honestly the best you’ve got? That I fall within the bell curve?’

Matt sighed, and it grated on Foggy’s nerves.

‘I’m trying to tell you that I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m trying to make things better. I’ve already lost Elektra. I-’

‘And if you can’t have her, you’ll make do with our small-but-nonzero overlap. Jeez, Matt, what am I not seeing here? I mean, sure, there are things you’ve been through that I can’t imagine, and I absolutely don’t know what it’s like to be blind, I get that – but as far as I’m aware, Elektra doesn’t have any more insight into any of that than I do. And this is law school! No one makes it on this path without it becoming a big part of who they are. Think about it! We take pretty much every class together. But now after, what, two months at most, you’re telling me that she understands you and I don’t!’

‘Don’t tell me what I feel,’ Matt said, and Foggy was pissed at how stern and in control he sounded. ‘It’s complicated, and it’s also none of your business.’

‘I just want to know who he is, this Matt who Elektra knows! Clearly that’s not possible, though, because it’s just some fated cosmic truth that she understands you and I don’t! You act like letting people in doesn’t involve a conscious choice or effort!’

Foggy knew he was getting too loud, knew that he was sounding desperate, and he struggled to get a hold of his emotions. He could see Matt’s hands clamped tightly over the edge of the desk. Matt’s legs had stopped swinging and he looked horribly contained. The worst bit was that Foggy didn’t know where his own words were coming from. He wasn’t like this, or at least he’d never been this way before.

‘Look, I… I can hear how messed up I sound,’ he said. ‘I can. I just…. I don’t know what to do with how I’m feeling right now. I’m sorry.’

‘Foggy, I know you’re upset. I know the last few days have been hard for you but, honestly, what I’m going through isn’t about you. I have a lot of things I need to work out for myself right now: things to do with Elektra, and other things as well.’ Matt rubbed his face again. He sounded tired, which was crazy given how much time he’d spent in bed. ‘I think it would be best if we just gave each other some space,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry. I know that’s not easy in such close quarters.’

Foggy probably nodded, but he wasn’t exactly paying attention to what he was doing.

He changed his clothes and gathered some books, then went to the cafeteria for an early lunch.

After that, he killed time in the library till his afternoon class.

Matt didn’t show, but that wasn’t Foggy’s problem, he supposed.

Chapter Text

The new arrangement worked. Cutting a tomato with a butter knife also worked, to some degree, but Foggy only occasionally thought it an apt comparison.

Matt spent insane hours at the library. Foggy, less so. But when they both ended up in their room it was manageable. They carried enough careful conversation between them to avoid any cold-war vibe, but not enough to suggest they were wandering back towards easy friendship territory. Do you recall if Johnson v Browne dealt directly with negligent false imprisonment, had the right degree of civility. Oh, wow. Can you believe what Justice Bane said about the relevance of intent in matters of child battery? did not.

So, yep, things were peachy.

Or they would be.

Eventually.

Also, Foggy was going to the Student Support Centre for counselling, so that was a thing.

Not that it was his first time needing that kind of support. He’d seen a very nice woman, Deepa, every now and then during his inevitably turbulent high school years.

He’d been a chubby, geeky, theatre-club-and-dance-loving, not straight, not-quite-like-the-other-boys kind of teenager. Astonishingly, there’d been some bullying. At that age there’d been deeper issues as well. Anything to do with his biological mother, Rosalind, for a start.

So, his time with Deepa had been good, particularly her insistence upon unapologetic self-acceptance. It was a goal, not a place where Foggy had put down roots, but he’d been working on it ever since.

And now there was Siobhan. She had a voice that suggested that cigarettes and whisky were an everyday part of life, and the long leather jacket that sometimes hung on the back of her door was more Matrix than Foggy would ever be able to pull off. It had taken him less than five minutes to decide he liked her. And, hey, that was great, because it turned out that it was confronting as hell talking about the irrational-jealousy-monster he became when he thought of Matt having other people he felt closer to.

And, yeah, alright, Foggy had a background, manageable crush on the guy. But that wasn’t exactly an unfamiliar experience. Foggy crushed easily and often. He was a people person, so it was something he just rolled with. Sometimes those crushes led to something more, sometimes not. And, given that he and Matt were roommates, Foggy had decided early on that not was the better option where Matt was concerned.

And, yep, it hurt to find out Matt didn’t value their friendship as highly as Foggy did. Again though: not entirely new. Foggy was quick to let people in and didn’t see the point in holding back.

But the grabby tantrum he’d presented Matt with: that was new.

Foggy had been far more mature when Deb broke up with him, and they’d been almost inseparable for more than a year. Recently, though, Mature-Foggy seemed to have ducked out for coffee, and the bit that had been left in charge just wanted to sit Matt down and make him understand that their friendship was Deep and Real; make him realise that what he’d felt with Elektra was nothing more than the high of new romance and the happy-hormone-cocktail of regular sex.

Fortunately, Siobhan had a take-no-prisoners approach. The woman could shut down misdirection like it was her job… which it kind of was, so hey, that was cool!

She probably wouldn’t have been the right person for teenage Foggy, but this time around he was enjoying having someone who pushed him to lean in and work on his stuff. It was exhausting and left him raw and exposed, but that was good too.

And as a result of his efforts, Foggy had some new truths he was embracing.

• Whatever Matt feels is what Matt feels, and whatever is true for Matt is true for Matt.

• Matt says he values our friendship, and his actions have generally supported this claim. That doesn’t mean he should experience or express friendship in the same ways I do.

• Nothing is different between us except that I now have a more realistic picture of Matt’s boundaries and my current place in his life. That’s a good thing.

• Relationships grow and evolve, but they should be allowed to do so without expectations or pressure.

• Having a close friend is great, but no external relationship should be a major source of my self-worth.

It was a work in progress.

It was also humbling because, every time Foggy looked at The List, he was a little bit stunned that he’d needed things spelled out like that.

But it was fine. He’d been reliably informed that feeling vulnerable, at times, in relationships was perfectly normal. The goal was to accept that vulnerability, and maybe even express it, without needing the other person to fix it.

That was a definite thing that Foggy could work towards.

Siobhan was a goddess.

Term pushed on.

Foggy could see that Matt was working hard to make up for his earlier sub-par effort in all things academic. And, perhaps as part of that process, he was meditating more often as well. Foggy knew this, because Matt had taken to doing it while Foggy was in the room, which had been odd at first.

He was also spending a lot more time doing the Matt-equivalent of staring into space.

Amazing how much time there was for things like that without the constant banter between them.

Foggy watched Matt unfold himself from the floor and begin gathering his stuff, probably to head to the library. By now, the routine of it was so familiar that it almost felt comfortable, and Foggy found himself reaching for connection.

Admit it, Murdock, he wanted to say, meditation’s just a fancy name for when you happen to space out with good posture.

He held back.

Maybe Elektra understood meditation. She looked like the Yoga Retreat type.

Although it was a knee-jerk bit of anti-Elektra snark, it got Foggy thinking. There were lots of things that were part of Matt’s life which Foggy didn’t really understand or relate to.

Matt left the room, and the moment passed.

And, yeah, maybe Foggy was procrastinating over the tediously detailed reading he was supposed to be doing on evidentiary procedure, but he opened a new document on his laptop and started making a list.

Matthew Murdock: Beyond the Murdock-Nelson Overlap:

• Lives in a non-visual world (like, his whole perception of reality is structured around input that’s non-visual. Except for all the ways that the rest of us try to make him play by our rules, but even so… I can’t imagine);

• Lost his sight in one of those split-second, time-and-place events that would definitely screw with notions of free-will and fate, and have me revisiting ‘what if’ scenarios for a seriously long time;

• Orphaned through murder, so, double-whammy right there;

• Has no family at all (which I actually cannot imagine);

• Religion (has some level of genuine, abiding belief/faith);

• Teachings of the Catholic church are probably ingrained enough to be the unconscious backdrop to his thoughts (much like The Way of the Nelsons is ingrained in mine, I suppose, only with more self-flagellation and guilt, and less reverence for a good meal). So, another thing I can’t comprehend;

• Meditation (is that about faith, health, serenity…? Why haven’t I ever asked?);

• Conscious commitment to morality (like, way more than just being a generally good guy);

• Strangely specific food snobbery and general avoidance of delicious prepackaged snack foods (what does that even say about a person?);

• Physical fitness (And how he keeps so built, I have no idea. Sleepwalks to the campus gym?);

• Giant nerd who genuinely enjoys study (like, it would probably be a hobby if he wasn’t doing it for grades);

• The guy spent his formative years among men who punched each other for a living (…crickets);

• Is fiercely proud of his father’s ability to persistently withstand being punched in the face (…crickets times infinity);

• Has been self-sufficient and self-contained for so long that he maybe doesn’t remember being an actual child (it NEVER feels like this whole adulting thing is new to him. I must seem like such a coddled child. Struck from the record: this isn’t about me);

• Has lived among nuns for long enough that he thinks of them as people and not the vaguely terrifying enigmas they truly are (which possibly explains his superpower of fearlessness in relating to professors! I’m on to you, Murdock!);

• Strict adherence to routine is like his default setting. He doesn’t seem to have any resistance to doing what needs to be done. The guy NEVER procrastinates (a consequence of institutional life at the orphanage? A necessary adaptation for success in a sighted world? Proof of alien life on Earth?);

• Consistently male self-concept (Yep. That’s a thing Matt definitely has. Non-overlappy. SO non-overlappy);

• Heterosexuality (Conjecture, but the assumption stands unless further evidence comes to light; not that it’s cool to go around slapping labels on people, but it IS pertinent to the bigger picture of non-overlappishness);

• And, because it’s my list, so why the hell not… Matthew Murdock has, at the heart of his non-overlappy self, a tragic lack of genuine appreciation for my genius in transmuting words into every part of speech imaginable. I mean, come on! Overlappishness? Join me in my totally legitimate respect for linguistic gymnastics, man! Let the words change and grow!

Foggy pulled his hands away from the keyboard and tucked them under his thighs. It was a practised response to the realisation that he was getting carried away with some wildly self-indulgent auto-banterism; a term he’d coined in playful solidarity with the awkwardly inadequate auto-eroticism. Auto-banterism was the act of letting his fingers fly across the keyboard, filling the screen with impulsive ramblings that escalated to higher and higher heights of absurdity, entirely at the whim of his own satisfaction. A verbal wank, so to speak. If sitting on his hands didn’t derail the impulse, Foggy usually made himself get up and move around the room; a small act of self-discipline that had saved so many of his term papers from going off the rails.

This was one of those times.

When he returned to his desk, he scrolled through the list he’d made. Even disregarding the last item, it was rather long.

So. Quite a few things, then, that supported Matt’s claim that the similarities between them were far fewer than the differences. And, honestly, most of the things on the list were a lot more relevant to feeling understood than, say, choosing law as a career, or sharing classes and study loads, or having grown up in Hell’s Kitchen. And these were just the differences Foggy knew about. Matt would, no doubt, add others.

In a moment of backslide, Foggy questioned how many of the items Elektra would share or understand. But, nope! Not the point, he told himself. Not going there.

What Matt feels is what Matt feels. What’s true for Matt is true for Matt.

The Matt/Elektra Venn diagram wasn’t Foggy’s to create or analyse.

Yep. Siobhan: a literal goddess.

And now that Foggy was looking at his relationship with Matt through the lens of this totally warm and fuzzy model, he couldn’t deny that some of the most significant and under-acknowledged parts of himself fell outside The Overlap as well.

Whether it was a result of social convention or his own extroverted need for human contact, Foggy was a pro at focusing on the similarities that brought people together. Pushing huge chunks of himself down in favour of connection had apparently been a small-print part of the social contract he’d signed up for without considering the cost.

But.

If he found someone who instinctively understood those parts, who helped him understand himself better… then, yeah… tepid might be the word to describe everything that had come before.

It was a seductive fantasy, Finding that Ideal Someone, but Foggy only let himself dwell on it for a little while. A relationship, no matter how awesome, should never be a major source of self-worth. He literally had it written on a very short list of truths he was trying to accept and integrate.

Not that an awesome relationship would be a bad thing, of course, but the less-fun, more grown-up truth was that Foggy needed to be there for himself; particularly for the bits that were drowning in his Common-Ground approach to human connection. If he could do that, then it would still suck if some hella-fabulous fantasy partner took off into the night, but at least he wouldn’t feel like he’d been dumped back into bathwater that had already been used too many times.

That was something worth working for.

Chapter Text

Foggy was in a good mood as he cut his way across campus. The sky was blue, the temperature had hit fifty, and his session with Siobhan had been good. Better than good. Exciting, maybe? Hopeful? Relieving? Whatever.

The best thing: the last couple of session hadn’t been about his relationship with Matt. That felt like an achievement. Foggy’s biggest issues were now about himself and how he wanted to move forward in his life.

The work was still challenging in that great way Siobhan had of keeping things gritty and real, but it also felt like some weird kind of indulgence. Maybe like a trip to the chiropractor: full of unnerving jabs and clunks, but then everything dropping into place… or maybe that was just how the terrifying art of chiropractics was portrayed on television? He had no idea.

What he did know for sure was that recess was only days away! And, sure, Foggy would be studying his way through most of it, so, not much difference really. But he’d be at home, in the midst of familiar comforts.

So many things had been simpler when he was living at home and commuting for undergrad.

Not that he’d change anything now. Even with things being a little strained between himself and Matt, Foggy was still really glad they’d been thrown together the way they were. But maybe the time apart could be a bit of a soft reset for their friendship. That would be nice.

And, since recess time was made of elastic and illusion, Foggy had other plans as well. It was going to be awesome.

So! A good day! The kind that invited an enthusiastic, haphazard, slightly off-key rendition of The Pirate King. Foggy veered towards the eastern stairwell to the dorm, because the acoustics there were awesome. Not quite as good as the second shower from the left in their shared bathroom, that sweet spot could work magic on anyone’s voice, but the stairwell was more than decent.

He was mid-verse and high gusto as he stepped out of the sunshine and into the concrete chamber. The door clanged dramatically behind him, echoing with a resonance entirely appropriate for the assertion of piratical supremacy.

Foggy turned towards the first flight of stairs and noticed Irina. She was halfway up, looking back over her shoulder. They’d shared a study group since a few weeks into first term, and Foggy thought she was great: smart, dedicated, a little serious but not aloof.

‘Irina! Sing with me!’ he called.

She waited while he caught up, smiling and shaking her head.

‘I will be your audience,’ she said.

‘Noooo,’ Foggy wailed. ‘Listen. It’s easy: Oh, better far to live and die, under the brave black flag I fly, than play a sanctimonious part, with a pirate head and a pirate heart!’ He made sure to warble the crescendo with comic intensity and full theatrical stance.

Irina clapped and smiled. ‘Marvellous,’ she said. ‘I had not known you were hiding such talents.’

‘See, I think you’re mocking me, but I’m going to take the compliment anyway,’ Foggy replied.

‘Only a little mocking,’ she said, and smiled so kindly that there was no discomfort in the confession. ‘And might I say that you don’t seem the type to be a pirate. You’re too good-hearted. Pirates do terrible things.’

That made Foggy stall in his banter. ‘Of course. You’re right,’ he said. ‘Theatre's full of charismatic villains who seduce us into ignoring reality. I suppose it’s part of the escapist magic.’

‘The lovable scoundrel makes us forget that there is a cost to be borne when someone is truly a scoundrel,’ Irina said. ‘In this way we create a culture where victims are not then well received if they complain.’

‘Yeah, I can see how that could happen,’ Foggy said. ‘I suppose even illusion has its consequences.’

He wondered how someone like Irina had come to be dating Sean. She’d brought Sean into their study group soon after they’d begun, and Foggy had tried to like him. The problem was that Sean was entitled, immature, and also an arse. On the plus side, he was unlikely to make a passing grade, from what Foggy had observed. He hoped Irina would end the relationship if Sean failed out of the course.

They started to climb the stairs, and the conversation turned to reflections on the legal process as a form of theatre. Foggy wondered if he could ever be comfortable presenting some criminal as a lovable rogue.

Irina got that. Not everyone in their year, or even in their study group, would. Unfortunately, she’d be returning to Estonia when she completed her studies, and didn’t intend to practise law. Her family owned the kind of tech company that was international in its reach and her studies were geared towards the work she would do there. Still, she assured Foggy that the willingness to trade in his sense of morality to achieve a good outcome for a client wasn’t a goal worthy of pursuit. Contrary to the sensationalist representations in legal dramas, lawyers weren’t actually obligated to be unethical peacocks.

By the time they reached Foggy’s floor, they’d fallen into quiet contemplation of their chosen field of study. They stopped on the landing to cheer each other up with examples of good legal practice and reassuringly sane judicial decision making. After a while, Foggy waved Irina off and she continued up towards her room.

Once she was gone, he stood for a moment, sorting through his emotions. His birth mother, Rosalind, was the kind of lawyer who made Foggy want to stay far away from the legal system. Her hard-line, self-serving personality had almost driven him away from pursuing law when it had first shown up on his career aptitude tests. Then he’d realised that there were heartless doctors, harsh and critical teachers, uncaring politicians, hell, even drug-addicted pilots. The point was, any profession he chose would have the full spectrum of skilled, ethical practitioners through to self-serving or incompetent nightmares. Also, though it pained him to admit it, no one was ever just one thing. People were complex and could change and grow. Even unlovable rogues. Even villains. And at least he knew he’d have good people like Matt entering the profession by his side.

As Foggy headed to his room, the earlier radiance of the day’s sunshine reawakened beneath the heavier warmth of the comfortably heated air.

Matt was working at his desk when Foggy got through the door. He’d been studying in their room more often lately. It wasn’t like old times, but it was something.

‘There are things about me that I don’t share with you,’ Foggy announced, which was definitely weirder than saying hello, but what the hell: impulsive behaviour wasn’t inherently flawed.

Matt turned from his laptop and pulled out his ear-bud. He looked a little lost.

‘I’m not going to dive into deep revelations,’ Foggy continued, ‘because I don’t want it to feel like I’m giving away truths to create an obligation or anything. Besides, there are some things I’m not ready to talk about. I just want to acknowledge that there are important areas where we don’t overlap. You were right,’ he said, and it didn’t feel nearly as painful as it would have all those weeks ago. ‘The thing is, I have this habit of focusing on the common ground. It makes me kind of blind to the bits outside the overlap.’

Matt didn’t make one of his reflex and reflexive blind jokes, but he was listening and doing eyebrow callisthenics, which was something Foggy hadn’t seen in a while. It was ridiculously endearing.

‘Being an extrovert, man! You have no idea! It’s like this maddening compulsion to glom onto the energy sockets of human connection.’

Matt gave a small huff of laughter, but Foggy still recoiled a little at having overstepped the careful boundaries they’d been living by.

‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘I realise my reaction to your perspective on our relationship was spectacularly unhealthy and, frankly, embarrassing. Obviously, I haven’t put my insecurity issues as far in the past as I thought I had, but I’m working on it. Like, actually really working on it. So! One more thing and then I’ll stop talking, because this is beginning to feel uncomfortable even by my lax standards. But, well, I just… I hope you’re doing alright with… with the fallout, I guess, of everything that happened with Elektra. I know it can’t be easy for you right now and I’m sorry for my part in adding to that.’

Foggy busied himself with taking off his outer layers. It was the most he’d spoken to Matt since all this began, and he felt vulnerable; which was strange, given how much they’d shared in the past.

Matt sat at his desk looking lost in thought, then gave that quiet half-smile that was ludicrously sweet. ‘Thanks, Foggy,’ he said, and the sincerity left Foggy feeling like maybe they were going to be alright, after all.

Chapter Text

It was strange to feel awkward while walking with Foggy.

They were headed back to their room after class, and Matt knew it was a positive step that they were no longer walking separately in the same direction.

When things had blown up between them, he’d been distantly annoyed. It had felt like one more thing to deal with, when everything was already too much.

He’d lived most of his life with virtual strangers and temporary friends. He knew how to make space for himself when he needed it, and also how to maintain the polite fiction of privacy when others required it. Foggy, on the other hand, sometimes seemed to have missed any introduction to the notion of personal boundaries.

Which was why Matt had been quietly surprised and relieved, in their first term together, that Foggy had turned out not only to be a decent roommate but also a good friend.

And, recently, Matt found himself wanting to return to simpler times. It would be a pleasant change from pining over Elektra.

The pining, he’d decided, had to stop.

So, when Foggy had returned from recess, Matt had done his best to signal that he was ready to be less remote. They’d talked about a few of the readings they’d done over break. Foggy had shared some anecdotes that, above all, showed how much he missed his family now that he was living away from home.

Matt hadn’t been able to say much about how he’d spent his time, but that was nothing new. He’d mentioned going to the library, an attempt at reciprocity, and Foggy had called him a nerd. It had sounded tentative, so Matt had forced a smile. It was a true enough assessment, though incomplete, and it was only a small part of the price he paid for the lies he told. He wouldn’t let himself be bitter. Elektra was gone, but he’d survived just fine before he’d met her. He didn’t need anyone to know more about him than they expected to see.

Foggy was back, and the last few days had been cautiously good.

Today though, Foggy was tense. His breathing was tight and shallow. Everything about the way he moved lacked its usual soft sweep. Even his stride was short and sharp.

Matt knew, in a general sense, what it was about. He just wasn't sure what it meant.

At least the silence, as they walked, felt more focused than hostile, even if it persisted all the way to their room.

Matt had just started taking off his coat when he heard Foggy close the door and collapse his weight against it. There was a heavy thump as Foggy’s bag dropped on the worn carpet, followed by the sound of several deep breaths.

‘Everything alright?’ Matt asked. The question felt a little out of place, the presumption of something not quite re-established.

‘Yep! Peachy.’

Matt hung his coat, then took his laptop out of his bag and straightened his desk while he waited to see if Foggy would continue.

‘Did you, ah, did you hear anything about, well, about… me? You know… while we were out there?’ Foggy asked, then laughed nervously. ‘Wow! That sounds conceited!’ He flopped heavily on his bed but then shuffled restlessly until he was sitting on the edge, one foot tapping against the floor.

‘Yeah. I heard some things,’ Matt said. He turned towards Foggy, hoping to make it clear that he was willing to talk about it. ‘Someone who smelled like jasmine said you look pretty. For some reason, based on the same information, other people concluded that you must be gay.’

‘How have we not progressed beyond the idea that a person can look gay? Just because people are more likely to risk disregarding gender-normative appearance standards once they’ve had to construct their own place outside the presumption of heteronormative sexuality, doesn’t make it a causal connection or an adequate assessment tool! Man, I wish that sentence would fit on a t-shirt!’ The tone was almost playfully exasperated, but it was followed by Foggy taking a few heavy breaths in and out through his nose. ‘Anyway, I’m bi, actually. Or, well, pan really, but almost no one seems to get that.

I’m… I’m not going to ask if that’s a problem for you. It’s not my problem if other people are uncomfortable with who I am. Not that… not that I think you’re going to be a jerk about it. I just-’

‘Foggy, it’s alright,’ Matt cut in.

‘I’m not asking your permission!’

‘Sorry, no, I didn’t mean it that way,’ Matt said. ‘It’s just… you sound uptight. I thought it might help if you knew that I already suspected you were bi, pretty much from the day I met you. I’m not sure what pan is, but, look, I know what it’s like when people think you’ll be grateful for their acceptance, and I’m really not trying to be like that. You don’t need my acceptance. I get it. But sometimes it helps if you know that the people around you aren’t just being polite or accommodating. And I want you to know this: people assume, because I’m Catholic, that I’m probably homophobic. I’m not. But then, they also assume that sex without sight must be clumsy and eternally missionary, so what the fuck do they know?’

Matt didn’t always find it easy to joke about the more offensive beliefs he’d encountered when it came to sexuality and blindness. The comment made Foggy laugh though, and that had been his goal.

‘You don’t know what pan is? Good grief, Murdock, did you grow up among nuns or something? No, wait, you can’t have, otherwise you’d have appropriate respect for the efficacy of the missionary position. So! No excuse, buddy. Pansexual. It means I don’t see the point in limiting my amorous inclinations based on genitalia, gender, or even the requirement to belong somewhere within a gender binary. It would be spectacularly hypocritical if I did.’

Matt had been surrounded by the sharp smell of stress since they’d come into the enclosed space of their room, but now everything about Foggy was broadcasting a renewed spike in anxiety. Matt perched his weight on the edge of his desk and hoped he looked reassuring and thoughtful instead of lost.

‘And I still don’t need your approval, Murdock,’ Foggy added. ‘But, while we’re doing this thing, and since you can’t see what it was that got a stupid number of people gossiping today, I’ll fill you in.

‘So. First thing: I shaved. Yep, the luxuriant chin rug is gone. Did you know about the chin rug? I can’t remember if I ever mentioned it. Anyway, it’s no longer a thing, so no point dwelling on it. Also, I had some fun styling my hair this morning. It’s kind of ringlety at the sides, if you’ll tolerate me making an adjective out of a perfectly good noun. The curls make it a bit shorter, but also softer looking and less stringy. Fine hair, man! I swear it’s a curse only blonds fully understand. Without serious intervention these luscious locks have no body whatsoever. Not something you would relate to, Mr Thick Floopy Hair.

‘Anyway, then there’s the shirt I’m wearing, which could more accurately be called a blouse, mostly because the buttons and buttonholes have switched sides, which is hella bizarre when you think about it, that that’s even a thing. But its collar also has rounded ends instead of points, and the sleeves probably gather a bit more at the shoulders and wrists than a shirt would. It cuts off at waist length, so it doesn’t tuck in. It’s pale blue, which is a great colour with my complexion but also delivers a subtle poke to the arbitrary and facile nature of the many, many, socially constructed markers of gender throughout time; even if I’m the only one who gets it. The long vest I’m wearing is a darker blue, and also has the same scandalously placed buttons.

‘So, there you have it. You now know what it takes to drive otherwise intelligent students to risk whispering in Bernstein’s class.’

Matt wasn’t sure what to say, mostly because he didn’t know exactly how to receive the information he’d been given. Foggy was a born communicator, even when he was worked up, and he clearly wasn’t saying the choice of clothing was because he identified as female.

Matt knew that sex and gender were two different things, of course, and that they didn’t always align. He’d shared a couple of classes in undergrad with a woman who was transgendered, but this wasn’t the same. At least, it didn’t sound like it was.

Was Foggy saying that gender, itself, was optional? That seemed like a thought experiment rather than a real possibility. Unlike the bi… pansexuality, Matt hadn’t seen this coming. He tried to look open and accepting, which only made him feel self-conscious about whatever look was on his face and how he was holding his body.

‘I’m not sure what-’ he started.

‘Relax, Murdock,’ Foggy interrupted. ‘I’ve just decided to take your earlier application of representational delineation to heart. You know the one, Forest Gump meets Math Nerd: Life is like a Venn diagram. I’m claiming my place outside a huge collective overlap that’s filled with people who have a consistently singular self-concept of gender. Or, I don’t know, maybe I’m jumping into the overlap that most people deny when they pretend male and female are two absolute and separate things. It’s your construct, man! It’s not my fault if it’s wishy-washy. But, hey, actually, I’m all for embracing things that can go either way, or any number of ways, really.’

Matt chose to overlook the fact that his own use of the Venn diagram analogy had been met with anger and scorn. Foggy’s current shifts between assertive and insecure were unnerving, and some of what he’d said had sounded rehearsed. Matt didn’t want his own reactions and confusion to add to Foggy’s anxiety.

He decided to aim for neutral ground.

‘I didn’t know that was a difference between shirts and blouses,’ he said. ‘The thing with the buttons. Also, I’m wishing I’d copyrighted my construct. If I’d known you were going to turn it into a tool for the revolution, I’d have definitely taken action to establish intellectual property rights.’

‘You should maybe check, first, if there’s a family of Venns somewhere who’ll sue you for stealing great-granddad’s work. Also, I don’t think I said anything about a revolution, Murdock.’

‘Sure you did. The fact that Columbia prides itself on being inclusive doesn’t mean every student and every academic has an open mind. Ergo, ringlets, blouses, vests, and even instruments of logic become tools of the revolution.’

Foggy let out a gusty breath. ‘More than I’d thought they’d be,’ he said. There was another, shakier breath in and out, followed by a sniff. The air was pungent with the acrid heat of distress.

‘It’s alright, Fogs,’ Matt said. ‘You can do this.’

‘Thanks,’ Foggy said. He sounded despondent.

There wasn’t much else Matt could offer. He was out of his depth with the specifics of the situation, but he had no doubt about Foggy’s resilience.

Foggy sighed and rubbed his face. ‘Actually, you know what? Thanks, Matt. Really. I know you deal with stuff like this all the time. I just… I thought I knew what it would be like, getting a few odd looks or whatever. It’s not like I had an easy time at high school. And this is New York, you know? We have a centre for gender and sexuality law right here on campus. Today wasn’t supposed to be a big deal but, honestly, it was way harder than I’d expected. It was exhausting.’

Foggy wasn’t usually so direct in expressing genuine discomfort. It was far more common for his banter to become increasingly off-kilter when he was upset.

This time the silence stretched, and Foggy didn’t fill it.

Matt didn’t have a lot of experience with hugging, outside of sexual relationships, but he knew Foggy was big on physical contact. ‘Would you like a hug?’ he asked. It came out louder than he’d intended. ‘I mean, say no if you want to, I know things have been-’

‘Good lord, Murdock, stop talking and get over here already,’ Foggy said. He sounded weary despite the exasperated words.

By the time Matt took the few steps needed to cross the room, Foggy was standing to meet him, and initiating contact wasn’t as awkward as Matt might have expected. In fact, Foggy pretty much collapsed against him, burying his face against Matt’s shoulder. It took a moment to understand what was happening, but, after that, Matt just held on while Foggy cried.

After a while, Foggy mumbled the word tissue, dug through a pocket, then wiped at his face. After that, he resettled against Matt’s shoulder.

‘They’re happy tears, Murdock. I’ve missed you, buddy.’

Matt had been paying close attention to Foggy’s heart rate and breathing, to the twitching tension in his body, so he knew it wasn’t as simple as that. The tears seemed more like a post-adrenaline crash, and standing this close, holding Foggy through it, felt more real than the eddies of conflict and connection they’d been caught up in before.

Still, it wouldn’t be true to say that he’d missed Foggy, in return.

‘So,’ he said, instead. ‘Can I exploit my position to check out this gossip-worthy hair? I’ve felt curls before, but never anything that could be described as ringlets. It’s one of those words I know by definition, but don’t really have a frame of reference for. If I ever saw them when I was younger, I don’t remember.’

‘Wow, Murdock. Such a smooth talker, and willing to exploit any opening. How audacious you were to think you belong within the noble field of law. But sure, go ahead. Why should you miss out on all this soft, wavy perfection?’ Foggy’s voice still sounded tired, but it was less strained. It was deeper than usual, from the tears.

Matt brought one hand to the top of Foggy’s head to orient himself. Once he had a feel for relative position, he traced his fingertips along the gentle twists that hung to the side of Foggy’s face. They weren’t actually soft, but crisp and sweet smelling from the hair product Foggy had used. They also weren’t the tight corkscrew curves he’d imagined. They felt nice though. Matt carefully ran his fingers over another lock.

‘Thanks,’ he said. He gave Foggy a tight squeeze, and then Foggy took a step back.

‘No problem. You’re one of the good ones, Murdock. So, what do you think of ringlets? Do they live up to their definition?’

‘They’re not quite what I was expecting; less like a corkscrew and more like an overstretched slinky. But I like them. They’re nice.’

‘Well, that’s because these here are relaxed ringlets, man. Honestly: that’s how they’re described. And, come on, could I really have anything but relaxed hair? I mean, Marci, you know, Marci Stahl, she sometimes curls her hair, and if I were a braver person I’d describe those ringlets as perky. They’re all bouncy and tight. They’re awesome! But like I said, I’m waaay too laid back for perky hair.’

‘So, if you get to have relaxed hair, and Marci Stahl gets perky, how come I get floopy? That’s not even a word.’

‘Of course it is. It’s like floppy, but less couldn’t be bothered and more intentionally laissez-faire. Don’t worry, you totally make it work. It’s like the cottage garden approach to grooming, instead of going all ornamental lawn about it.’

‘Floopy. It sounds like something from Jabberwocky.’ Matt made sure his disdain for that particular work was entirely obvious.

Foggy flopped down onto his bed with a huff of dramatic flourish. ‘No way!’ he insisted. ‘Its literary cred is way better than that. Douglas Adams used it, man! Surely even your prescriptivist grammatical bent can wander off-course long enough to appreciate the genius of Douglas Adams.’

Matt smiled and returned to perching on his desk. He wasn’t going to concede the point, even though it held more than a shred of truth.

‘How about I get us an early dinner and we spend the evening watching terrible law-based drama?’ he said. Those shows were among the few he could genuinely enjoy, because most of the action was in the dialogue. Also, they invited so much mockery that they were hilarious.

‘I see what you did there with the subject change, but really? An actual night off?’

Matt put on an appalling facsimile of a rebellious tone. ‘Yeah, Nelson. Why? You gonna nark on me if I don’t study?’

‘Absolutely not! That sounds awesome. I mean, your effort at tough talk was tragic but also entirely unnecessary, so we’re good. You go get food. I’ll cue Netflix!’

‘Deal,’ Matt said. ‘And, Foggy, any time you want to talk about it....’

Matt was pretty sure, in the drawn out pause, that Foggy was studying him.

Whatever he was looking for, he must have found, because he sounded a bit emotional when he responded.

‘Thanks, Matt.’

‘No problem.’

Matt shrugged his coat back on and gathered his cane and wallet. He felt self-conscious, like the quiet that fell in the wake of so much tension might reveal all the unformed questions gathering in his mind.

It was a relief to head back down the stairs with a simple goal.

He took a slightly longer route to the cafeteria. He didn’t want to keep Foggy waiting, but he needed time to think.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about, well, lots of things, really.

He hadn’t missed Foggy, but now the truth of that realisation felt heavy.

Matt knew, realistically, that by the end of last term it was amazing that he’d managed to keep up with Elektra and still put enough time into his finals. The new term had started out the same, and then Elektra was gone and Matt had been left with no room for anything but the fallout.

As much as it felt pathetic to admit, even to himself, he was still licking his wounds a little.

He’d learned early though, that life never stayed still, no matter the crisis. In that sense, the last hour had felt like it was dragging him onward.

That was a good thing. But, even so, Matt wasn’t sure what to make of some of the new information he’d been given.

The probability that Foggy wasn’t heterosexual had been obvious from the moment they’d met. It was an established part of Matt’s sense of Foggy, despite the fact that the subject had never come up. It had never been an issue. No one chose their sexuality.

From the little Matt knew of the experience of transgendered people, it wasn’t something they chose either. It seemed abstractly reasonable, then, to assume that the same could be true for other experiences of gender identity.

And yet, Matt kept cycling back to the thought that it just didn’t make sense.

Was it possible to have no gender, or was it more like experiencing both genders in a constantly shifting flow? Or was Foggy equating maleness with a particularly macho form of masculinity and then feeling like he lacked a stable gender because he lacked that kind of maleness?

But Foggy was a smart guy. There was no way he hadn’t thought the whole thing through from every direction.

So why was the concept so unsettling? Matt had no issue with Foggy’s clothing or his hair. He was actually kind of fascinated by the idea of it.

Appearances didn’t mean the same thing to him as they did to sighted people. He dressed to project competence and confidence, and to avoid cliches about blind people and poor fashion choices. Nevertheless, he’d prefer clothing that was designed to meet tactile and functional criteria. It was a nuisance having to accommodate expectations based on visual perception when appearance was rationally the least important aspect of clothing.

But Foggy’s hair had felt nice, and the blouse was soft and flowing.

Matt had no mental process that compared Foggy’s look to that of other men, and evaluated its maleness, any more than he evaluated a woman’s gender by her choice to wear dresses or jeans.

Obviously, that wasn’t true for some of their classmates though. One woman had described Foggy as pretty, but not everyone thought so, and it seemed a lot of them had opinions.

It had been a long time since Matt had laid to rest his own discomfort at being stared at, but he could imagine how daunting it must have been for Foggy to walk out of their room that morning. Harder, still, to continue as usual when things became uncomfortable.

Lost in that thought, and lulled by the rhythmic sweep of his cane over familiar pathways, Matt almost walked right by the cafeteria, despite its distinctive smells and sounds. He corrected course and gave more attention to his surroundings as he moved through the clusters of tables and chairs. The place wasn’t particularly crowded at this time of day, but, even so, the ambient noise was jarring.
He was grateful when he could step back out into the late afternoon air, chicken wraps and juice swinging in a plastic bag at his side.

He took the more direct route back to their room.

It probably didn’t matter if he didn’t understand everything Foggy had told him. The concept Foggy had alluded to felt alien, and, yes, it chafed at Matt’s sense of reason, but the irritation wasn’t directed at Foggy. It was a result of Matt’s own failure to analyse new information, his inability to move past the fact that it seemed superficially illogical.

None of that was as important as Foggy’s commitment to something that clearly mattered a great deal to him. And maybe that was enough. Whether Matt came to understand or not, he knew he’d offer whatever support he could.

Chapter Text

As end of term approached, Matt became increasingly confident that he’d covered any ground he’d lost in his studies.

He was coming to terms with Elektra’s absence, or the pain had shifted, anyway. He could even admit to himself that their relationship, though exhilarating and intense, maybe hadn’t been the healthiest.

Some of the things he’d learned about himself while they were together were going to take some time to understand. It had been uncomfortably easy to let go of everything he’d thought he’d believed in, to not give a damn about transgressions he’d have denied he was capable of just months before. He’d ridden in a stolen car, participated in breaking and entering more than once, had sex in questionable places, and, if he was honest with himself, it had been a blast. He just wasn’t sure how to feel about the truth of that.

As for Sweeney, well, Matt had wasted enough hours replaying that encounter in his mind. It never ended any differently than it already had. There was no way it ever could.

There were other things he’d needed to focus on, and he’d done that.

With one week of classes remaining, and exams looming, voices around campus were becoming more shrill. In the dorm, he could hear anxious conversations or quiet crying at almost any time of night, along with the monotonous drone of voices repeating definitions and other rote memorisation tasks under their breath. There was more bickering about noise.

Matt rarely found exams stressful. In fact, he often enjoyed them for what they were: an opportunity to demonstrate that he’d learned the things he needed to know. Perhaps it helped that, for him, exam time didn’t involve sitting in a hall full of sleep-deprived, over-caffeinated students. He could imagine, in that setting, the anxiety might be contagious.

Not that his disability accommodations were without their own challenges, which were mostly to do with software glitches or, as happened last semester, a communication error that had led to his exam not being available at the allocated time. He’d opted to surrender his phone, and wait around under supervision at the Student Support Centre while the problem was resolved, which took several hours, rather than leave and then wait weeks for an alternative exam to be prepared and scheduled.

His disability support officer, Kevin, had been new to the role at the time. He was a good guy, but he’d had no direct experience with accommodations for visual impairment. Between them they were hopeful that, this time, they could preempt the worst of it.

Matt was on his way back from a planning session with Kevin when he heard Foggy’s name being called. It sounded like it was coming from out front of the library, so Matt veered in that direction. If he wandered near enough, Foggy would notice him and let Matt know he was there. Matt was experienced in feigning surprise.

‘Foggy! Come on. Please don’t go. They were just playing,’ a female-sounding voice said.

Matt was fairly sure it was Jen. He remembered Foggy mentioning, over breakfast, that he had a study group session in the afternoon.

‘Yeah, no.’ Foggy’s voice was tight and higher than usual. ‘Playing is fun. Asking explicit questions about my sex life and making comments about my appearance are not on the list of fun things. The list they do belong to is the kind of thing we’ll get around to covering in class at some point.’

Matt stopped moving. He wanted to walk right over there and ask what was going on. He didn’t want to pretend he hadn’t heard what Foggy had just said, but he also didn’t know if Foggy would want him to know. He moved closer to the side of the building, out of the stream of students, and listened.

‘You’re right,’ the woman, probably Jen, was saying. ‘They shouldn’t have said what they did. They’re trying to work you out though, you know? We’ve been studying together since almost the start of term one, and suddenly you’re… different. You’re a great guy, Foggy. We just don’t know what’s going on, that’s all.’

‘What do you mean by going on, Jen? Seriously. If you wear a floral print it’s of zero importance, but if I do, something’s going on? Can you hear how strange that sounds? It’s just fabric.’ The hurt in Foggy’s voice was clear to Matt, but he wondered if Jen could hear it through the more obvious notes of frustration.

‘We, ah, we were wondering if you’re becoming… is this because you want to be a woman?’

‘No.’ Foggy’s answer was immediate and clear. ‘I mean, women are great and all, but no. Not that anyone should have a problem if that was the case. And actually, since you brought it up, trans women just are women. It’s not something they aspire to. Some might want gender affirming surgery, or to have their true gender reflected in their documentation, or to have other people recognise their reality, but they don’t want to be women. It’s who they already are. It’s just not who I am. And, really, there’s no big mystery here. I searched through my wardrobe this morning and thought: grey shirt or floral? Don’t you do the same?’

‘Well, yes. But all the clothes in my wardrobe are for women.’

‘Hmm. Why though? I mean, why is there even such a thing? Why do we have to divide everything up like that? Because, sure, there needs to be clothing that accommodates the various jiggly bits and dangly bits that different bodies have, but why can’t that be dealt with as an aspect of sizing? It’s so bizarre! I don’t need my clothing labelled men’s, and while we’re at it, I don’t need my body labelled as male either. Human will do just fine.’

Jen laughed. It didn’t sound unkind. Maybe a little nervous.

‘Foggy, I like you,’ she said. ‘I don’t want you to go. We worked great together last term. Maybe if we all talk about it upfront? You know the guys get stupid with exam stress.’

‘Ughh. Stress isn’t an excuse for sexual harassment! You know that, right? I mean, your future career kind of requires that you know that; not to mention just being a properly informed human being. And, also… you know… because you’ll probably experience it more in your lifetime than I ever will. But, look, I’ll give them one chance. They can apologise, and I’ll answer any sincere questions, up to a point. Only for five minutes though. We’re supposed to be studying. And I’m not taking any shit. If there’s any repeat of the inappropriate behaviour, I’ll consider making a complaint. And you have to have my back, Jen. Come on! Be my co-counsel and I’ll let you borrow this amazing sweater I bought over the break. It’s chocolate brown. It’d look great with red hair.’

Jen’s laugh still didn’t sound fully relaxed. Matt wasn’t sure what to expect from her response.

‘Why not? Let’s go unprepared into complex negotiations that have the potential to become hostile and litigious,’ she said. She didn’t use the insouciant tone Foggy would have. She actually sounded a little afraid.

Even so, Foggy laughed and they started moving towards the library entrance.

Matt walked away as Foggy began trying to put her at ease.

By the time he got back to their room, he was still going over what he’d heard.

He knew curiosity about other people was generally short-lived. That seemed mostly true with the gossip about Foggy’s appearance, and it was only a particular subset of their classmates who were paying attention anyway. It wasn’t as though the student population was uniformly straight and conservative. But it also wasn’t the first interaction Matt had overheard where Foggy was openly challenged or criticised, and there was no chance Foggy was oblivious to every unflattering or hateful thing being said behind his back.

Matt wasn’t sure Jen deserved the generous response she’d been given.

He rubbed at the tension in his forehead and took a few deep breaths. He’d been planning on doing some revision, but maybe meditation was a better choice.

Chapter Text

It was a shame Foggy’s wardrobe didn’t include a pair of ruby slippers. They’d be way too after-five for the outfit he was wearing, but he was pretty sure their absence was the only thing holding him back. There was no way he lacked the requisite intensity of desire to transport himself instantly back to the dorm.

Study group had not been fun. Specifically, the feeling of being stared at, and of simultaneously wondering if he was being over-sensitive or paranoid, was not fun. And so, at a cellular level, his body was indisputably composed of a symphonic chant of there’s no place like home. Which led to the unhappy conclusion that his generic, size nine runners were not comfortable enough to compensate for their lack of ability to open portals between realms.

Still, in their own pedestrian way, they carried him from the library to the dorm, where he found Matt hard at work. Matt had an ear bud in and was typing with the steady rhythm of someone who knew what they were talking about, or, at least, that was the likely explanation when Matt was doing it. When Foggy was the one clacking at the keys, all bets were off.

Not wanting to interrupt Matt’s flow, Foggy dumped his bag and flopped on his bed for some time out. He figured he could sacrifice half an hour to staring at the ceiling. It was one of those mundane chores that wouldn’t do itself, and Foggy was well acquainted with the kind of focus it took to get the job done.

He was surprised when, after a couple of minutes, Matt spoke.

He’d turned away from his keyboard, ear bud nowhere in sight. ‘What’s up, Fog? You seem tense.’

Huh. Maybe Foggy had been staring loudly? More likely, he’d been sighing.

‘Yeah.’ He dragged his hands over his face in an effort to shift his focus from processing to interacting. ‘A little bit.’

‘Bad day?’

Yep. Interacting.

Foggy sat up and shuffled around till he was facing Matt, then pulled his pillow onto his lap and squished it a bit while he decided what to say.

‘Nah. I wouldn’t say the whole day was bad: a good day, with occasional sticky bits. But, like, maybe the kind of sticky that it’s best not to think about.’ He considered this for a moment. ‘Like a comfy booth in a cheap diner. That kind of day.’

‘Right… that’s.... Alright.’ Matt began to move as though he was going to get back to work, but then glitched and froze half way.

It was kind of funny, and then a bit weird, and then, as time stretched on, it was almost worrying.

Just as Foggy was about to check if his best bud had transmogrified into stone, Matt turned back towards him. He looked tense.

‘I was near the library earlier. I… I heard you talking with Jen about someone in your group giving you a hard time. I didn’t realise what you were talking about until I got close enough to hear properly, and then I didn’t want to interfere. Sorry.’

‘Wow. How did I not see you there? Sorry, man. I must have been totally caught up with Jen. But, hey, no need for the guilt face: public place and all. And like I said, the day had sticky bits. That one was sorted out pretty quickly, actually. While I was out of the room, the rest of them apparently realised I get the highest grades, which means they definitely need me more than I need them. I’m almost certain that Chris and Sean were threatened with exile if they didn’t fix things.’

‘It wasn’t the first time I’ve heard you having to defend yourself lately, and I know you’re not sleeping well. I just…. Foggy, maybe you should…. I mean, you shouldn’t have to accommodate people’s terrible behaviour, obviously, and they should absolutely be put on notice for it. You shouldn’t have to educate them. But, maybe, just until exams have passed, you could choose the grey shirt instead? Not for their comfort, for yours.’

Foggy didn’t let himself jump to his feet, because it would be weird pacing in such a small room when he wasn’t alone.

Take ten seconds to think. It was a thing he was working on with Siobhan because, when Foggy felt defensive, his first response was to launch into whatever tangential nonsense popped into his head. Enthusiastic diversion was a reasonable strategy for avoiding direct conflict, but not useful for genuine communication.

This was Matt. Foggy could do genuine for Matt.

It was probably more like twenty seconds by the time he was ready to respond.

‘I get that you think this whole thing is making my life harder, especially if you’ve heard some of the more offensive stuff. But, honestly, being harassed by other people for being myself is way easier to deal with than telling myself I can’t let anyone see who I really am. I hadn’t realised how much that would be true, but it is. And sure, the shitty bits are shitty, but every time I handle them I know that I haven’t got anything to hide.’ Foggy ignored the impulse to lighten his words with a mock-serious It Gets Better or an absurd comparison to any number of cheesy coming-of-age narratives. Instead, he watched Matt’s intense expression and waited.

It took a while.

‘You’ve got to respect a man for stepping into the ring,’ Matt finally said.

It was not what Foggy had expected. Still, Matt looked so lost in thought that Foggy wouldn’t have taken a playful swipe at the genderedness of the comment even if he wasn’t making an effort to clamp down on self-defensive humour.

While he was still examining the statement and its tone, Matt took a very deliberate sounding breath.

‘My dad used to say that. He’d, ah, he’d have respected what you’re doing, I think. I’m not sure he would have understood, he was kind of traditional, but… he respected straight talk and honest effort. He believed the most important thing was bringing your best to the fight.’

‘Thanks, Matt. That’s… actually really nice to hear.’ More than nice, Foggy thought. Matt didn’t talk about his dad much but, when he did, it was obvious that he had endless respect for the man.

Matt nodded kind of absently, his thoughts apparently far away.

More silence, then Matt’s expression shifted from lost in fond memory to waiting for his turn in the dentist’s chair.

‘All the secrets, the holding back, he wouldn’t have wanted that for me. Wouldn’t have done it himself, I don’t think. He’d’ve just called it like it is, given it his best. Even after the accident, he never wanted me to be anything less. I just… I never told him. I let myself believe that I didn’t want to worry him more than I already had, but that’s a lie. I was afraid.’

Foggy caught himself wanting to make eye contact, wanting Matt to see that he was listening, that he cared about whatever Matt was wrestling with. He couldn’t imagine living without the ability to take that kind of nonverbal reassurance from people.

‘It’s alright, buddy, I’m listening,’ he said, then cringed at how empty it sounded. He had literally no idea what Matt was talking about. Maybe it wasn’t alright at all. This was why, despite his loquaciousness, physical contact was Foggy’s go-to when things got rough.

Matt didn’t look like he’d be receptive though, and he’d already begun taking slow, deep breaths. ‘I’m fine,’ he said, even though fine was clearly taking some effort. ‘It’s just… it’s not like I ever forget, but Elektra… she reminded me how much I.... Foggy, my dad wouldn’t have wanted me pulling punches. And you seem to get that, to know how to just step up and be yourself, but it’s… it’s complicated, you know? Hell, it’s what got him killed.’

Foggy made a sound that couldn’t possibly be the right one. Was there a correct tone to encourage someone who was orphaned at a young age to feel free to speak, however disjointedly, about the presumed expectations of their murdered father?

Fortunately, Matt seemed to take it as the encouragement it was intended to be. Or maybe, having started wading into whatever was on his mind, he was just determined to see it through.

‘He was… he used to get paid to throw fights. He’d be holding his own, then he’d let himself get backed into the ropes, drop his guard. I didn’t know, not when I was a kid, but then I overheard…. I wanted him to win, wanted everyone to see that he was as good as I knew he was. And he did it. He stopped holding back, stopped pretending. He wanted me to know better, to be better, but I... I’m not.’

Foggy wanted to object, wanted to point out the substantial evidence that Matt gave his all to everything he did, but he knew from his own low moments that it was an approach that rarely helped. If anything, it created a sense of obligation to pretend to feel better for the other person’s sake. Nor did he think Matt would appreciate empty platitudes about how Foggy, who had never met Matt’s dad, was sure his dad would be proud of him.

He just didn’t know what the right response would be. He was, after all, the child of two devoted parents who were very much alive and present in his life.

‘I’m nothing like you, Fog,’ Matt said, oblivious to Foggy’s internal dilemma; which he should be, because this wasn’t about Foggy, not really. ‘You put yourself out there. You try, and when people give you a hard time, you just keep trying, keep getting up, keep being yourself no matter what. My dad, he had this deep respect for the men he trained with, for anyone who stepped into the ring. And… he’d respect you. I respect you, Foggy, and… I don’t want to be someone who pulls punches and throws fights… who lies to the people who matter. You’re honest about who you are, no matter what. I want to be the same. Not… not with the whole world, but with you.’

Foggy had been working on not needing validation for his choices, but this was Matt. There was no denying the way Matt’s acknowledgement, scrambled though it was, set off the kind of reaction that drove prickly heat to Foggy’s eyes and hitched his breaths. It took effort not to fixate on the praise, but it wasn’t really at the heart of what Matt was saying.

Unfortunately, the actual point still wasn’t exactly clear. Foggy wondered vaguely if Matt was about to come out to him, but that didn’t seem likely. Whatever this was, it seemed more complicated than that.

‘I didn’t know that, about your dad. I thought it was a random attack,’ Foggy said, which… why? Was that really the most relevant point? But then, it also maybe was. It was a big thing to share, anyway, and not the kind of thing Matt was generally inclined to talk about. It felt like too significant a fact to let slide by.

‘It was covered up.’ Matt’s neutral tone was inconsistent with talking about a murdered parent, but he was an expert at opting out of conversations that he wasn’t willing to have.

‘Oh,’ Foggy said. He thought back over everything else Matt had been saying, looking for clues. He hadn’t gotten far when Matt interrupted his thoughts.

‘I lied to him, Foggy. I’ve lied to you. I continually lie to you. The… the accident, when I was a kid, it didn’t just damage my eyes. The chemicals affected everything: my hearing, sense of smell, all my senses. Everything.’

‘I’m not quite with you there, buddy. Do you mean there was some damage that healed? Because, your hearing seems normal… or really good, actually.’

‘It didn’t make things worse. It made my other senses better, stronger.’

‘Alright. But that doesn’t seem like a very big lie. It’s really more of an omission, for a start.’ Foggy wondered if that could really be what all of this was about.

Matt swivelled his chair back and forth a few times. It looked like a restless, thinking motion but, when he stopped, he left himself angled away from Foggy and towards the door.

‘I wasn’t really standing nearby while you were talking to Jen. I was over near the return chutes on the eastern wall of the library,’ he said.

‘That’s.... Wow! And, what... you heard our conversation? Clearly?’

‘Yeah. I’m sorry.’

‘What? No, man! Why be sorry? That’s amazing!’

‘Really?’ Matt asked. He sounded more than half sceptical, but Foggy thought there was also maybe a wisp of hope.

‘Of course! Oh my god, Murdock! Tell me more.’

‘My, ah, my proprioception and balance are really good? I don’t know what to say. My sense of taste and smell are as strong as my hearing? Touch, too.’

Foggy took a moment to let that sink in.

‘Alright, not cool,’ he said. ‘That’s actually beginning to sound a little bit hellish. Really? Smell? That would almost never be good. And touch? I mean, the obvious thought is that sex must be just, like, wow… but touch includes pain and temperature, right? I’m pretty sure that’s a thing I learned at some point in my productively spent youth.’

Matt began tapping an index finger against his leg in what was almost certainly an unconscious motion. ‘It can be… intense, at times, especially if I’m sick or really tired. Mostly, I can control it though.’

Well that sounded promising. ‘Control it? Like, dial it down or something?’

‘Not really, no. But I can choose to focus on one thing, or one sense. I mean, everyone does it. You know… block out an irritating sound or sensation, focus on something specific. I just… there’s a lot of input, and I’ve had a lot of practice.’

‘Right,’ Foggy said. He was pretty sure he was running on some kind of suspension-of-disbelief auto-pilot, but, even so, the truth was beginning to sink in. ‘So… what? You could literally hear every conversation in a radius of, say, a hundred feet, and then block out all the ones you’re not focused on? ‘Cause, this time of semester, the library was packed. There must’ve been close to a hundred people milling around out there.’

‘It’s not quite like that. Mostly, I think of it as white noise, but I heard your name and it caught my attention. Your voice is familiar, so it stood out once I was listening for it.’

‘That makes sense. Like, holy shit! But yeah.’

Matt looked relieved, as though he’d expected Foggy to react badly to super powers. He was still tapping his finger. ‘Thanks for, I don’t know, for understanding? I… I knew someone once who was pretty determined that I shouldn’t tell anyone about all this. He was… I think he was right, or mostly. I don’t know. Everything was so complicated back then. Maybe the secrecy was just to….’ Matt stopped, and then shook his head in the way people did when they were trying to refocus.

‘He was probably right, even if it was for the wrong reasons. Most people wouldn’t be so calm if they knew.’ Matt laughed a little desperately. ‘I’m pretty sure their reactions would be a little stronger than having opinions about florals or hairstyles. Not that.… I mean.... With you, they feel unjustly entitled to impose their own values. With me, well, they’d be right to be uncomfortable. If I choose to, I can hear what everyone around me is talking about, all the time. I can tell, with a reasonable degree of accuracy, whether they’re lying or not. I can sense arousal, sickness, all kinds of hygiene habits, whether a person has recently had sex, whether they’re menstruating, pregnant.’

Matt’s agitation was obvious, but, suddenly, Foggy wasn’t feeling entirely Zen, himself.

‘That’s…,’ he said, and then lost direction. ‘Just… give me a moment to process, alright?’

He closed his eyes and took some forcefully serene breaths: four, maybe five. Six at most. ‘So,’ he said, ‘the fact that I can’t help noticing you’re put together alright is definitely not as secret as I’d hoped.’

Yep. That’s what happens when you ignore the advice of a goddess, Foggy reminded himself. He really should have counted to ten first. Not because he regretted the confession, per se, but because it was stupidly out of step with Matt’s discomfort at sharing something difficult.

Foggy needed a tattoo across the back of his hand. Something like: Is this really the right time for it? The words could trace out a great big question mark, a reminder to stop and think.

Matt’s tapping got faster and was possibly going to leave a bruise.

Foggy wanted to reach out and cover his hand. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, instead. ‘Look, you’re presenting a damning case against yourself, but think about it: it’s a pretty complex scenario, man, with no immediately obvious precedents. I’d need to break it down and understand the situation a bit better before I could agree that people are entitled to feel any particular way. Although, honestly, my default position is this: hiding who you are isn’t good for you. Society imposing limitations on people based on who they are: also not good, although obviously there are conditional clauses that come with living as part of the thronging mass of humanity; you know, the whole freedom except when justly curtailed by the obligation to avoid inflicting harm ethos.

‘But, like I said, I’m not sure I understand exactly what you think is so wrong about you just being who you are. I mean, I sometimes overhear conversations I’m not meant to, and, full disclosure: sometimes I do it on purpose. One time, when I was about fifteen, I even read Candy’s diary. She must have been all of eleven, so it was a bit of a yawn, honestly, but that’s not the point.’

Matt looked overwhelmed.

Probably because Foggy was rambling… which he was going to cease immediately.

‘Man, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘My head’s kind of spinning. It’s all good though, I promise! It’s just that my mouth doesn’t always keep up when my brain goes in too many directions at once. It’s not a quitter though: it just goes all quantum and begins leaping around between seemingly random bits from all over the spectrum, because who needs linearity? But you know what? I do. So! Let’s start at the beginning.’

Foggy cleared his throat theatrically and shifted his posture. It was enough to help him gather his focus. ‘I’d, ah, I’d kind of assumed that hearing is dominant for you in the way that vision is dominant for me, but a lot of the stuff you mentioned comes down to smell, right? Sickness and sex and periods and stuff… so, is smell dominant? That would be the worst… but… like a bloodhound or something?’

Matt still looked a bit dazed, and no wonder, but he had that almost-smile that looked like it was just waiting for reassurance that it was welcome. ‘Not, ah, not really. Knowing that stuff… it uses everything, all at once.’

He sat, fidgeting his fingers for a while, then got up and walked to his wardrobe where he dug around in a drawer. When he turned back, he was holding several pairs of socks. Before Foggy had time to wonder about that, Matt began to juggle. It looked pretty basic from what Foggy could tell, which… wasn’t really the point.

‘Matt?’

‘Have you come across the idea that people can learn to use echolocation?’

Foggy could tell from the look on Matt’s face that if he wasn’t catching and throwing socks, he’d still be tugging at his sleeve or tapping his fingers. He wasn’t calm, but his movements were steady and smooth.

It was mesmerising.

Honestly, Foggy still became goofily impressed, sometimes, when he saw Matt doing routine things without looking, which… duh. But this was on another level. As he watched, the pattern of movement shifted so that the socks flew in higher or lower arcs. Matt’s fidgety look grew more anxious though, and Foggy pulled his attention back to their conversation.

‘No, I haven’t, but doesn’t echolocation require some kind of high-pitched signal that bounces back?’

‘Not high-pitched, necessarily, and this… this isn’t exactly that, but it’s kind of the same. Sometimes, echolocation is part of it. I use signals other than sight to form an impression of the space and objects around me: humidity, vibrations, air pressure and displacement, smell, taste, distortions in familiar sounds. I can hear the socks moving through the air, and also the way they disrupt other sounds from around the room. The air displacement tells me about their speed and trajectory. They have a unique smell, but that’s not particularly useful for tracking constant movement at close proximity. And juggling is as much about proprioception as object engagement. If you don’t know exactly what your hands are doing, it doesn’t matter if you can see the ball. Honestly, learning was the only tricky bit. I’m sure anyone who can juggle could do this with their eyes closed.’

Matt started bouncing socks off his knee or elbow while keeping the flow.

It took Foggy a while to respond. ‘Right,’ was all he managed to say.

He’d never thought of Matt as clumsy. Matt had poise, and was always so intentional in his movements, but this was a whole other thing. Foggy was accustomed to a Matt who carefully reached out to locate everything from coffee cups to door knobs. That Matt didn’t throw multiple items into the air and know where his hands needed to be to catch them.

It was a bit of a shock. Totally in a good way, but yeah. Words: not happening.

‘You’re quiet,’ Matt said. He caught the socks and turned to put them away.

‘How…?’ Foggy said. He had no idea where he was going with that line of questioning. He just sat there, on his bed, speechless and grinning. Matt was… wow. Wow. Foggy’s poor, crushy little heart was doing a devotional samba, because Matt had super powers but was still the same awkward duck.

Feeling stupidly giddy, Foggy lifted his pillow from his lap and lobbed it across the room.

Matt, who had just turned back towards him, snatched it out of the air and then froze. He looked a little bit stunned.

It was probably wrong for Foggy to laugh but, once the strangled beginnings broke free, he was unable to stop.

He felt less like a jerk once Matt caved to the same hysteria.

They laughed for longer than was reasonable, but the tone gradually shifted from an outburst of overloaded tension into something more genuine.

‘I have so many questions,’ Foggy said. ‘So many. And that’s without really thinking about it. Actually, can I think about it and, maybe, like, make a list or something?’

‘Sure. Yeah, of course,’ Matt said. He’d dropped down to sit on his bed while he was laughing. He was still sitting there, but he began to shuffle nervously.

‘It’s good, Matt. We’re good, and I’m really glad you told me. Thanks for that. Like, so much thanks. Really. It’s just… you know me! I get excited sometimes and it’s like I’m the lovechild of a Labrador and a Great White shark. My mom used to have this thing she’d say to me all the time: Just because you want to know something, sweetheart, doesn’t mean that other people have to tell you.

‘Probably the most memorable time she said it was when I found Aunt Trudy’s vibrator in her overnight bag when I was about… maybe twelve? Man, I wanted to know what that thing was! The more they refused to explain, the more I pushed. Eventually, I told them I was going to describe it to my teacher… I can’t remember her name… but anyway, in the end, Dad sat me down and filled me in. He was so uncomfortable, and I was way out of my depth, but I didn’t care. I’d won.

‘Poor Aunt Trudy. God, she must have been mortified.

‘Anyway, the point is, I don’t want to get all caught up in wanting to know and then just push you for answers. You trusted me with something important and I want to respect that.’

‘Thanks, Foggy.’ Matt seemed to have relaxed as Foggy spoke, but then he got that tiny puzzled furrow to his brow that Foggy sometimes noticed in an entirely neutral way. ‘A Labrador and a Great White? Huh.’

The curious expression continued for so long that Foggy began to squirm. It was stupid that he felt exposed, when Matt was the one who’d shared huge secrets.

A minute later, Foggy lost his inner war against the need for deflection. ‘Of course, the most pressing question is this: are you going to teach me to juggle? Because that is a skill I should definitely have.’

Matt seemed to shake off whatever thought he’d been lost in.

‘We can try, but, for most people, I get the impression it’s a bit like learning a language: a little instruction and a lot of practice.’

‘Sure. Yeah, I can do that. How long did it take you? Just, you know, ballpark figure.’

‘Ah, about an hour maybe? But I’d been working on lots of other things by then, trying to refine my proprioception and spatial awareness of moving objects.’

‘Right,’ Foggy said, mostly to himself. ‘Looong list of questions.’

Chapter Text

Matt had been reliably informed that there was an actual list of questions.

Foggy refused to send him a copy, arguing, despite Matt’s insistence to the contrary, that the rules of discovery didn’t apply when the very purpose of the list was to prevent Foggy’s curiosity from making Matt feel like he was on trial.

The list wasn’t about Matt, Foggy had insisted, despite the fact that it literally was.

A further strategy towards reducing the cross-examination potential was that they were working their way through The List, which had acquired status as a proper noun, according to Foggy, during their week-long study break. Working through in the sense that whenever Foggy’s focus drifted from his textbook or screen, Matt knew he was about to encounter another left-of-field question about his senses and what they enabled him to do.

Once Foggy had realised the extent to which enhanced balance was part of the package, those questions often involved physical feats. Matt had discovered he was able to balance a stress ball on his forehead while standing on one leg. Foggy had sounded genuinely perplexed that Matt had never tried it before.

So far, it had been… fun. Matt had been sceptical, at first, about Foggy’s insistence that the pressure of study would provide restraint for his boundless desire to tear the whole weird-senses-of-awesomeness situation apart, but it seemed to be working.

It was nice. Matt found himself dropping some of the facade he wore for the rest of the world.

Even so, when Foggy’s questions veered towards the development of Matt’s skills, Matt avoided saying much about his time with Stick. If he couldn’t find a way to re-frame a particular aspect of his training, he’d tell Foggy to choose a different question. Matt also declined to answer anything that would reveal more intimate details than he was comfortable with.

Foggy didn’t push, even though he obviously wanted to. Instead, he’d get up and pace around the room or start swivelling his chair from side to side. He’d rub his hands over his face, blow out a breath between pursed lips. Alright, he would say, followed by, striking it off the list, buddy.

On this particular occasion, the statement was accompanied by a particularly emphatic striking gesture.

‘Not deleting?’ Matt asked, because he was a little tense from the question and wasn’t ready to get back to work. Poking Foggy was a reliable procrastination strategy.

‘Nope!’ Foggy said. ‘Literally a strike-through! Oh… I mean obviously you know what a strike-through is, but I’m not sure if you know it’s a formatting option in Word? It’s probably not screen-reader friendly, so you might not be familiar with it. But yes! Struck out. The screen-based equivalent of the bold stroke of completion.’

Matt laughed before he could hold it back.

A moment later, Foggy huffed. ‘Don’t be juvenile,’ he said. ‘I’m talking about the wondrous satisfaction of definitively crossing an item off a list. It’s a thing! Deleting just isn’t the same. Also, and I don’t want any judgement here, Murdock, if a question isn’t on The List in some form then it’s just going to be bouncing around in my brain, and I am not a strong person where that kind of thing is concerned. The List is my anchor. My handcuff? Source of restraint? I don’t know, but it’s soothing. The question is on the list. Whether you answer or pass, it gets crossed through. There’s nothing left hanging.’

‘I’m pretty sure completion leaves something hanging for about half the population,’ Matt said. ‘But, by all means, tell me more about how striking out makes you reach for handcuffs and take satisfaction in bold strokes. Sounds like one of those things would get in the way of the other, but maybe I’m missing something.’

Foggy was laughing again but he was also burning hot to Matt’s senses, which was odd. Matt wasn’t sure he’d known him to blush so intensely before. True, they’d never shared this particular kind of humour, either. Foggy was such an open person that Matt had assumed it would be fine, but perhaps growing up constantly surrounded by teenage boys had dulled his ability to gauge such things.

‘Sorry,’ he said. It was uncomfortable, having crossed a line like that. It wasn’t something he’d usually do, and he wasn’t sure why he had.

‘Yeah, yeah, you can smell me blushing or whatever,’ Foggy said. ‘Far more troubling is your disrespect for the sacred process of The List, buddy. Honestly, most people would disown you over it, but I’m putting your ignorance down to inexperience. After all, your half of the room is adorned with exactly zero lists, while mine is a monument to… well, actually, at the moment it’s a monument to how much work I still have to do, but by the end of term it’ll be amazing. A fully crossed-off list is a beautiful thing.’

Matt was a bit bemused. Sure, Foggy was goofing around, but there seemed to be a thread of genuine feeling behind the banter.

Lists, for Matt, were usually audio-recorded or screen-read, and he pretty much only used them as study aids. He already spent too much time each day navigating screens and listening to vaguely irritating text-to-speech voices. Fortunately, he had an excellent memory and had learned, over the years, to rely on it. There were lots of things he never bothered to write down, but he was glad to indulge Foggy, not least because Foggy had steered them past Matt’s stupid faux pas.

‘Anyway, the point is, I’m willing to give you a second chance to develop due respect,’ Foggy stated. ‘I shall prepare a list for your completion and when it’s done you will acknowledge that my entirely appropriate reverence for the humble list is entirely valid.’

‘Your generosity is boundless,’ Matt replied, because it would play along with the mock-superior tone of Foggy’s offer and, because, lately, Matt was starting to think it might be true. ‘Educate me, great master of the list.’

‘See, you think your funny, Murdock, but you’ll soon change your tune. It’s both soothing and inspiring, I’m telling you. There’ve been times when I’ve left fully completed and crossed off lists stuck to my wall for months. Drove my dad nuts, but what can I say? I’m very visual. Which... isn’t really the point, here.’

‘Well that’s blindingly obvious,’ Matt said, as blandly as he could.

‘Ha, ha,’ Foggy said. ‘Now sit quietly and prepare to have your awareness expanded.’

There were shuffling sounds of paper, soon followed by the familiar staccato bursts of Foggy tapping his pen while he thought. ‘Normal print, press hard,’ he muttered.

Foggy’s normal print, Matt had recently discovered, was pleasantly consistent and clearly formed, even when he was jotting something down in a hurry.

The acrid, earthy smell of ink wafted through the air. A shallow huff of breath probably meant Foggy was amused by his own efforts.

Matt contemplated whether he should have just answered Foggy’s initial question. Clearly, avoidance opened doors to strange places.

Strange would always trump difficult though, and Foggy had asked how Matt had managed to avoid serious injury while learning to fling himself around like he was born under the Big Top of Cirque du Soleil. The answer would only require two words, but so many more questions would follow.

Matt had passed off his refusal to answer by implying that his precautions were embarrassing; akin to all sorts of awkward childhood secrets.

Their current conversation, he decided, was better.

Foggy declared himself, ‘Done!’ and Matt took the pad and pen that were handed to him. As he ran his fingers over the paper to orient himself, he smiled. He’d unconsciously expected items of only two or three words, but Foggy hadn’t been patronisingly brief.

Matt read out the first item and laughed. ‘One. Declaim the virtues of Foggy Nelson, roommate extraordinaire.’

‘Seriously, man, no crossing it off until it’s done,’ Foggy said. Then with a credible attempt at gravitas: ‘It’s a social contract between humans and lists. You can’t mess with that.’

‘Fine,’ Matt said. He got to his feet and took a moment to prepare. ‘Let it be known throughout the land that Foggy Nelson is a kind and noble soul, intelligent, courageous, and forthright in all matters of import.’ He spoke with his best declaiming voice, but the words were undeniably true. He wondered if Foggy could tell, because there was no crowing or banter in response, just a prolonged pause and then a pleased huff of breath.

‘Great!’ Foggy said. ‘Now cross it off!’

Matt took the pen in one hand and found the line of writing with the other. He drew a firm line through the words, but didn’t really feel anything about the action itself. ‘You realise you’ve just told me to contractually signal that I’m done with singing your praises,’ he said.

‘It’s like you don’t even know me, Murdock. Would I do that if I wasn’t working an angle here? I believe protocol calls for progression to item two.’

‘Of course. Number two,’ Matt read. ‘Pledge an oath of protection to aforementioned roommate.’

That gave Matt pause. Foggy was still being given a hard time by some of the students in their year, and also around campus, but this didn’t seem like the way he’d address any actual fears. ‘An oath of protection?’ he asked. ‘Are we talking foot soldier, duelling second, or captain of the guard?’

‘Maybe… oh! I know! Like if Sam Gamgee somehow stole Gandalf’s power. Ooh! And Aragorn’s looks and regal bearing. Samdalfgorn! But, like, not in a slashy, shipping way, because: no.’

‘Maybe you should stick to Punjabi, Fog. I think English has escaped you. But fine.’

Matt straightened his back and placed a hand over his heart, as was appropriate for such matters. ‘I, Matthew Michael Murdock-’

‘Seriously? Michael? That’s so satisfyingly alliterative! Nice!’

‘May I continue?’

‘Sorry, of course. Go on.’

‘Thank you,’ Matt said. He cleared his throat pretentiously. ‘I, Matthew Michael Murdock, do solemnly swear my allegiance and protection to one Foggy Unknown-Middle-Name Nelson.’

‘Percy.’

‘Percy? As in Percival or just…?’

‘Percival,’ Foggy said, making the word sound like a sigh.

‘Wow,’ Matt said. ‘I’m impressed that you’ve gotten this far in life without my pledge.’

‘Don’t I know it. Now cross off item two, Matthew. We’re not done yet.’

Matt dragged the nib of the pen over the words of item two. There was some strange satisfaction in doing so, but he wasn’t sure it had anything to do with an abstract sense of accomplishment. He felt carefully over item three, which was significantly longer.

3.  Agree to accompany said roommate to his family domicile for at least a couple of weeks during break. (Seriously, man, my mom will kill me if I don’t bring you to meet them, and you swore an oath of protection, buddy. No backing out now! Besides, I want you there.)

Matt traced over the words again. He’d had sleepovers at friends’ houses as a child, before the accident. He’d also spent time with the families of a few girlfriends over the years. Never more than a night or two, but enough to know it was a somewhat inevitable aspect of social etiquette.

Of course, Foggy had set this whole situation up knowing that choosing not to answer was a valid way of getting a question crossed off the list.

‘Two weeks?’ Matt asked. ‘That’s a long time for your folks to have a stranger in their home.’

‘Hardly. And, anyway, Candy is spending the summer backpacking in Europe, which is impossible since there’s no way she’s old enough for that, but, anyway, according to Mom, that leaves a bed that needs filling. She said you should spend the whole break, which you’re totally welcome to do, by the way! It’d be awesome! I just thought I’d begin with the introvert-friendly starter pack, and casually saunter towards the deluxe mi casa es tu casa proposition if it seemed like the thing to do. It was going to be subtle, Matt! Part of my new don’t push, don’t retreat approach.’

‘I’ll come,’ Matt said.

‘You will?’

‘Sure. Of course. Despite the fact that you’ve spent the last fifteen minutes shamelessly guiding the witness, you are, in fact, a good and faithful friend. If two weeks will buy you protection from filicide, then it’s clearly a question of honour. My word is my bond.’

‘Oh, my god! I’m seriously swooning here, buddy. Does swooning have a sound or a smell or whatever? Because you definitely shouldn’t miss out on this.’

From what Matt could detect, Foggy seemed to be fanning at himself with an open hand. ‘Well, obviously, swooning smells like lavender,’ he said. ‘A lesser known fact is that it sounds like rose petals tumbling through mist.’

‘Ha! Of course it does,’ Foggy said. ‘Oh! Now you can cross off item three! Feel the accomplishment, Murdock!’

Matt dutifully picked up the pen and marked off the third item on the list. When he was done, he ran the pads of his fingers over the paper to build an impression of the whole.

‘Thanks,’ he said.

‘Hmm, what’s with the look?’

The sinking feeling Matt had got while brushing his fingers over the page must have stolen the lightness from his tone.

‘Nothing,’ he said. It was an automatic response, but Foggy deserved something more. Matt tried to work out what it was that he was feeling.

‘It’s like… in undergrad I dated this woman, Christina. She wasn’t short on money, and she wanted to be inclusive or something, so she bought some tactile art to put around her place; you know, statues, a 3D painting. I didn’t want to tell her that it didn’t really do much for me. It’s not like she asked if it was something I might like, and maybe that was part of the problem, but the kind of focused, intentional interaction that it required isn’t really my thing. Honestly, standing there feeling a painting felt kind of ridiculous, and I could never work out how often I was supposed to pick up a statue and look intrigued. It would have meant more if she’d upgraded the speakers on her stereo, but….’ Matt could feel himself getting caught up in the memory. He’d ended the relationship and moved on, but it was like all the frustrated confusion was right there under his skin.

He redirected a little.

‘What I’m trying to say is that most people use art in their homes as part of a broader, unified aesthetic. Each piece is part of a larger whole, and maybe crossing things off a list is satisfying in a similar way. If you can see it, you can take in the totality as well as the detail. It gives perspective and means something in its graphic context. When you look at this list, you see three crossed off items. I feel them one at a time. Sure, I can run my hand over the whole thing, but that feels like a concerted effort to experience something like a sighted person might. I’m… I don’t mean to be maudlin. Sorry.’

‘No, I think I get it. Candy’s vegan, and she hated it when Mom and Dad used to buy those meat substitutes. Do you know the ones? Fake bacon, fake chicken, fake cheese. I mean, they were trying to support her, but I kind of get her point. There’s a world of non-meat options out there, and she didn’t want to be served up imitation versions of someone else’s idea of food.’

Matt smiled. ‘Yeah. That sounds familiar.’

‘Sorry, man. I really didn’t think I… well, let’s leave it at that: I didn’t think.’

‘Really, it’s fine,’ Matt said, and he meant it. ‘We were both just goofing around. And... I really like that you don’t try to tiptoe past the blind elephant in the room.’

‘Ugh! Matt! Don’t congratulate me for treating you like a person!’ Foggy said. His exasperation sounded more real than humorous. ‘I don’t want a gold star for breathing, and I don’t want one for being a mostly-decent human being either.’

‘Being decent isn’t as easy as breathing,’ Matt argued.

If it was, then surely a lot more people would do it. If anything, his time with Elektra had shown him how easy it was to not give a damn about anyone else.

‘Breathing? Easy? Are you kidding? We grew up in Hell’s Kitchen, man! Think of the summers! The day before rubbish collection, breathing was an act of courage. Catching the subway was positively heroic.’

A visceral tide of memories surged in response to Foggy’s words, and Matt smiled. ‘I concede the point,’ he said. ‘But you realise you negated your original argument, right?’

There was a beat of silence, followed by a groan and then a plaintive sobbing sound. ‘I’m gonna have to be a butcher,’ Foggy whined. ‘Save me, Murdock! Direct me back to the noble path of lawyerly wisdom.’

‘Well, I did swear to protect you, and I suppose that includes protecting you from yourself, so sure. Here’s my advice,’ Matt said. ‘Pick up a book, Foggy.’

‘I knew you’d say that. You’re harsh, man!’

Matt returned to his desk and tucked the completed list into his drawer.

Chapter Text

Matt was feeling good by the time he finished his Crim Law exam. There hadn’t been anything unexpected on the paper, and the logistics had been fine. He was looking forward to the pizza and postmortem session he and Foggy had planned.

He was just passing through the foyer of the Student Support Centre when he heard Kevin speaking, somewhere across the room.

Moments later, Matt registered that Kevin was pointing him out to someone.

The man didn’t sound familiar.

Matt slowed his steps a little. He was keen to get back to the dorm, but he was also curious.

He was on his way down the stairs at the front of the building when the man caught up with him.

‘Matthew!’

Matt took the last two steps to the bottom and then turned to wait. ‘Hello?’

There was no response while the man continued down the stairs.

‘Good morning, Matthew. I’m Anton Burgess,’ he said, once he’d joined Matt on the path. ‘I lecture here at Columbia Law.’

‘Nice to meet you. Please, call me Matt.’

Matt shifted his cane to his left hand and held out his right. Burgess shook it for longer than Matt preferred.

‘Hmm. You don’t look too traumatised,’ Burgess said. ‘I trust your exam went well?’ He patted Matt’s upper arm firmly.

Matt contained his annoyance at the presumption and the lack of awareness.

‘It was fine. Thank you for asking.’

‘I suspect you’re being modest. I’ve heard you’re doing extremely well!’

Matt was never sure what the appropriate response was to those kinds of remarks. He suppressed the impulse to fidget with the elastic strap on his cane. ‘I enjoy what I’m learning,’ he said.

‘Of course. Actually, I caught up with you because I have a request. I teach Ageing and Disability Law. You won’t be taking the subject till third year, but it’d be great if you’d come along as a guest speaker next term. I run a panel in second or third week, with speakers who have first-hand experience of the strengths and limitations of the ADA. I try to choose people who’ll shake up some of the uninformed biases students bring with them at the start of term.’ Burgess gave a muted laugh. ‘I suspect I won’t have to work so hard at that with your cohort, given that you’re leaving most of them in the dust with your grades. Anyway, have a think about it, but I can’t imagine it’ll be too taxing. I’m sure you’re capable of giving a cogent analysis of the relevant issues over your morning coffee!’

Matt tried for an expression of polite neutrality. ‘Thank you, Professor,’ he said. ‘I’ll think it over.’

‘Great!’ Burgess said. ‘I look forward to hearing what you have to say. I’ll send you an email to confirm, and we’ll go from there.’

‘Alright. Ah… thanks. Thank you, Professor.’

‘You’re welcome, Matthew. And there’s no need to be all flustered. Honestly, I’m looking forward to having you in my class when the time comes. It’s good to know one of our best and brightest is destined for something other than high-flying corporate law for a change.’ He patted Matt’s shoulder again, and Matt resisted the urge to shrug him off. ‘I’ll be in touch.’ 

‘Alright. Sure.’

Once they’d said their goodbyes, Matt spent a few moments fiddling with his cane and reorienting himself to his surroundings.

When enough time had passed that he could avoid trailing in Burgess’s wake, he walked slowly back to his room. He occupied his mind with listening to the rhythmic tapping of his cane, and its echos in the spaces around him.

Chapter Text

Foggy was feeling good. He’d totally aced that exam! And, shockingly, none of the nightmares or horror fantasies of the last week had come to pass! He hadn’t turned up on the wrong day or to the wrong place. He hadn’t suffered temporary amnesia or hyperventilated himself into a coma. He hadn’t turned up in his pajamas or the old-fashioned powdered wig and robes that sometimes featured in his dreams. Sure, there’d been a few minutes of brain freeze every now and then, but he was confident he’d pulled himself together well enough to fully address every question they’d thrown at him.

Awesome!

The sound of movement in the hall caught his attention, then Arjun’s voice, which was still overly loud with fear. ‘Hey, Matt, how’d it go?’

Foggy had walked with Arjun for a bit when they’d left the exam hall, and they’d tried to assess the damage wrought by Arjun’s persistent pre-exam insomnia. It was pretty clear that his grade wouldn’t properly reflect his knowledge, but there was no way he was going to fail.

Through the door, Foggy could hear the low murmur of Matt’s response, but not his words. He hoped they were something diplomatic, if not reassuring. Not that Matt was a jerk. It was just obvious that he didn’t really understand exam stress. Why would he? His work ethic was impressive, his focus and recall were kind of amazing, and his chill under pressure was frankly unfair to lesser mortals.

It could have been intimidating, but, actually, it just inspired the hell out of Foggy. He’d won the jackpot, really, when it came to assigned roommates!

As soon as the door opened, Foggy bounced up from his bed. He was across the room in three steps, and had his arms thrown awkwardly around Matt’s shoulders by the time the door was closed.

Matt was thrown off balance but didn’t stumble too badly.

Foggy almost pulled back, realising what he’d done, but his excitement won through.

‘Dance with me, buddy! We did it! I don’t even need to ask how it went. No problem, right! Murdock and Nelson: one step closer to being super-successful, fancy-arse lawyers!’

Matt shuffled his feet obligingly and somehow kept his cane from tripping them up as Foggy turned them on the spot, which was pretty decent of him.

He looked so befuddled that Foggy couldn’t resist ruffling his hair.

‘Matt, buddy, you have the worst dance form ever,’ he announced, because navigating potential obstacles was a good start, but was still the bottom rung of that particular ladder.

‘I was ambushed,’ Matt replied, with admittedly impressive disdain, then immediately broke out in a wide smile. ‘So, I assume this is the bit where I get to say I told you so?’

‘Pah!’ Foggy said. ‘I totally knew it’d be fine. I was just trying to give you the complete Law School Experience. I figured vicarious angst was the closest you’d get to an Impending-Exam Meltdown. You can thank me any time.’

‘Thanks, Foggy,’ Matt said.

There wasn’t a scrap of sincerity in it.

Foggy was definitely under-appreciated.

‘You should be thanking me, for I have procured the celebratory pizza and beer! Light beer, sadly, since the joy of exam week is far from over.’

‘My, Mr Nelson, how you’ve grown. That’s almost responsible of you.’

Foggy felt the familiar stab of discomfort at being addressed that way, but he was in such a good mood that it was easy to shake off. Besides, he knew Matt didn’t mean anything by it. He probably had no idea what he’d just said.

‘Yeah, yeah. Enough bullshit, buddy. How’d it go?’ Foggy asked.

‘It was fine. Good, even. You were right when you said we should focus on People v Taylor for the inevitable statutory interpretation question.’

‘Eh. Lucky guess,’ Foggy said.

‘Maybe, if it was the only time you’d been right about these things. You have good instincts, Fog. You’re quick to pick out the salient issues and extrapolate their implications.’

‘Salient?’ Foggy said, with the appropriate degree of raised eyebrow. He knew the attitude behind it would carry in his voice.

‘Still in exam mode. Don’t deflect, just take the compliment.’

Foggy sighed, even though Matt’s words made him grin. ‘Thanks, man. I’m working on it.’

‘Good. Now let’s eat. You know mushrooms are a siren song to me. I could smell them as soon as I entered the building.’

‘Remind me to roll in fungi if I ever want your undivided attention,’ Foggy said, then almost choked on his own spit.

Matt tilted his head like he was imagining the scene, then laughed. ‘I’d like to see that,’ he said, as he headed for the pizza boxes on Foggy’s desk.

‘Well, yeah, I can see how that would top your list,’ Foggy said, even though he suspected Matt hadn’t meant it literally. Matt never talked about wanting to see. ‘So, there were no problems with tech or anything this time?’

‘No, it was all good. I think Kevin’s been on high alert for a couple of weeks. After last time, he’s determined to make sure everything goes to plan.’

‘Well, that’s good. Hooray for people doing their job.’

‘He was new last term, Foggy. People are allowed to take time to get up to speed. Besides, it wasn’t entirely his fault.’

‘Yeah, yeah. I just don’t like seeing you messed around. You know that.’

Foggy elbowed Matt aside so he could shuffle slices of each topping between the two boxes. Matt could legit sniff out the most decadently topped slices and wasn’t beyond snavelling them for himself.

‘I do. Thanks, Fog. Actually, ah, there’s something I wouldn’t mind getting your opinion on, if that’s alright? It’s not about the exam, and I know we need to get back to studying in a bit. It’s just….’ Matt picked up a beer off the desk and twisted it open.

‘My wisdom is at your disposal, man.’ Pizza duly distributed, Foggy positioned a box so he could reach it while sitting on his bed. ‘I’m all ears,’ he said, or tried to say. The words had to find their way past a mouthful of pizza, but they were still roughly intelligible when they broke free.

‘Thanks. It’s just… one of the law professors caught up with me after the exam. Burgess. He teaches disability law. He asked me if I’d be part of a panel of speakers talking to students about the ADA. He, ah… actually… he kind of assumed I’d say yes.’

Matt took a mouthful of his beer and made a face.

‘Eat some pizza, man. Mushrooms, remember,’ Foggy said, because he would always be a Nelson ahead of anything else. ‘So, what’s the issue? You don’t want to do the panel? You’re annoyed that he assumed?’

Matt picked up a slice of pizza like it was something to occupy his hands. ‘Well, I’m not really the best person to speak on behalf of others who’re blind, for a start,’ he said.

‘Sure, maybe, but you could speak for yourself. It’s not like limitations in the ADA and non-compliance issues don’t affect you.’

Matt put the piece of pizza down. ‘I can’t talk about that, though. There’s no way I could do it without a whole lot of misdirection and lies, especially if there’s a Q and A component.’

‘Matt, no offense, buddy, but you pretty much embody the definition of misdirection every time you walk out that door.’

‘That’s not the same. I… alright, forget that. Even if I could find a way around the obvious complications, I… I don’t really want to. Professor Burgess just assumed I’d be glad to do it, and it’s nice, I suppose, that he asked. But it takes time for people to stop thinking of me as the blind guy and start treating me like a person. I don’t see the benefit in doing anything that’ll set that process back. These are the people I’ll be going out to work amongst.’

‘I get that. I do. But isn’t it possible that hearing about your experience might make you more approachable? You know that a big part of the barrier is that people are afraid they’ll end up looking stupid or insensitive.’

‘It never stopped you,’ Matt said. It could have been a dig, but then he gave Foggy his goofy, sweet smile.

‘Eat your pizza, you big goober,’ Foggy said, because, sure, the look was endearing, but he’d come to realise that Matt’s sweet nature was mercurial. It was something to enjoy, but not invest in.

Matt grabbed the abandoned slice and crammed half of it into his mouth.

Foggy took a moment to get started on his beer. It was pretty bad, honestly, but it was redeemed by the heady flavour of success: today, he’d earned his second-rate alcohol.

‘If you don’t want to do it, don’t do it,’ he said.

Matt frowned as he worked his way through the remainder of his mouthful. ‘Yeah, you’re right. And I shouldn’t worry what he thinks of me. He told me I’m destined to work in disability law. I mean, people assume that all the time, but surely he should know better? I should have been honest and told him I’m not even planning to take his class.’

‘Someone needs to tell him that it only stops being a ghetto if the gate’s left open,’ Foggy said. ‘I have zero intention of skipping down the rainbow path to queer law or queer law firms. Not that I’m not hella grateful that people make that choice. I totally am. I just don’t feel like it’s my place. It’s not the path I’ve imagined for myself for the last forever, you know? I want to be myself and do what I was always going to do.’

‘Exactly. And I don’t want to be treated like some blind prodigy for doing it.’

‘Matt, you kind of are a blind prodigy, or savant, or something. Not because you’re awesome at law, that’s pure intellect and hard work, but the other stuff.’

‘That comment is exactly why I practice misdirection every time I walk out of this room! I’m not anything special, Foggy. I’m just myself, and I don’t want to feel like a circus act when I do things that are perfectly normal for me.’

‘Alright. I’m sorry. I don’t think of you as some kind of spectacle. You know that. Or, wow, I hope you know that. But then, you probably also know that I do get a bit giddy at some of your acrobatics. I can’t help it, man! And to be honest, you seem to enjoy showing off. But if it makes you feel any better, I get just as silly over people who can play the cello. I don’t know why. It just does things to me.’

‘I don’t show off,’ Matt said. He was clearly aiming for grumpy, but the slight quirk of his lips was totally giving him away. He tried to disguise it by shoving more pizza into his mouth, because he didn’t know the meaning of subtle.

‘Drop the pouty face, Murdock. You totally do. Besides, I like it when you get into your performance zone. You’re allowed to be proud of your skills, man.’

As usual, Matt didn’t concede anything. He chewed his way through another slice of pizza, looking increasingly intense.

‘It never felt like showing off with Elektra,’ he said, eventually. ‘From the moment she tried to kick me in the face, I knew I didn’t need to hold anything back, that she wouldn’t stick around if I did.’ This time his smile wasn’t goofy or sweet. It was seventy percent enthralled and one hundred percent fierce.

It overrode the part of Foggy’s brain that should be telling him to stop and think.

Chapter Text

‘She tried to kick you?!’

Foggy’s words tugged at Matt’s attention.

‘Tried,’ he said, and it felt good to talk about it. More than good: something too sharp to be relief, but close.

‘Why? In what possible context?!’

‘She knows ballet,’ Matt said, because that was his first thought. Elektra fought like it was a dance. She made love the same way, every part of her body alert and functioning with intent. ‘Also Capoeira and Muay Thai,’ he added, because that would make more sense. ‘She’s good. I’m better.’

‘Not to be a jerk, buddy, but I’ve seen you taken out by a low-hanging tree branch.’

Matt waited.

‘Oh, my god! You let that happen on purpose! You did, didn’t you? Oh, Matt… that’s… argh! One thing at a time. Elektra tried to kick you in the head? So… what… you’d told her about all this super-senses stuff and she just thought, Hey, I know, let’s see if he can sense a foot flying at his face?!’

‘I didn’t tell her. She’d worked it out, and she wanted to make me give myself away. It worked. We fought. Like I said: I’m better.’

Not by much, not always, and, even in defeat, Elektra never failed to claim the upper hand. But that didn’t matter. Every one of Matt’s victories had been more honest than he’d thought he knew how to be.

‘And that’s why she ditched you, because you fought back?’

‘No,’ Matt said. He wasn’t going to discuss the fact that fighting had become foreplay between them, that it often lingered in their sexual encounters as well. ‘I realise it sounds… that it might be unconventional, but it was just sport, a workout. We’re well matched.’

They had been, until they weren’t: a man tied to a chair, the whisper of a blade swung and proffered. That night would stay with Matt for the rest of his life.

‘Alright. Sure.’ Foggy didn’t sound convinced. ‘But how do you know how to fight? I mean, I know your dad was a boxer, but that was a long time ago. Surely you were too young to have picked up much of his technique?’

The prospect of talking about his training, about Stick, shouldn’t have seemed like a reprieve, but the wounds were less recent than the turmoil of walking away from his father’s unrepentant and temporarily vulnerable murderer. Matt forced himself to shift focus.

‘Dad didn’t want me to fight, but he didn’t want me defenceless, either.’ Jack Murdock had understood power, knew it didn’t belong to a boxer who had nothing but his fists and his ability to take a hit, but he also understood the world they lived in. ‘He taught me how to throw a punch, how to block, some basic footwork. I took lessons later. Not so much boxing, more like mixed martial arts. The guy who trained me was a bit of a jerk, but I could trust that he wasn’t going to reveal anything he found out about me. He got me on track. I learned a lot from him. After that, I trained alone. I still do, when I get the time and space.’

‘Right. And Elektra knew this… and you fought together just… I mean, I want to say just for kicks, but in this context I’m pretty sure a pun might be a lapse of judgement caused by a surge in cognitive dissonance.’

‘Yeah,’ Matt said. ‘Yeah, we did. It was… actually, it was the best.’ He felt the familiar rush of affection and desire that came with remembering, and hoped it didn’t show.

‘Alright. I can… yeah. I can imagine that having someone who could do all the acrobatics and… and martial arts…. Because you know martial arts. You have super-senses and know martial arts, and you’re a nerd who tops his classes and studies for fun. Also, a bit of a dork. So, yep, cognitive dissonance,’ Foggy said.

Matt realised that they hadn’t really talked about Elektra since that day near the start of term. This time was still uncomfortable, but it didn’t feel the same. He didn’t feel hollow and simultaneously as heavy as lead.

‘You’re capacity to confound is apparently endless, Murdock. Who else has known, besides Elektra and your fight master dude?’ Foggy asked.

‘No one. I’d never really planned to tell anyone, but she worked it out. It was… unexpected.’

‘And is that why you told me? Because otherwise you’d have been back to having no one who knew? Not a criticism, buddy, just curious.’

‘Maybe that was part of it. Honestly, I didn’t really think it through. I’d never intended to tell you.’

In fact, even though the sentiment that had driven him to tell Foggy still felt genuine, Matt remained surprised that he’d done it.

‘Why, Matt? I mean, I’m not going to go all boa constrictor on you again, but why did you think you couldn’t tell me? What did you think my reaction would be?’

‘It wasn’t about that. I never even considered how you’d respond, because I just…. I’ve never told anyone. People are… well, they’re transient.’

‘You think I’m transient? That our friendship is situational?’

‘Maybe? Maybe not. I don’t know, Foggy. I don’t… I’ve known you for longer than anyone else who’s currently in my life, but that’s still less than a year.’

Matt could hear that Foggy was upset. It was frustrating. He hadn’t intended to be uncaring or harsh, just honest. He sat for several minutes, tension building, while Foggy took slow, deliberate sounding breaths.

‘Actually, that makes sense,’ Foggy said, after a while. ‘I hadn’t thought about it before, but yeah. Full disclosure though: I’m pretty invested in proving that we Nelsons have staying power, even if it’s gonna take a whole lot of years to make you believe it.’

Matt was relieved, and surprised. ‘That’s… I’d like that,’ he said. It didn’t matter that Foggy was being naive. It was a nice thought.

He suddenly wanted to undo some of the hurt his honesty had stirred up. ‘Look, Foggy, it’s true that I didn’t plan to tell you, but I meant what I said that day. I respect you. I haven’t really known a lot of people who show their strength by being an open book. It’s strange, but I like it.’

‘Thanks, man.’ Foggy sounded genuinely pleased.

Moments later though, he was swinging his legs, his feet making quiet shuffing sounds on the carpet. ‘Look, tell me to back off if you want, but maybe you could consider trying it for yourself: the whole open book thing. I’ve been thinking about your situation, ever since you told me about your true Kal-El self, and I still can’t come up with a solid case for keeping your abilities a secret. The cost is too high, Matt.

‘What happened before, with me grabbing you to dance, that’s how it should be all the time. I mean, not the whole ungainly-shuffle thing, but the fact that I knew you’d sense me coming. If there’s a Frisbee flying at your head while you’re crossing the lawn, you should be able to grab it… also if it’s flying at my head, because, honestly, that kind of coordination isn’t my strong suit, and, yes, I speak from experience. But you get what I mean, right? I know there’ve been reasons why you’ve done it, but you shouldn’t have to hold back if you don’t want to.’

‘Are we calling that a dance, because I’m not sure it qualifies,’ Matt said, and forced a provocative smile.

‘Is that your way of saying you don’t want to talk about it?’

‘It just wasn’t much of a dance, that’s all. I guess the rumours of your talent were greatly exaggerated.’

‘All you have to do is tell me to drop it, Matt,’ Foggy said, and his tone told Matt the conversation wasn’t going to be derailed.

‘Can… can you drop it?’ he said.

‘Sure. No problem. Sorry, buddy.’

‘It’s fine. I just… exams aren’t over yet. I don’t really want the distraction.’ It was true, but also incomplete. That kind of what if thinking was something Matt had trained himself to avoid. Indulging in it would always be a distraction.

‘Of course,’ Foggy said. His feet had stopped their shuffling at some point, and he made a slight huffing sound as he wriggled around on his bed. Eventually, Matt heard him settle against the headboard. ‘So, tell me about this training you said you do. I always suspected you were sleepwalking to the campus gym, because those abs didn’t come from nowhere.’

Matt felt himself blush. It wasn’t something he was prone to, but it had been a strange conversation. ‘Mostly, I work out here while you’re out, but it’s frustrating. There’s not really enough space. There are a few places on campus where I can go through some drills or run staircases at night, as long as I make sure no one’s around.’

‘Wait, are you saying you go out in the middle of the night for this? How often? When?’

‘Hmm. Two, sometimes three times a week?’

‘What? How did I not know this?’

‘Fogs, I can tell how deeply you’re asleep. I make sure you’re fully out of it when I leave, and before I open the door when I return.’

‘Well, at least you won’t need to bother with that anymore,’ Foggy said, like that made any sense.

‘I wouldn’t want to wake you by moving around at the wrong time.’

‘It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.’

It wasn’t fine. Foggy needed more sleep than Matt did. He really didn’t function well without it.

‘You know,’ Foggy said, before Matt could formulate a diplomatic way to make his point, ‘I’ve always thought people who keep birds in cages mustn’t be able to imagine the exhilaration of flight. I want you to fly, buddy. Now that I know, don’t make me part of the cage.’

Matt filled his mouth with cold pizza. He wasn’t hungry, but it meant he only needed to nod to show Foggy that he understood. When he finished the slice, he shut the box and got up to go wash his hands.

‘We should probably get back to work,’ he said.

Foggy groaned, but moved to start clearing his desk, anyway.

Chapter Text

Matt was glad that he had the room to himself the next morning. He was supposed to be studying, but he was too restless to sit at his desk.

He wanted to run.

He wanted the steady pounding of his feet on pavement, the impact crashing through his body, wanted the sound of his own breathing, loud in his ears.

Instead, he stretched, then did some squats. After that, he moved on to crunches.

It wasn’t the same as running.

It didn’t settle the twisting unease in his mind.

He’d been complacent. Not with physical training, although he rarely managed enough of that, but, no. Last night had made it abundantly clear that he’d become lax in his attitude.

He should have been ready.

Foggy’s suggestion that Matt could be open, that he might somehow declare his unique and troubling skill set to the whole world, shouldn’t have thrown him off balance. But, for some reason, instead of straight out rejecting the notion, Matt had tried to change the subject.

He didn’t know why he’d done it. His rebuttal should have come easily.

The idea was absurd.

There was no comparison between his own situation and Foggy’s. Matt understood, now, that people came out about all kinds of gender identities as well as sexualities. He knew it wasn’t easy or uncomplicated, and he knew it wasn’t without cost. Sometimes he heard Foggy’s heart rate spike as he stood frozen in front of his closet or on days when the smell of hair product hung heavily in the air. He heard the excess tension in Foggy’s voice and body after a bad day. Even for someone as bold as Foggy, being open was a challenge.

Matt wasn’t afraid of a challenge, but his situation was fundamentally different.

His wasn’t a fight he could win. It wasn’t one he should win.

The difference was something Foggy apparently wanted to ignore, which was fine. Foggy didn’t need to play guardian to Matt’s obligations. There was no need for Foggy to entangle himself in the complications of Matt’s existence.

The fact that Foggy was even thinking about it was Matt’s fault.

The freedom that had come from Elektra knowing what he could do had been intoxicating. With Foggy it was an entirely different experience. It was fun at times, and interesting in the conversations it invited, but it was also unexpectedly ordinary, to the point where it was starting to feel natural.

The constant reality of not having to maintain an illusion within his own living space felt more significant than any other aspect of Elektra or Foggy knowing. It was a luxury that was entirely new.

Perhaps that sense of ease had weakened the clarity he’d believed to be unshakeable.

Nothing Foggy had said the night before should have left Matt feeling the way he was feeling. It shouldn’t have caused him to toss and turn through an uncomfortable night.

The truth was simple: Matt kept his secrets, and everyone was better off.

He grunted as he pushed through a few more crunches, then collapsed with his arms sprawled above his head.

Even with her unapologetic passion for reckless behaviour, Elektra had never raised his secrecy as an issue. She’d enjoyed being the only one who knew. She’d derived endless amusement from exploiting his abilities in any number of social settings. Matt had no particular interest in delving into the conversations around him, or in reading unnecessarily intimate details from people’s scents and sounds, but he did enjoy Elektra’s delight.

She’d never questioned what his secrecy cost him.

Stick certainly hadn’t.

But Foggy was nothing like Stick or Elektra. Matt knew that. He should have been prepared for Foggy to respond differently. He should have been ready to challenge Foggy’s suggestion.

He shouldn’t have needed preparation.

Irritated, and motivated to do better, Matt flipped into position for push-ups.

He’d just gotten started though, when something caught his attention.

Foggy was back. Not at the door, but not far down the hall.

Matt should have noticed the familiar sound sooner, but he hadn’t been listening. He’d been too busy over-thinking things that shouldn’t require any thought.

He jumped up and swiped a hand towel across his face and chest. The room was heated enough to be comfortable while sitting still for hours, so sweat was clinging to his skin. His shirt caught on the residual dampness as he dragged it on.

He’d just managed to settle at his desk by the time the inevitable jiggling of the lock, and ‘You there, Matt?’ passed through the door.

‘You’re back early,’ he said, once Foggy entered the room.

There was a too-long pause, and Matt noticed Foggy’s heart was pounding.

‘What? Ah… no, I….’ The word stretched out and then Foggy made a strange, strangled sound. ‘Sorry, but I have to say this! If I didn’t know about the whole exercise thing, buddy, I’d be wondering if I’d come back at a really bad time just now. Look at you! You’re all…. Wait. It… it is because you were exercising, right? Because, I could leave if you….’

‘No!’ Matt said. ‘I mean, yes. I was exercising!’

‘Hmm. And you know you don’t have to be ashamed about it, right? It’s a perfectly natural and healthy thing to do,’ Foggy said. He was clearly struggling to contain his laughter.

‘Fog,’ Matt said, then waited for the snickering to settle. The teasing should have been ridiculous, but, just minutes ago, Matt had leapt from the floor and tried to disguise what he’d been doing. He wasn’t entirely sure why. ‘I thought your study group would go for a couple of hours, at least,’ he said. ‘Not that it’s a problem. I mean, it’s your room too. I just… is everything alright?’

‘Oh! Study group! That’s what’s behind this not-at-all-uncomfortable encounter! I wasn’t at study group. I had an appointment with Siobhan. Last one, actually, unless something new comes up.’

‘Siobhan? Oh, your counsellor, right?’ Matt asked. He felt thrown off balance by Foggy’s unexpected return and the direction their conversation had taken. He needed to stretch, cool down, and shower.

‘Counsellor, Deity of Wisdom and Hard Liquor, Queen of Take-no-Shit but Shit-on-No-One… so many things, really.’

‘Right.’ Matt smiled as he gathered his towel and shower kit, touched by Foggy’s obvious affection for Siobhan. He couldn’t imagine feeling that way about the counsellors he’d been sent to after his accident or his father’s death, but Foggy tended to bring out the best in people and then act as though it was there all along. ‘I’m going to go shower. Want to quiz each other when I get back?’

‘Sure, buddy. That’d be great. Sorry I interrupted your alone time.’ It would have sounded more sincere if Foggy hadn’t placed a particular emphasis on the words.

Matt decided it was less complicated to play it straight. ‘No problem.’

‘Actually, I, ah, I wanted to ask you something,’ Foggy said, before Matt made it out the door. ‘I’d really like to come along one night and watch one of your workout sessions, if that’s not too weird or whatever. I think it’d be like a hard reset, you know: wipe all my unconscious assumptions and overwrite them with something closer to reality; embrace the superiority of experiential knowledge over theoretical understanding; and, alright, I’m also hella curious and a little bit in awe and just want to see for myself, but yeah, mostly to reset the faulty programming. So?’

One of the things Matt had learned about Foggy, early in their friendship, was that, although he never used it maliciously, Foggy was a skilled manipulator. He was great at anticipating a gut level rejection of his wilder schemes and injecting a kind of neutral logic to forestall it. He also shamelessly laced his proposals with enough personal honesty to engender good will.

Or maybe Matt was just vulnerable to persuasion because he was still feeling off-balance. He was still trying to work out if it was weird that he’d turned something as ordinary as working out into a furtive endeavour.

Whatever the reason, by the end of Foggy’s request, Matt had shifted from an automatic no to a wavering maybe.

Chapter Text

It felt good to move.

Two exams had made for a long day. They’d been fine, but that type of prolonged, intense focus always left Matt twitchy. And then it had taken way too long for campus to quiet down for the night. He’d had to work to contain his enthusiasm until they could get going.

He’d failed.

There had been completely unwarranted comparisons to dogs and small children.

Foggy was not hilarious.

Still, Matt smiled as he began the familiar routine of warming up.

It was odd being aware of Foggy’s presence. For most of Matt’s life, the sound of someone nearby had been an automatic signal to stop doing anything unexpected. His time with Elektra had gone some way towards shifting that conditioning, but she’d been a kindred spirit, or as close to one as Matt had ever known.

Foggy’s attention felt different. Matt was keenly aware that none of this was commonplace to Foggy.

Having covered the basic stretches, though perhaps more cursorily than usual, Matt launched himself into a series of low flips and cartwheels, keeping his awareness extended beyond Foggy’s suddenly elevated heart rate and quiet gasps.

There was no one around. They were on a small patch of grass in a dead-end corner between buildings, with no security cameras nearby. It was a dangerous oversight on the part of the university, but not one that Matt wanted corrected in the next couple of years. It was the kind of place no one would visit after hours.

He started on a combination of kicks, blocks, and jabs. It was a change from his usual routine, but Foggy had wanted to set a new baseline. Besides, Matt enjoyed the challenge of improvising a fluid progression that pushed his ability to kick higher, faster, stronger; to always be three steps ahead in planning the twists and flips that would minimise vulnerabilities and add strength to his attack.

Foggy’s earlier comment about showing off flashed through Matt’s mind, and he grinned before dismissing the idea.

He wasn’t showing off. He was telling the truth.

After fifteen minutes or so, Matt made himself stop. He could go through drills for much longer, but he didn’t want to keep Foggy out too late. It had been well after midnight when they’d left their room.

‘Well that was very, very cool,’ Foggy said, a little too loudly for the time of night. ‘You’re like an action movie hero or something.’

‘I’m way cooler than that,’ Matt said, and tried not to smile at Foggy’s enthusiasm.

‘Obviously,’ Foggy said. He sounded sincere, which was harder to respond to than any refutation would have been.

Matt busied himself with putting his glasses back on, and grabbing his jacket and cane. He didn’t need the jacket. Now that he’d stopped moving, he was enjoying the sharp edge that came from the inevitable drop in temperature at this time of night.

‘Man, I don’t remember the last time I was out this late while sober,’ Foggy said. ‘You gonna be alright for your exam tomorrow? Or, well, actually, this afternoon, as in later today.’

‘Sure. Honestly, I’ll sleep better for having gotten some exercise.’

‘Well, yeah! I’m pretty sure I wore myself out just watching. If I leapt around like that, I’d be dead! That was seriously awesome, buddy. I mean, I knew it would be, but I had no idea!’

This time, Matt couldn’t help but smile.

He gestured that he was ready to go, and started walking in the direction of their dorm. Everything was still far too dialled up for him to get any benefit from his cane, but he went through the motions anyway.

Foggy fell into step beside him.

‘I know I joked about you sleepwalking to the gym,’ he said, his excitement still obvious, ‘but would that even be a thing you’d do? Not the sleepwalking, the gym. After that display, I can’t imagine there’d be much you’d get out of it.’

‘No, actually a gym would be great. More strength training and cardio is always useful,’ Matt said, even though he suspected what would follow.

‘So… you know that being blind doesn’t mean you can’t use the gym, right? Sure, you’d have to put up with more help than you actually need, and probably some offensive assumptions about what you’re capable of, but you could run on a hamster wheel, lift heavy things, punch stuff… do whatever it is that people who go to those places do.’

‘Sure,’ Matt agreed. ‘And pull my punches, lift below my strength, jog as though the treadmill’s a blessing because it keeps me safe.’

Matt was just stating the obvious, so he was surprised when Foggy grabbed his arm and pulled them both to a stop.

‘You’re allowed to be strong, Matt! You’re allowed to be fast. I’m not saying you have to do your whole backflippy, kick arse thing in front of anyone, obviously. You told me to leave that alone, and I will. But there are blind gymnasts, swimmers, runners, skiers… which… you know about, of course, because I’m not the expert here. Sorry. I’m messing this up.’

Foggy dropped his hand from Matt’s shoulder and took a deep breath. ‘Don’t push, don’t retreat,’ he muttered. ‘The thing is, I care about you, Matt, and that means I want you to do the things you love.’

Matt wasn’t going to duck out this time.

‘I know you’re trying to help, Foggy, but you don’t understand. There’s no neat separation between what I can do because of my senses, and what I can do because of training. My strategies are built around three-sixty-degree awareness. My balance isn’t something most blind people can achieve. It’s not even something most sighted people can achieve. And, yes, I know there are blind people who are exceptions. The reason I know about them is because they draw attention. That’s exactly the point. I can’t show what I’m capable of, or all those years of training become worthless.’

There was a long stretch of silence before Foggy spoke. He sounded upset.

‘Did you hear what you just said?’

Matt had. It wasn’t a statement his father would ever have allowed. It wasn’t even something Stick had said directly, but Matt knew the old man would approve.

It burned, realising how much Stick’s agenda was still shaping Matt’s mind. It wasn’t a simple matter of deciding Stick was wrong though. Matt had never told his dad about his senses, so he could only infer what his dad might say. Stick had been fully informed and very clear. Hide your strengths until they’re needed. Make it known that you’re not someone to mess with, but don’t give too much away. Keep the enemy guessing.

It all made sense. Or did it?

Matt had no idea. ‘I… hmm… I know it sounded bad, Foggy. I’m just…. I’m trying to work this out, but it’s complicated. I told you about my martial arts instructor, right? He was….’ Matt wasn’t sure how that sentence should end. ‘Maybe I haven’t spent enough time thinking things through.’

‘Anyone who made you think your talents are worthless unless you hide them is messed up, Matt.’

‘Maybe. Like I said, he was a bit of a jerk.’

‘Yeah, I know what that’s like. I had a theatre teacher once who told me that fat boys could only play supporting roles. It hurt, but, in the end, I decided she was an idiot. When I step into a courtroom to do my job, I’m not going to be anyone’s sidekick.’

‘Of course you won’t. You’re going to be an awesome lawyer, Fog.’

‘Thanks, man.’

Foggy wrapped an arm around Matt’s shoulders and began moving them towards the dorm. ‘Just do me a favour, alright? Try to remember that you said my openness is a strength. You’re plenty strong, Murdock.’

Chapter Text

Fireball was disgusting.

Matt took another mouthful and tried to work out why he’d let Foggy convince him it was suitable for a celebration. The cinnamon was real, but that was all it had going for it. It didn’t make up for the cloying sweetness. If Foggy was around, Matt would have informed him that he, Foggy Percival Nelson, was never choosing the alcohol again.

Foggy was still at his exam though.

Last one.

Hooray!

Matt took another swig. Man, it was awful. And he shouldn’t be drinking before Foggy returned. This was meant to be a shared celebration before they hit the bars and joined the ocean of students who’d be drinking to celebrate or drinking to forget.

The time after exams but preceding results was apparently complicated for a lot of people. Mostly they seemed to deal with it by drinking.

Matt’s last exam had been the previous afternoon, and it had been fine.

He took another drink. The taste was still awful, but less so. That was something he could work with.

The bottle was feeling significantly lighter by the time Matt heard a familiar jingle of keys.

‘You there, Matt?’ Foggy called. He always did that.

‘No,’ Matt said, holding back a laugh. He’d kept his voice really level so it would sound honest. He wasn’t sure if he’d spoken loudly enough though. Maybe Foggy wouldn’t hear it through the door, because of the keys and other noises that were all smooshed and tangled.

‘No!’ he said, again, then frowned. It had come out louder, but it wasn’t the same. This time there’d been way too much laughter behind it.

He was distracted from his disappointment when Foggy came through the door and then froze. Well, almost froze… or hardly moved… his heart was beating and his lungs and bowels were… well, he was still breathing and stuff, obviously.

Matt decided that it was alright not to focus on any of that.

‘You there, Foggy?’ he said, instead.

‘Sure, I’m here, buddy.’

Foggy was usually better at jokes than this.

‘You’re supposed to say no,’ Matt told him. ‘It’s funny, but only if it sounds sincere.’ Matt thought about that. ‘Except… does that make it sarcasm? Because sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Foggy.’

‘Right. Also the highest form of intelligence, if we’re going to quote Wilde. Pretty sure sarcasm’s not going to get us through law school though. Is there….’ Foggy made the symphony of sounds that meant he was moving his arms in one of his infrequent anything and everything gestures.

He was almost never stuck for words, and Matt privately suspected that his brain didn’t know how to handle it on the rare occasion it happened. That was why it made his arms wave around: to fill the gap.

The thought made Matt grin. He’d never told Foggy about his theory.

There was a creaky thump as Foggy dropped onto his bed, opposite Matt. ‘Is there a reason you got started without me, buddy? Not complaining. I just haven’t seen you get drunk during the day before. Or alone.’

‘I finished the semester yesterday, Fogs. I’m supposed to celebrate. I have nothing to do, nothing to work on, nothing to think about.’

Wow.

End of semester sounded terrible when it was put like that. Maybe it would get better now that Foggy was here. Foggy was good at celebrating. ‘Ooh! We should go dancing! You can prove that you’re as good as you say! C’mon, Foggy!’

‘It’s a bit too early for that and, anyway, I’m not sure it’s a great idea, buddy.’

That was odd. Matt knew that Foggy hadn’t lied about his skills and was hardly ever shy. ‘It’s a very good idea,’ he countered. ‘And, it will give me a chance to restore my honour. You called my moves ungainly. That was really unkind, Foggy.’

‘We both know there’s nothing ungainly about you, Murdock. You’re pretty drunk though, buddy. I’m not sure your judgement’s all it could be, right now.’

Matt huffed. ‘So… what? You think I’ll embarrass you? I won’t. Watch.’ He jumped up, and there was a slight sloshing sound as something tipped over on his bed.

Damn. The Fireball.

Foggy was quick to rescue it, which was great, because Matt was committed to proving that he was absolutely fine to go out. He checked that the floor in front of him was clear, then flipped up into a handstand and waited for Foggy to sound impressed. His legs wobbled a bit, but he pointed his toes and made it look intentional. The whole thing was kind of unpleasant, with the blood rushing to his head, but he was satisfied that his veracity was firmly established.

Unfortunately, his tuck-and-roll landed a bit harder than he’d expected.

Fortunately, the floor was quite comfortable to lie on.

‘You’re amazing, buddy,’ Foggy said.

He sounded soft, but a little bit sad?

‘Don’t be sad,’ Matt told him. ‘Have a drink! We’re celebrating.’ He flung an arm towards his bed, in case Foggy had forgotten where the bottle was. Or had Foggy put it somewhere else?

‘I think you’ve had enough for both of us,’ Foggy pointed out.

Matt thought about that for a while.

‘I think I might have,’ he confided. ‘I really don’t want to get up.’

‘I don’t think I’d want to, either, if I’d put away that much rotgut,’ Foggy agreed. ‘Maybe you should stay there, for now.’

Matt had known Foggy would understand.

He let himself focus on the wide sweeps of movement at the edges of the room, but they tilted unpredictably when he tried to track them. It was frustrating, so he focused on Foggy instead.

‘You know when we should celebrate?’ he said. ‘When we get to your place. We can go somewhere nobody knows I’m blind, and I’ll show you that I can dance… or… or you can teach me. No, I’ve got it! You can teach me before we go out! It’s much, much easier if I can feel the positions and movements first, but I can’t do that if I’m pretending I can see.’

‘Have you done that before: gone out somewhere and pretended you could see?’

Foggy sounded kind of serious or intense or something, which was annoying since they were celebrating.

‘Mmm. A little bit,’ Matt said. ‘I used to want to pass as sighted, you know? I’m not supposed to want that, but it would have made everything so much easier, especially in high school. Wouldn’t have worked there, though. Too many screens, too many books, too much concentration needed to navigate my way through crowded, smelly, echoing spaces. Too many people who thought they knew what I was capable of. Too many people who knew my name.’

Matt sat up and wrapped his arms around his knees, then rested his forehead against the stiff fabric of his jeans. It made him notice that he wasn’t wearing his glasses, but he decided that it didn’t matter.

Foggy was somewhere behind him, to the left. He'd started saying something, but Matt tuned him out. He was too busy thinking.

‘I’m always pretending, one way or another, you know,’ he said. He remembered an idiom that he’d always liked, bleak though it sometimes felt. It had a gravity that was expressive of… something. ‘Neither fish, nor flesh, nor good red herring. It’s like I exist in a great big nothing space. A… a void.’ He turned his head so that his voice would carry beyond the barrier of his legs. ‘Avoid the void,’ he said, with as much solemnity as he could muster. The deep resonance of the words made him laugh but, just as quickly, they stopped being funny. He really wasn’t making any sense. He had to try harder.

‘I can’t see, but I’m not like anyone else who’s blind, either. I don’t fit. That’s why I pay attention, you know? Try to seem like all the right kinds of normal.’ Matt rubbed his face. He felt heavy but also like he wanted to move. His legs disagreed. That was probably for the best because he needed to tell Foggy the things he should have said before, about why Matt wasn’t like him, why his situation wasn’t anything like Foggy’s.

It occurred to him that Foggy was being really quiet.

Foggy usually talked a lot.

‘Are you awake, Fogs?’

‘Sure, I’m awake, buddy,’ Foggy said. ‘It’s still the middle of the day, remember? Look, I’m going to hand you some water so you can have a drink, alright?’

Matt took the proffered water bottle and placed it on the floor beside him. It was room temperature and would definitely taste like plastic.

Foggy shuffled down onto the carpet and tapped Matt’s knee. ‘Drink,’ he said. He picked up the bottle and removed the lid. He was thoughtful like that.

Matt took a sip.

It was disgusting.

Maybe Foggy wasn’t the only one who didn’t feel like celebrating. The day wasn’t going how Matt had expected.

He put the bottle down.

‘I keep getting it wrong, and I should know better,’ he said. It was important to make Foggy understand. ‘The worst mistake you can make when you throw a punch is failing to commit… I mean, besides messing up the basic form, of course. And I know that. I’ve known it forever, but I still keep messing everything up! I can’t be normal, but that only leaves one place to go, one place I should commit: Matthew Murdock, blind man. Poor brave thing! But I hate it! Not… not because of pride, even though people’s attitudes can be really fucking offensive, Foggy. It’s… it’s not that. It’s… I don’t like faking this!’ He waved a hand at his face, even though there was nothing fake about his useless eyes, because he couldn’t remember where he’d left his cane. It didn’t matter. He was sure his meaning was clear. ‘It makes me worse than they are; worse than all the ableist assholes and patronising do-gooders. I’m so much worse than Burgess and his ignorant assumptions! I’m a fraud!’

The truth of it resonated deep within.

‘I’m a fraud,’ he repeated, and the words felt good to say out loud. They were a confession, even though Foggy must have realised the truth by now anyway.

Matt rubbed his hands over his face again and took a deep breath. ‘It’s just so difficult, you know? It shouldn’t be, but it is. I’m so privileged compared to other blind people, but instead of counting my blessings, I’m dissatisfied. I’m petulant about carrying my goddamn cane around all the time; about seeking out a guide. And you know what else? I’m so tired of pretending that I don’t know the things that I do! It’s not my fault if people talk so loudly that I can hear them from a block away! They’re so noisy, Foggy! Even their hearts are noisy. And the smells! I mean, they can be pretty bad sometimes, and I really wish people would clean their ears more, because earwax is worse than coffee breath… but… but smells are nuanced!

‘Nuuuanced.’ Matt repeated the word, drawing it out because it had such a good sound. ‘Nuanced.’

The momentary distraction passed though, as irritation swamped him again. ‘Do you know how much you can tell about a person from the way they smell?’ he demanded, ‘because, I do! Because I’ve been this way for almost as long as I can remember!’

Matt went back to burying his face against his knees. This conversation was too hard, and he wasn’t getting it right. ‘I’m failing,’ he said, and maybe that was his whole point anyway.

‘Drink some water, buddy.’

Foggy sounded like he was having a hard day.

He’d had too many of those lately.

Matt tried to drink, because simple things sometimes made Foggy happier than Matt expected, but tilting his head back made the room spin faster. Given that Matt could turn dozens of cartwheels in a row, the minor dizziness shouldn’t have messed up his ability to follow through, but it did. A flood of water ran from the lip of the bottle, down over his chin. It sparked a flare of irritation.

‘I should be better than this!’ he said. ‘This is bull-shit! That’s how Stick would say it. Bull-shit. Are you gonna work at it, Matty, or you gonna lie there like a pussy? Come on, kid. What kind of soldier you gonna be: disciplined or dead?’

Even after so many years, Matt could hear the softly spoken challenge as though Stick was standing right over him.

He took a swig of water, just to prove that he could. He didn’t spill any as he drank, but the bottle toppled over as he set it down.

Bullshit!

Bull-shit!

He was a disappointment. Always had been.

‘No kind of soldier at all, obviously. Just some failure who let Sweeney live.’ Matt had thought he was done with thinking about that piece of shit, but maybe he never would be.

Foggy reached across Matt to right the bottle, but Matt grabbed his arm. ‘Stick would’ve killed him, you know? No prisoners in war, kid. Would’ve called me a pussy. Elektra… she thought so too, in the end. A disappointment. That’s what I am.’ Matt thought about the two of them. ‘Stick would have loved Elektra. Would’ve kept her. Wouldn’t have dumped her sorry arse back at the orphanage. But… but I did the right thing, you know? I did. Dad wouldn’t have wanted me to kill him.’

‘That’s…. What? Matt…. I don’t….’

There was something wrong with Foggy.

Matt focused his attention across the small gap between them. He was still holding Foggy’s arm, so he gave it a pat.

It wasn’t Foggy’s fault if he didn’t understand. Matt probably wasn’t explaining it right.

‘Look, Matt, I’m getting a bit worried, buddy. You really don’t sound like yourself right now, and I can’t work out if it’s just because I’ve always been drunk whenever you are, or maybe you’ve never been this drunk before? You don’t look good, man. Actually, hang on….’

Matt didn’t want Foggy to worry. ‘Maybe you should have a drink,’ he said. He squeezed Foggy’s arm in encouragement.

Foggy didn’t respond though. He just shuffled about and pulled his arm back.

Matt let it go.

There was a tapping sound, which was odd.

‘Are you texting?’

‘Oh, sorry. No. I’m Googling. One sec, buddy… here it is: signs of alcohol poisoning. I’m just going to run through these for a minute. You know, just to be sure.

‘So! Cold or clammy?’ Foggy sounded chatty, in that very upbeat way that meant that he was not actually relaxed at all. His hand landed on Matt’s forehead. ‘Great start! Perfect! Neither cold nor clammy.

‘Confusion… umm… you do seem a bit... hmm… yeah, not sure about that one. Moving on!

‘You’re talking a lot, so you don’t seem to be having trouble breathing.

‘I don’t know about pulses, but I’m pretty sure you’re conscious enough to rule out heart failure.

‘Loss of coordination… alright… don’t know how to gauge that in someone like you. I mean, are they talking relative or absolute, because I don’t think you’re much worse, right now, than I am before my first coffee of the day, but, after the other night, I wouldn’t have thought it was possible for you to be this… um… never mind… what’s next?

‘You don’t seem to have lost control of any excretory functions, which is an extra blessing for you, I’m sure.’

Foggy leaned in closer. ‘No blue tinge to lips or nails. Alright! I’m going to go ahead and diagnose a frankly surprising lack of alcohol poisoning!’

Matt wasn’t surprised. He’d have known if he was poisoned, but he didn’t bother to point that out.

‘So, next step: food. It’ll have to be something from my stash, because we don’t have anything else in the room and I don’t think I should leave you alone right now.’

‘It’s alright,’ Matt said, and it was. Foggy had been talking and talking, and it was such a relief! For most of the day, the inside of Matt’s head had been noisier than all the other endless things combined. He felt around for Foggy’s face and patted it to make sure Foggy understood. ‘It’s alright,’ he repeated, because it really was. ‘You can go. It’s just the dorm.’ A troubling thought occurred to him, and he lowered his voice. ‘I’m glad we’re not at St Agnes’s. I don’t think the sisters would approve of some of my choices, Fogs.’

‘That’s... hmm. You might be right about that, buddy. They’d probably want you to take better care of your liver, for a start.’

Foggy brushed Matt’s hair back from his eyes, which was very considerate. Matt hadn’t even noticed it had fallen forward.

He smiled at Foggy to say thanks.

‘Look, Matty, I’m pretty sure your brain to mouth filter isn’t working right now, and I’m not certain I want to take advantage of that. Or, like, I really want to, because all kinds of possibly alarming questions are popping up in my head, but I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t. No such thing as drunken consent, and all.’

Matt smiled. ‘You’re a good person, Fogs. No wonder you ended up in law.’

‘You’re not even kidding, are you? Your idealism is a beautiful thing, Murdock. Drink some water, alright?’

Matt searched out the bottle and did as he was told; slowly, so that everything stayed in the right place.

‘Great. Now, I have Doritos or salted peanuts. What’s it going to be?’ Foggy was turning back from the terrible box he kept under his desk.

‘Peanuts,’ Matt said, being sure to express how completely there was, in fact, no choice to be made.

‘You’re hilarious,’ Foggy said. He sounded like he actually meant it, which was nice. ‘Now, eat up, buddy. It’s far enough into the afternoon that I’m declaring it early evening. You’ve got some serious discomfort coming your way in the morning and we have a train to catch by two.’

Something wasn’t right about that. Matt thought it over.

‘But we’re going out once you’ve finished your… Foggy, you’ve finished your exam!’

‘I have, but don’t worry about that. We’ve got so much holiday ahead of us. For now, just eat a handful of those nuts and drink a bit more water. After that, you’re slated for a chaperoned bathroom break and the full tucked-in experience.’

‘You’re really nice, Fogs,’ Matt said, because it was true.

‘You’re pretty great, too, buddy.’

Hmmmm. Buddy. Matt smiled.

‘Can we go to the bathroom now though?’ he said. ‘Because, I’m almost certain I’m going to throw up.’

Chapter Text

Even when night time finally came around, Foggy didn’t sleep.

It was partly because he was too invested in making sure Matt was breathing and not drowning in his own vomit. The drowning bit was unlikely though, since Matt had pretty much thrown up his actual stomach before Foggy managed to get him to bed.

So, no. Keeping an eye on Matt’s vitals was comparatively stress free. It was Matt’s drunken rambling and Foggy’s subsequent recollection of a year’s worth of apparently-more-disturbing-than-he’d-realised observations of Matt’s behaviour that were circling and colliding in Foggy’s mind. Those had his attention, and not because they were awesome, like an eclipse or a whale or a really good busker. No. Foggy’s thoughts were impossible to look away from because of their metaphoric alignment with a harrowing walk across an unravelling rope bridge over a deep canyon.

Good old cartoon wisdom told him to continue on his merry way without looking down,  or, like, stay distracted while simultaneously and unknowingly doing exactly what needed to be done? Where was Shrek when Foggy needed him? The guy’s methods were harsh, for sure, but they worked. Except, maybe this wasn’t like the cartoons at all, because bridges, even harrowing ones, were usually fairly linear. They had a natural progression built right in. The next step would be obvious, and so would the one after that.

So, nope. Foggy wouldn’t be sleeping any time soon.

While Matt embraced oblivion, snoring like he was being graded on it, Foggy spent hours alternating between revisiting Matt’s every drunken utterance, being visited by the ghosts of conversations-past, and analysing Matt’s general behaviour through a kaleidoscopic lens of troubling what-if’s.

Then he decided to call his dad.

It felt surprisingly mature to recognise the need for input from an actual adult. Because, yep, Foggy was way out of his depth.

Matt had been abused.

Matt wasn’t alright.

The details weren’t clear, but there was enough information for Foggy to recognise that he had no idea how to proceed. Matt had sat all alone and gotten day-drunk on alcohol they’d bought to share. That wasn’t something he’d do for no reason, and every reason Foggy could reason was an alarming one.

There was a clear difference between gossiping and seeking help for a friend, he reassured himself. Also, he was really distressed, and needed support too.

It was the right choice.

But, even after the call, he found himself staring at Matt, overwhelmed by helplessness and despair. Because, on top of all the other traumas Matt had suffered, and they were inconceivable all on their own, Matt had been abused. He’d been hurt. He was still hurting.

How had Foggy not realised that?

He dragged his gaze away from Matt, but it didn’t stop him from compulsively cataloguing the ways in which it should have been obvious all along. It was an endless sinkhole of self-recrimination, one Siobhan would have shut down with a speculative head tilt and a sober eye, but, even knowing that, it was difficult to break free.

Fresh tears prickled in Foggy’s eyes, and he let himself revisit a hesitantly hopeful voice of doubt. Matt had been stupid-drunk and making almost zero sense. Surely it was nothing. Maybe it just sounded….

But, no. It was something. Foggy knew that now, even if he wasn’t sure what that something was.

Some guy had taught an apparently non-adult Matt how to fight, had called him a soldier. Which, alright, a lot of guys were into that macho shit, whatever. But he’d called Matt a pussy and made him feel like he needed to hide his talents in order to be a bigger threat or something. There’d been talk of killing and war. Matt seemed to genuinely believe that this Stick guy would approve of Matt killing someone, and that Elektra would, as well.

And that last bit, the whole killing thing, Foggy would probably have been inclined to think he’d misunderstood, if it wasn’t for the obvious desperation in Matt’s voice when he’d insisted that he’d done the right thing. He’d sounded afraid that Foggy would judge him for it, whatever it was. That… that had made it sound like something that had actually happened… or not happened, if Foggy had understood what Matt was trying to say. But what kind of abuse could make someone sound so shaken, so ashamed of their unwillingness to kill?

Nope. It just never sounded less disturbing, no matter how many times Foggy’s mind tried to tiptoe up to it. He must have misunderstood.

But then, what would it take to train a blind kid, even one with Matt’s abilities, to fight like he could? Who’d do it, and why? The goal obviously wasn’t to win prestige on the MMA circuit, if there even was such a thing, because this was a secret.

Foggy was no expert, but after watching Matt’s workout he’d done some Googling. He knew Matt’s moves were way beyond some kind of carefully choreographed Karate Kid mash up. Matt had said he’d continued practising after he’d stopped formal training, but could a blind guy develop that much technique while working alone? Could anyone? Surely most of it must have come from the earlier training, which meant Stick was pretty seriously invested in making young Matt as dangerous as possible.

Oh, god, what if it was some bizarre cage fighting racket? Or… or…. Foggy’s mind drew a blank. There must be some nefarious possibility he was overlooking, but he had no idea what it might be.

When he saw his parents, he was going to hug them for a very long time.

Being sheltered by a loving family was a privilege he’d never take for granted again.

Chapter Text

Meeting the Nelsons hadn’t been anything like Matt had expected. Upon reflection, that was inevitable. He realised, halfway through dinner the first night, that he’d been imagining older versions of Foggy.

Ed and Anna were welcoming and friendly, but they didn’t seem to be anywhere near as exuberant as their son. And that was a relief, given that Matt hadn’t completely shaken off the effects of the previous day’s stupidity.

This was fine though. Even with the lingering headache and muscle fatigue, it was comfortable to sit back and observe the way the Nelsons calmly courted and supported Foggy’s excitement at being home.

It was pleasant in its own right, but even more so because Foggy had been subdued since waking Matt that morning. Matt had tried to apologise for messing up their evening plans, and also for the way he’d behaved, but Foggy had been quiet and careful in return. He hadn’t seemed angry, but he also hadn’t indulged in giving Matt grief like he would have if everything was fine.

Fortunately, being home seemed to be lifting Foggy’s mood. He singlehandedly regaled them with dramatic, highly exaggerated tales of impossible deadlines, evil professors, and endless hours virtuously engaged in study. He made Matt blush more than once by insisting that Ed and Anna should fully appreciate Matt’s success at keeping their wayward child on the righteous path towards facilitating state sanctioned, institutionalised justice. It was far from true, but Matt smiled through his discomfort. If Foggy was ready to include Matt in his hyperbole, then it was likely that things would be normal between them by morning.

Matt answered some politely neutral questions about undergrad and Columbia, but, overall, Ed and Anna seemed content to let Foggy hold the floor. It was nice.

Anna excused herself soon after they’d finished eating. She was a medical receptionist at a busy oncology department, and worked a fortnightly rotation of early starts and late finishes. For the rest of the week she’d be leaving the apartment by six am. She placed a hand on Matt’s shoulder as she rounded the table, and paused to tell him that she was glad he’d come. Before Matt could respond, Anna had moved on. She stopped to ruffle Foggy’s hair and make a loud kissing sound against his head.

Ed pulled Matt’s attention away from their interaction.

‘Do you enjoy movies, Matt? The reason I ask is because I watched one with the audio description turned on a couple of nights ago, just to see what it was like, and it was inconceivably bad.’

The frankness of Ed’s tone made Matt smile. ‘They usually are, and mostly I avoid them. I don’t mind, sometimes, if they’re based on a story I already know. Then I can get by with minimal description from Foggy.’

‘Minimal! My lavish descriptions aren’t minimal, Murdock!’

Anna was gone, and Foggy had obviously tuned back in to the conversation.

‘Fogs, we both know you stray towards social commentary more than description but, fine, I’ll concede that the details you remember to provide are abundantly lavish. To answer your question though, Ed, I don’t really enjoy movies with the stilted, formal audio, no.’

‘I honestly can’t imagine anyone does,’ Ed said. There was nothing apologetic or pitying in his tone. ‘Do you play Scrabble?’

‘Yes,’ Matt said, at the same time as Foggy groaned.

‘Noooooo! Oh my god, why didn’t I see this coming? This is a disaster. Do you know why there’s only one Rabbit in the Hundred Acre Woods? Because if there were two, they’d sit around playing Scrabble all day! The rules! The rules! We must play by the rules! It can’t possibly be a word if it’s not in the dictionary, no matter how many bajillion people are using it!’

‘And that would make you Tigger, I suppose?’ Ed said.

‘Hell yeah, I am!’ Foggy started singing some ridiculous song, possibly ad lib.

Matt listened for a while, then addressed himself to Ed while Foggy practically bounced in his chair. ‘Honestly, I think he’s more like Pooh: goodnatured, generous, caring, friendly. Prone to saying odd things that end up making a lot of sense,’ he added, then felt uncomfortable about it. He could feel the prickle of heat at his neck, but weeks of overhearing awful comments about Foggy had caused Matt to compile an endless defence in his head. Expressing it here was probably a better outlet than fighting every idiot on campus. Maybe.

‘That, he is. He’s a good boy.’ Ed sounded proud.

Somewhere along the way, Foggy had stopped singing. ‘I… ah, I’m-’ he began. The shift from exuberant to... something... grabbed Matt’s attention and he tried to tune in more carefully. ‘I’m tired,’ Foggy said, and Matt knew he was. He'd been unsuccessfully stifling yawns all day. Still, it sounded like a lie. ‘I’m going to head up to bed.’

‘Should I come too?’ Matt asked. They weren’t sharing a room, but it would allow Foggy a chance to let Matt know if he’d done something wrong.

‘Actually, Matt, I was wondering if you’d help me in the kitchen. We’ve put some Braille labels on the controls for the oven and microwave and such, but I thought it might be a good idea if I showed you around in there. Putting the dishes away should help you get a feel for where everything is, right?’

‘Sure. That would be useful, thanks.’ Matt kind of expected Foggy to object to him being put to work on the first night of his visit, not that Matt minded, but Foggy said nothing about it. He’d stood up from the table while they were talking and was standing behind Ed’s chair.

‘Goodnight, Dad,’ he said, and gave Ed a hug that lasted a while. It ended with a faint kiss, probably against Ed’s hair. ‘Matt, I’ll be in my room, if you want to come in when you’re done. Otherwise I’ll see you in the morning. You, ah, you remember where everything is, right?’

Foggy had given a careful tour soon after they’d arrived that afternoon.

‘Of course,’ Matt said. ‘I’ll see you when I come up.’

‘Goodnight, sunshine,’ Ed said. ‘It’s good to have you home.’

That prompted another hug from Foggy, and then he left the room.

Ed gave Matt the general rundown of the kitchen, checked that the additional labelling was clear and useful, then got to work washing the dishes. Matt dried them and stacked them on the bench beside the sink. Handling the dishes confirmed what he’d suspected while they ate: everyone’s khao pad gai had been served in a bowl, and each of them had been provided with a spoon as well as a knife and fork. All the water glasses had heavy, wide bases.

‘They’re from Mexico,’ Ed said, as Matt picked one of them up to dry. ‘Anna bought them online the day after Candy turned ten. She’d decided it was the magical milestone where cheap glassware and plastic were no longer necessary. Then she broke one against the edge of the sink the first time she washed them,’ Ed gave a soft laugh, ‘but we still have the other five. They have a greenish tint to them, darker at the bottom where the glass is heaviest. The irregularities in the sides are tiny air bubbles. They’re meant to be there, apparently.’

Matt was touched by the thoughtful description, but also the message implied.

‘I won’t be offended if you serve my meal in a bowl and yours on a plate,’ he offered. ‘Plates are fine for most things, but bowls are easier for others. It depends on the meal.’

‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ Ed said, ‘though I’d probably just ask what you’d prefer.’ He washed another dish before continuing. ‘I always use these bowls for stir fry, but I did choose the meal because I thought it would simplify things.’

‘Thank you. It was lovely.’

‘It’s not a problem, Matt. You’re welcome here, and part of that is working out what makes things harder for you, and what makes them easier. We’d do that for any guest.’

Matt could hear that it was the truth, and didn’t let himself dwell on all the unnecessary adjustments the Nelsons were likely making on his behalf. ‘What colour are the bowls?’ he asked. It didn’t matter to him, he rarely thought about colour, but he wanted Ed to know that he’d appreciated the information about the glasses.

‘They’re brown, although Anna insists they’re closer to a murky green. But she also thinks my favourite blue shirt is aqua and my black sweater is navy. It’s strange how that happens. I used to think she was just pushing my buttons.’

‘Feel free to tell her that I agree with you. The bowls are definitely brown.’

‘Exactly!’ Ed said. A few seconds later he laughed. ‘Oh. Right.’ He finished washing, then turned to lean against the sink while the water emptied.

Matt kept drying. Ed was watching him, and the moment became increasingly uncomfortable.

The water gurgled in the drain.

‘You’re an interesting young man, Matt. Listen, I know we’ve just met, but I wanted to ask you something. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.’

‘Alright,’ Matt said. He’d suspected there was an ulterior motive behind the invitation to help with the dishes, though he had no idea what it could be.

‘How’s Foggy really doing? At Columbia, I mean. He hasn’t said much, but he’s sounded more stressed since… well, since he came home for recess, and we’re worried.’

That was not anything Matt would have predicted. ‘I… maybe you should talk to him,’ he said.

‘You’re right, and we will, of course.’

Ed let out a long breath. ‘I should have started this differently. Last time he was home, Foggy talked to Anna and me about… well, about how he doesn’t feel comfortable with being a man. I can’t say I fully understand, but we love our kid and we support him. I wouldn’t bring it up, but he’s told us that you know and that you’ve been respectful and kind. We’re so grateful for that, but we’re worried that he’s being given a hard time. There were some incidents at high school, and I know he’s not a child anymore, but we just want to be sure that he’s not struggling. Kids like Foggy, they can slap a smile over anything and make you believe their world is sunshine and rainbows. I’ve seen him do it more than once. The thing is, I don’t want to lose him and spend the rest of my life wondering why I didn’t see the signs. It’s so hard with him living away from home. But you see him every day. I’m not trying to make it your responsibility, but I wondered if you had any idea how he really is.’

Matt put down the bowl he’d been drying. ‘Do you really think that’s a thing Foggy would do?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know. I want to say no, but so does every parent.’

‘Foggy’s amazing.’

‘Yes. He is. That doesn’t make people indestructible though. Look, I’m sorry, Matt. I shouldn’t have brought this up.’

‘No, it’s fine. I… I grew up in residential care and the occasional foster placement. I know these things happen.’

Matt took a moment to gather his thoughts, and found himself comparing Foggy to the kids he’d known who didn’t make it to adulthood. ‘I really don’t think you need to worry about Foggy like that. Things aren’t perfect, and sometimes he’s stressed, but I’m not the only friend he has. I think he gets along with everyone on our floor… probably with most of our dorm.’

Matt decided not to mention the counsellor, because Ed hadn’t.

‘That sounds like my sunshine,’ Ed said. He grabbed a spare tea towel and picked up a pan. ‘How ‘bout we get finished here so you can go see what the demon unicorn is up to.’

Matt was glad for the change of tone. ‘That’s a new one. He told me he’s a cross between a shark and a Labrador.’

‘Eh, the hybridising started when he was young. Choose anything sweet and bubbly then combine it with something relentless and terrifying, and that’s our Foggy.’

Matt smiled at the affection in Ed’s voice. ‘And what about Candy?’ he asked.

‘Hmm… she’s more of an unstoppable force than a particular creature. Foggy created a nickname for her in interpretive dance, once, and tried so hard to make it stick. It was hilarious. You should get him to show you.’

Matt wasn’t bothered, but he didn’t make a joke of it. He just waited for Ed to catch up.

Ed sighed. ‘Am I worse at this than most people, or do you put up with this all the time?’

‘The people who never forget are worse. They act like it’s the defining aspect of who I am, and tend to be impressed with themselves for being so aware.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that. But I notice you didn’t say if I’m being particularly slow.’

‘It’s fine. Honestly, I’m never offended by genuine mistakes. There’s no time limit where it begins to be a problem.’

‘I can see why my son likes you, Matt.’

Matt held back his smile, and picked up a glass. ‘Top left?’ he said, gesturing vaguely with his free hand.

Chapter Text

When he woke, the following morning, Matt could tell that the worst of the toxic cocktail of propylene glycol, and artificial flavours and sweeteners was out of his system. Foggy had sounded sceptical the previous day when Matt had insisted that not all of the ill effects were from intoxication, but it was true.

Of course, most of them had been.

It was a long time since Matt had been that drunk. He’d liked it: not the after-effects or the fact that he’d let Foggy down, but the vague blurry edges and the feeling of intentionally losing his grip.

He’d come to realise, after Elektra, that the experience of falling, both literal and metaphoric, was something he’d been flirting with for years.

Maybe that should be alarming, but it wasn’t.

Recently though, he’d lost the thrill of free-fall and become caught up in a poorly executed tumble, nothing but awkwardly splayed elbows and knees.

Elektra had thrown him off balance. The high of being with her, of falling with her, had been the most exhilarating experience, so it wasn’t until after she'd left that the true significance of their entanglement began to twist in his gut: Elektra knew about his senses, about his abilities, and the world hadn’t fallen apart. Matt hadn’t realised he’d thought it would, and yet something had kept him from ever telling, even when it put an impossible strain on his relationships. Something had always made him feel wrong for even wanting to talk about it.

Not some thing.

Someone.

Good with the bad, Matt reminded himself: without Stick, he wouldn’t be where he was now.

But maybe it was time to re-examine some things.

Telling Foggy about his senses had been a good move. It was fun, because Foggy was geared towards fun, but it was also practical and sensible. It allowed Matt to be as self-sufficient as possible within his own home. It allowed him to be stronger.

So maybe the changes weren’t smooth, but they were good.

Drinking like that though…. Matt knew, despite the fact that he and Foggy weren’t talking about it, that he’d been a mess. That wasn’t productive, no matter how pleasant the release.

He could choose to do better. It had been an intense year, but this break could be an opportunity to refocus. Once he returned to summer housing, his days could be structured around meditation, training, the routine transcription work he picked up every summer, and reading in preparation for next term. Self-discipline, kid. If you’re not calling the shots, who do you think will be?

Fortunately, Stick’s obvious respect for meditation had led Matt to work hard at it, despite his childish doubts. He knew his focus was solid. In the past eleven years or so, he’d probably spent as much time in the lotus position as his grandmother had spent on her knees. Maybe, once St Agnes’s was far enough in the past, Matt would try to balance his tally.

For now, he positioned himself on the floor and began to observe his breath, accompanied by the soft sounds of Anna beginning her day.

By the time Matt stood up to stretch and shower, Ed was leaving for work. Foggy was in the kitchen, rattling dishes and singing under his breath. The smell of decent coffee was heavy in the air.

Matt rushed through his ablutions, then headed downstairs.

It was odd, the way the Nelsons’ presence lingered even though they’d left for the day. It was even stranger to notice how much Foggy was at home here. In Matt’s mind, Foggy was just as much a creature of cramped, generic living spaces as Matt was.

‘You’re cooking?’ he said, as he walked into the kitchen.

‘Good morning to you, too, my floopy haired friend! And yes! I am making the best waffles you’ve ever tasted.’

‘Good morning, Mr Nelson,’ Matt said, with flawlessly performed courtesy, then smiled. ‘You’re chipper.’

‘I’m home. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t want to live here all the time, but… eh. It’s kind of nice to land somewhere comfortable every now and then, you know?’

Matt didn’t know. ‘That makes sense,’ he said, anyway. ‘So, waffles? Anything I can do?’

‘Not this time, thanks. Just sit yourself down and be impressed. Ooh, actually, grab two mugs from the cupboard first, and I’ll pour the coffee.’

Breakfast was good: fresh strawberries and banana on perfectly crisp waffles, rich coffee, and the absence of hundreds of students in varying states of crisis. Matt and Foggy spent the morning over-analysing their recent exams, predicting the likely success or failure of their year mates, constructing elaborate models for overhauling both the education and legal systems, and gradually letting the lack of deadlines settle under their skins.

They were sprawled in the living room, their conversation drifting, when Foggy jumped to his feet with more energy than could possibly be warranted.

Matt was familiar with the phenomenon, but it was usually the result of Foggy spending too many hours in communion with a textbook.

This time, his wary anticipation didn’t have long to mature.

Foggy clapped his hands together and took a deep breath. ‘New challenge, Murdock,’ he said. ‘Your super-powered self against my home-game advantage. Hide and go seek, played against the clock. You get bonus hiding time, obviously, because I already know all the amazing spots, but when it’s my turn to hide, you have to bamboozle your super-hearing with terrible 80’s electronica so you don’t track me before you even begin. You can turn the music off when you start seeking. Loser makes lunch. Those are my terms.’

Matt pulled himself upright. Hide and go seek? Seriously? He must have played as a child, but he couldn’t remember for sure. ‘80’s electronica?’ he said, while he let the idea settle. ‘What did I do to make you hate me?’

‘Aw, I don’t hate you, buddy. Fine, the genre’s negotiable.’

‘That’s good to know. Thanks, Fog. And, I guess, in the interest of sportsmanship, I should point out that electronica might work for blocking out speech, and also destroying my will to live, but something with a thumping base has a better chance of covering footfalls and doors.’

‘Better chance?’

Matt smirked.

Chapter Text

Over the next few days, they played increasingly outlandish games of hide and go seek.

Matt was endlessly amused by Foggy’s efforts to manipulate conditions to his own advantage. The problem was, Matt was agile, strong, and compact, which made him good at hiding in unexpected and improbable places. Also, without significant audio distortion, and with a little effort, he was able to pinpoint the neighbours in their apartments, as well as the people out walking on the street.

Locating Foggy was almost instinctive and took no effort at all, and Matt, even allowing for an occasional missed step or collision with a door frame, was faster at moving through the apartment.

Trying to come up with restrictions that posed a challenge but didn’t take away Matt’s ability to navigate the space was tough.

That didn’t deter Foggy.

Foggy wasn’t a quitter.

Fortunately, he was a good cook. Matt hadn’t made a meal all week.

Not that he’d have minded. Several of the sisters had been determined that he should be able to prepare at least basic meals, and he’d found, early on, that he was comfortable in a kitchen. The step by step preparation and timing usually lulled him into a sense of peace.

But, Foggy was obligated to make lunch, and Matt was not going to relent on that. Not until Foggy admitted that Matt was the all time champion of hide and go seek.

And, despite Matt offering his services, it was always Ed or Anna who prepared the evening meal.

They seemed genuinely happy to do so.

You boys have earned a rest, Anna insisted, any time Matt asked. It didn’t sit comfortably with him, given her work schedule. Since that first night, he hadn’t even been allowed to help with the after-dinner cleanup.

He tried to take comfort in the fact that Foggy seemed unfazed. Apparently, it was a Nelson family tradition for the first week of break to be a time to let go of responsibilities and relax.

Which meant it was a shame that Ed and Anna couldn’t know about the games of hide and go seek. Problematic sensory acuity issues aside, they’d probably have been delighted by the ridiculousness. Although, Ed’s idea of a game was more sedate than Foggy’s. On the second night of Matt’s stay, Ed had pulled out an accessible Scrabble set and invited Matt to play.

The first game had been a little uncomfortable. Matt was embarrassed that they’d gone to the trouble and expense of buying something like that just for his short visit. Also, he wasn’t sure if he should hold back or really apply himself, and at the same time wondered if Ed would assume he should go easy on the blind guy.

Once Matt worked out that he and Ed were fairly well matched though, he relaxed and began to enjoy himself. The more they played, the more he noticed how much Foggy took after his dad. Ed was playfully competitive, had a broad vocabulary, and was good at spotting opportunities to force an advantage. He was also a companionable player, never making Matt feel like the competition was more important than the enjoyment of the game. Between turns, they talked about current events, local politics, law and the legal profession. Like Foggy, Ed seemed genuinely satisfied with Matt’s successes as well as his own.

The one time Anna joined them, Matt discovered that she was the kind of player who knew all the strange little words that made use of tight spaces and congested bonus squares. She didn’t seem to care about winning or even keeping score, but clearly loved the intricacy of the puzzle. She seemed intrigued by Matt’s ability to hold a reasonably reliable layout of the game in his mind, though she didn’t say much about it.

Foggy didn’t play. That wasn’t surprising, given that the game was antithetical to both his enjoyment of language and his sense of fun. But he didn’t seem bothered by Matt taking up Ed’s time, and seemed happy to spend his evenings watching movies or hanging out in his room. That was probably good, since he and Matt were spending a lot of time together every day.

On Friday night, almost a week after they’d arrived, Foggy had plans to meet up with some friends from undergrad who he hadn’t seen in a while. He’d sounded sincere when he’d insisted that Matt was welcome to join them, but Matt had declined. Being the only stranger in a group of reminiscing friends was unlikely to be enjoyable.

It threw Matt, a little, when he found out that Anna had plans as well. Her fortnight of early starts had ended, and she had a couple of days off before her new roster began, so she was having dinner and drinks with a friend. Ed assured Matt that it was a regular occurrence and not something he ever tagged along for.

After Foggy and Anna left for the evening, Ed surprised Matt by inviting him to help prepare dinner. They decided on chicken wraps, but then Ed hesitated.

‘What, ah, which part of this process can I give you?’

‘I’d rather make the salsa,’ Matt said. He couldn’t detect any kitchen gloves, and he hated the smell of raw meat lingering on his skin. Onion would be marginally better.

While they cooked and ate, Ed talked about his extended family. It was pleasant. The anecdotes were entertaining, even without the quirks and tangents Foggy would have scattered throughout, and they also provided Matt with a schema of names and familial connections.

Halfway through their meal, Matt decided that Ed was doing it deliberately. He was operating under the assumption that Matt would meet these people eventually, and wanted to help him get his bearings.

Matt remembered Foggy insisting that Nelsons had staying power. Five days after meeting Foggy’s parents, the idea seemed less fanciful than it had.

Matt expected that they’d play Scrabble once the after-dinner cleanup was done, but Ed didn’t take down the board. Instead, he suggested that they move to the living room.

He didn’t sound as relaxed as he generally did, so Matt was a little wary.

He understood why Ed had asked about Foggy, that first night, but there wasn’t much more that Matt could tell him. He didn’t want to share details that weren’t his to provide, and he wasn’t sure they’d be of much help anyway.

It occurred to him that Foggy hadn’t gone to any trouble with his appearance since they’d been at the apartment. Like Matt, he’d been lounging around in jeans and sweaters. It was possible, then, that Ed and Anna had never observed the calm certainty, far deeper than any momentary stress, that had become Foggy’s base note whenever he made a deliberate choice about how he wanted to present himself to the world. If Matt could explain the way Foggy’s spine straightened and his steps landed more firmly; the way his breath sank to his abdomen instead of staying caught up in his chest; the way he sat differently and moved differently; the way that, under the sweet scent of hair product, Foggy smelled different as well….

But those weren’t things Matt could talk about.

He sat on the couch.

Ed took the nearby armchair and leaned forward, forearms braced on his thighs. He wasn’t a fidgety man, but his fingers began brushing loosely against each other in a steady rhythm.

Matt waited.

After a few preparatory breaths, Ed seemed to decide to just jump in. ‘You know, Matt, being a father is the most important thing that’s ever happened in my life. I love Anna, of course, and our marriage is a good one, but if she wasn’t happy, if she needed to leave, I’d understand. It would hurt, but I’d move on. But becoming a parent… it shapes every single moment of your life. There’s no other connection like it.

‘Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that it’s not hard work at times. There’s nothing magical about loving your child that means you suddenly know what you’re doing. Being a parent doesn’t make you free of frustration, tiredness, or even the plain selfish desire to do whatever the hell you please. But even while you’re feeling those things, you’re still a dad. You want your kid to be happy, safe, and well. You want the world to be kind to them. You don’t want anyone to do them wrong.’

Matt knew he was being watched, but he wasn’t sure what to say. He nodded a little, hoping that it would show that he understood. It was obvious how much Ed loved his kids.

Ed’s hands stilled. ‘Your dad isn’t here, and he hasn’t been for a long time. I’m sorry about that. I know it doesn’t change anything, but I am. I’m sorry for all the things he missed out on, because you’re an amazing young man, but more than that, I’m sorry he wasn’t there to protect you. I know it’s not his fault, I’m not talking about blame, but that doesn’t change the fact that he couldn’t be there for you when someone hurt you.’

Matt’s mind went blank.

This wasn’t where the conversation was supposed to go.

This wasn’t anything that made sense.

Ed was supposed to be talking about Foggy. He was concerned about Foggy.

Matt stood up without thinking, then froze, torn between walking out or arguing that Ed was wrong.

Ed stood, as well. ‘It’s alright, Matt. Just listen, please. Foggy talked to me the night before you came here. He didn’t go into too much detail, but he said he was worried about you. He’s concerned about some things you said, some things he’s observed.’

Matt started walking. It was hard to take a breath. The room around him was distorted and he hadn’t picked up his cane. He clipped the corner of the coffee table, but it barely registered.

‘He cares about you, Matt.’

Ed was in the way, standing between Matt and the door. ‘I care about you,’ he said. ‘I care that someone hurt you. Foggy said you called him Stick?’

Matt’s hands tightened into fists. ‘He didn’t hurt me. He helped me. And it was a long time ago.’ The words were forced out in clumps, caught between sharp breaths.

‘Sweetheart… it doesn’t matter how long ago it was.’

Matt cringed. He couldn’t breathe, and Ed sounded so fucking sympathetic.

‘I want to go to bed.’ It was a lie. He didn’t know what he wanted.

‘Of course. Just give me one more minute.’

Ed was in the way, but Matt knew he could push past him.

For some reason, he didn’t do it.

‘Move,’ he said.

‘Matt.’

‘What?’ Matt snapped. He was panting. His head was swimming.

Ed held out his arms, but Matt wasn’t going to acknowledge that he could tell.

‘Can I give you a hug?’ Ed asked, and for some terrible reason that was harder to ignore.

It made no sense.

Matt was angry and confused, but he found himself walking forward and leaning against Ed’s chest, not seeking an embrace but just some kind of steadying contact, something stable and real.

He felt Ed’s arms close around him, then lost track of everything as he buried his face against Ed’s shoulder and let out a frustrated sound. There wasn’t enough air in his lungs to give voice to the anger that surged. His breath stuttered and gasped. He twisted the rough fabric of Ed’s shirt in one hand, while the other one curled tightly and thumped against Ed’s chest.

‘I want to go to bed,’ he insisted, when he could get the words out. Even to his own ears, it sounded more like desperation than an actual plan.

‘It’s alright, sweetheart. Just stay for a bit,’ Ed said. His grip on Matt tightened, and Matt let himself collapse into it. He needed to catch his breath.

They stood that way for a while, Matt’s hand cramping from the strength of its grip on Ed’s shirt, his breath shuddering between impotent sounds.

Then Ed’s hold shifted, and he began running his fingers through Matt’s hair. Eventually, Matt’s breathing slowed.

‘How old were you?’ Ed asked.

There was no point in Matt pretending that he didn’t understand the question. ‘Almost twelve. He was gone before I turned thirteen.’

‘Hmm. Eleven, then. And Stick was some kind of teacher or instructor or something, right?’

‘Yeah,’ Matt said.

Something like that. Or nothing like it. He’d never really understood what part Stick was trying to play.

That had been made abundantly clear.

‘Look, the guy was a bit of a jerk.’ For some reason, the words felt like a confession, full of guilty feelings and truth. ‘I know he was,’ Matt insisted. ‘But that doesn’t mean he didn’t teach me things that I needed to know.’

Ed pulled back, possibly trying to make eye contact. His hands rested heavily on Matt’s shoulders.

‘Listen to me,’ he said. ‘I have some customers who are jerks. Hell, I even have the odd family member I’m not too fond of. The thing is, none of them have any real power over me. That’s not true when you’re eleven and dealing with an adult who’s supposed to be looking out for you.’

Matt jerked back further, and Ed’s touch was gone.

That was fine.

‘He was helping me! He did help me! So, maybe some of his methods were a bit unconventional. So what? My dad… he told me once that a perfectly landed fist to the jaw is the best teacher you can get. No amount of instruction can show you the flaws in your defence as clearly as the bruises when you fail. Some teachers understand that.’

‘Are you saying Stick hit you?’

Matt wanted to walk away. He wanted Ed to close the distance between them. He didn’t want to be seen.

‘Not like that! He taught me self-defence. He used martial arts to teach me how to move safely, because I can’t see!’ It was the story Matt was supposed to have given the sisters, if they’d ever thought to ask about any bruising they’d observed. They never had.

‘According to Foggy, he called you names, put you down, made you believe you were worthless if you didn’t do things his way. Tried to goad you into violence. Did he hit you, Matt?’

‘Of course! He trained me. You can’t learn these things without practise!’

‘Why were you learning them at all?’

‘I told you! He taught me things I needed to know.’

‘I see.’ Ed spoke softly, with no particular inflection in his voice. ‘And was there ever any sexual aspect to this training?’

‘No! Of course not!’ Matt turned away and began to pace. ‘If anything, it was the opposite. Stick has no tolerance for relationships or hormones: distractions, he calls them.’

‘Alright,’ Ed said. ‘Thank you for answering that question.’

‘Stop treating me like I’m a frightened child! I’m not broken! I’m not fragile!’

‘I know that, sweetheart. I’m treating you like I’d treat one of my own, and neither of them are broken or fragile, either.’

‘You didn’t seem so sure about Foggy the night we arrived! Or was that some strange attempt to bond with the poor, abused, disabled guy?’ Matt gave a desperate laugh. ‘Was the whole invitation to come here some feel-good effort to do your bit for the tragic victim?’

Angry tears were beginning to form. He reached under his glasses to brush them away.

‘Matthew, that’s enough.’

The tone was forceful and jarring.

Matt stilled. He tuned in to Ed’s body, his posture, his position in the room.

Neither of them moved for a long moment, then Ed took a deep breath and sat himself on the couch. ‘Please.’ He held out a hand.

Matt ignored it, but sat on the couch anyway, perched on the edge at the furthest end. He felt numb and unfocused, the churning arguments and desperate anger all wiped away by the force of Ed’s response.

It didn’t make sense that the night had ended up like this.

Nothing about Ed made sense.

‘I talked to you about Foggy because I get scared for my son. The world can be hard enough when you blend in, and you know Foggy – he’s never done anything but stand out. Crazy thing is, I adore him for it. But I still have my share of sleepless nights, imagining the worst.

‘I should trust that he’d talk to me if he wasn’t alright, but fear isn’t a rational thing, especially when it comes to your child. So I asked your opinion. There was nothing more to it than that.

‘And you weren’t invited here as some pity project. You were invited because Foggy clearly enjoys your company, and because he mentioned that you were going to be staying on campus, otherwise. We like having guests. We like a full house.

‘Beyond that, I didn’t expect to be so selfishly glad that you’re here, but I am. I like you, Matt, and the more I get to know you the less I worry about my son being away from home.

‘All of that is separate from the fact that, last week, you got very drunk in the middle of the day and said some things that made Foggy concerned. You talked about being expected to kill someone, and about being ridiculed for not doing it.’

Ed’s words had been washing over him, but that caught Matt’s attention. If he’d talked about Sweeney, what else might he have said? And why was he even thinking about that piece of shit? It had taken a while, but Matt had put the whole incident with Elektra’s little surprise firmly behind him. 

‘I was drunk and rambling,’ he said. It was the truth, but he gave it more weight than it was worth.

‘Very drunk, not long after noon. That might be normal for some students, but Foggy assures me that it’s not normal for you.’

‘It was a difficult term.’

Ed made a sound that might not have been completely dismissive, but still communicated that he wasn’t convinced.

‘I know there are some things Foggy’s not telling me, Matt. He’s trying to respect your privacy while still making sure you’re alright, and I understand that desire. But it means I don’t know how concerned I should be.’

‘You shouldn’t be concerned at all,’ Matt insisted.

‘I am, though.’

Matt was aware that he’d begun to fidget with the cuff of one of his sleeves. It was a habit that numerous sisters had tried to break him of, over the years, but right now he didn’t care.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t have dragged Foggy into this. I shouldn’t have upset him.’

‘This isn’t about Foggy, sweetheart. I’m concerned for you. It’s normal for a boy to want to live up to the expectations of a man he respects, even if it means doing or being something that makes him uncomfortable; even if he needs to pretend to be tougher than a child should be. You’re a good kid, Matt, and I’m sure you did your best, but I’m concerned for all the times when no one was there for you, when no one protected you. I’m sad that an eleven-year-old boy was left to deal with so much on his own.’

Matt pushed the flat of his fist against his mouth and took a few deep breaths through his nose. Once he was sure that he had control over his response, he pulled his hand away.

‘I’m tired,’ he said.

‘I’m sure you are. Why don’t you rest here, and I’ll make us some tea?’

‘I’d….’ He was going to say that he’d rather go to his room, but it wasn’t true. He didn’t know what he wanted, but it wasn’t that. ‘Alright,’ he said. ‘Thanks. Thank you.’

Ed detoured on his way to the kitchen, pausing to brush Matt’s hair from his forehead. ‘I wish I’d been there, kiddo,’ he said.

It was ridiculous. The Nelsons wouldn’t have been able to deal with Matt’s sensory meltdowns any better than the sisters had, and Ed certainly wouldn’t have been able to take on Stick.

Matt let himself slump against the back of the couch and refused to think about it.

Chapter Text

Breakfast was uncomfortable. Foggy had enjoyed his night out, but he’d slept late and been woken by his mom calling him down to eat. Matt was already sitting at the table, along with Foggy’s dad.

Matt had been in bed when Foggy got home, and now he seemed a little withdrawn. Or maybe that was Foggy’s imagination. Matt was being his usual polite and attentive self, but there seemed to be something brittle about it. Anger, Foggy supposed, or betrayal, maybe. His dad hadn’t gone into detail, but Foggy was sure their conversation hadn’t been an easy one.

He knew, rationally, that he hadn’t done the wrong thing by talking to his dad about his concerns, but his heart was a spineless flip-flopper. It was waving its tiny arms and screaming at him to get on his knees and beg Matt for forgiveness.

‘I’ve got to head down to the store for a while. There’s some paperwork to sign off on and a couple crates of new stock to look over. I was planning on taking Matt along with me to show him around.’

The words jolted Foggy out of his not-at-all-angst-ridden thoughts. ‘Dad,’ he said, ready to object. Nelson’s Hardware was his father’s eldest child, and one that he had a right to be proud of, but it was hardly the time to drag Matt into an unknown environment with nothing to do.

‘I’d like that. Thank you, Ed,’ Matt said.

He sounded like he meant it.

Huh.

‘That’s a lovely idea. Foggy, does that mean I can steal you away for lunch and maybe a bit of shopping? I feel like I’ve hardly seen you since you got home.’

Foggy rubbed his hands over his face. Maybe he needed to chill, a little. ‘Yeah, of course, Mom. That’d be great. You sure though, buddy? We could wander over to the store another day if you’d rather join us for lunch or something.’

‘It’s fine,’ Matt said. ‘I’d like to check out the store. You should spend some time with your mom.’ He didn’t sound resentful or angry. If anything, he maybe looked a little shy… which made total sense, because Matthew Michael Murdock was, in fact, a conundrum.

‘Well, if you’re sure,’ Foggy said. ‘Fair warning, though: you’re signing up for the kind of hardware puns that no true comedian would take out of their toolbox. I’m on the level. Dad absolutely has a screw loose when it comes to that place.’

Matt responded with an adorable little furrowed-brow-and-head-tilt combination. ‘Foggy, that was awful,’ he said. ‘Honestly, if you thought that wood cut it, you’re nuts.’

‘Hmm. That was acceptable for a newbie to hardware puns, buddy, but you didn’t exactly nail it.’

‘Boys.’

The word reached Foggy’s ears in surround sound, because his parents were accomplished at speaking in unison.

Foggy took a deep breath.

He stood up, gathered his dishes, and directed his feet towards the kitchen, while mentally counting to ten.

He got to six.

‘I need to head up and shower,’ he said. ‘Let me know when you’re ready to go, Mom.&rsquo

Matt got up to follow, but Foggy jogged up the stairs. It probably made him a jerk, but right now he was willing to take advantage of Matt’s need to move carefully if he wanted to maintain the illusion of being someone with standard issue, straight off the rack senses.

Foggy hadn’t realised how much he’d missed shopping with his mom. Anna Nelson understood that the goal wasn’t acquisition. It was about spending time in places that showcased the weird and wonderful outpourings of the human imagination! On top of that, she instinctively structured shopping trips like most people constructed playlists.

So far, they’d wound their way through tiny, dim bookstores; a plant store that smelled like a forest inside… alright, that was conjecture, it had been far too long since he’d been in a forest to remember for sure; an actual apothecary, complete with little wooden drawers filled with all sorts of shrivelled things; a yarn store that made him want to shear some fluffy creature and adorn himself with felted garments made from its wild and woolly fuzz; a candy store with the best kind of reggae playing somewhere out back; and another book store, this one huge and smelling like new paper and binding glue, but which had Dvorak’s Opus 104 playing so loudly that Foggy could feel the cello’s resonance in his sternum. It legit brought tears to his eyes, and he’d stood in the middle of the store, transported, while people all around him contemplated the latest best sellers and self-help guides. It was perfect. Beautiful.

On the consumer front, Foggy’s attention had been caught by a pair of shiny red joggers in the window of a shoe store. Fate? Fortune? Random chance? Who was Foggy to say no to any of these? Also, because they were right there, by the counter, he was now the owner of some improbably arcane-looking purple-and-green striped knee socks. They were the kind that had separate toes! Awesome!

His mom had been equally excited when she’d come away from a crowded record store clutching three new albums, one of which was entirely polka. Of course, when Foggy had expressed a totally appropriate and healthy amount of scorn for her selection, she’d had the audacity to dismiss his judgement on account of the socks! She’d even cast subtle aspersions on his awesome ruby runners!

After a brief tussle, which he absolutely would have won, had they not cut it short for reasons of time and place, he’d decided to magnanimously forgive her.

She’d been right. Not about the polka vs socks debacle: that argument had been a travesty. But it was true. They hadn’t spent enough time together since he’d been home.

This was exactly what he needed.

For lunch, they wandered into a Lebanese cafe.

There was nothing observably alarming about the place. It didn’t scream ambush. And yet, once they were seated, sipping strong coffee and waiting on their food, his mom made a distinctly parental face.

Foggy really should have seen it coming.

‘Are we going to talk about it?’ she said.

He sighed.

Talk.

Right.

‘Just call me Donkey,’ he said.

Unfortunately, Foggy’s ability to out-wait Matt’s silences had been acquired at his mother’s knee. It didn’t prevent him from trying for a diversion though. ‘You know? From Shrek? Donkey, you have the right to remain silent. We both know that what I lack is the capacity.’ He’d totally nailed the accent, so it was kind of unfair when his awesome performance was met with a look that was equal parts affection, sympathy, and are you done yet?

Fine.

was fine.

They could talk.

Foggy took a deep breath and blew it out slowly.

‘I don’t like it when you and dad call me a boy. Not because of the child thing. I wouldn’t like it any better if you called me a man. Mostly though, I’m annoyed with myself because it’s stupid how uncomfortable it makes me.’

‘It’s never stupid to realise that something makes you uncomfortable. When was the last time anyone in our family called you Franklin? You don’t like it, so we don’t do it. Simple.’

‘Well, yeah, but Franklin,’ he said. ‘It would’ve been bad enough, even if Rosalind hadn’t chosen it. Given that she did….’

‘Sweetheart.’

‘Right. Sorry. I just… I thought I had things worked out better than this. I’m seeing a counsellor at Columbia, or I was. We finished up a while back.’

‘That’s great, hon! Why didn’t you tell us?’

‘Because last time I saw one, things were kind of intense and I know you and Dad were worried. This wasn’t like that. I just had some things I needed to work through. It’s been good.’

‘Well, I’m glad. We want whatever’s best for you, sweetheart. Whatever you need, just let us know.

‘Thanks, Mom.’

Foggy looked around the room. The place was long and narrow, and there wasn’t much natural light. The furnishings were kind of hodgepodge, but in a good way. If this conversation had to happen, it could happen here.

‘It’s just…’ he began, then made himself commit. ‘Sometimes, I don’t notice that something’s bothering me until the exact moment it’s hitting me in the face, you know? And then I don’t want to say anything because... actually, I don’t know why I don’t say anything. Maybe because I know you mean well? Because I don’t want to hurt you? Because it shouldn’t matter? The changes I’m making are for me. I don’t need anyone else to validate them. But then you or Dad say one uncomfortable word and, for a moment, I’m back to being a confused and secretive teenager. It’s like I forget who I am.’

‘Well, first of all, you’re my duckling.’ There was so much uncomplicated affection in it, carried on a wave of play-doh-and-fairy-bread-tinged nostalgia. ‘But more than that, you’re intelligent, sensitive, and incredibly kind. You’re your father’s sunshine. There are lots of things we call you, Foggy. You can tell us if one of them hurts you.’

‘That reminds me! Matt said Dad called me a demon unicorn! He snickered when he told me, Mom. You realise I’ll never hear the end of this?!’

‘I imagine you won’t.’ There was a hint of not-quite-sadistic pleasure, and zero compassion for the indignity. Also, a sceptical eyebrow, because Anna Nelson was not easily waylaid.

‘So heartless! How could you?’ Foggy persisted, anyway. ‘I’m family! You’re eldest child! Fruit of your loins!’

The slip wasn’t intentional, but that somehow made it hilarious.

There was a drawn out moment, then they both laughed.

His mom gathered herself first. ‘You might be fruit from another tree, sweetheart, but you’re mine, through and through,’ she said.

Foggy smiled so wide he could feel moisture clinging at the corners of his eyes. ‘I love you, Mom,’ he said. ‘But come on?! Demon unicorn! I’m more like that awesome dragon-cat sculpture we passed in that art store window. No! Wait! Forget the house cat: a winged lion!’

‘Pixie kitten, more likely.’

Foggy scoffed, then braced himself for another stab at the truth.

‘Is it stupid that every time you say it, boy, I mean, I feel like you’re stripping me down and pointing out that I’m a person with a penis? Not in a creepy gross way, but just… I don’t know. I don’t hate my body and I don’t hate the way it works. It’s just… it’s private, you know? And calling attention to it in general conversation, well, it feels like you’re taking something intimate and using it to put all kinds of conditions and expectations on who I am. I don’t want to be separated from half of humanity over something as bizarre as that. I don’t want to be separated from myself by something as bizarre as that. We’re all just people, Mom, and the world would be a safer and better place if we acknowledged that. I mean, sure, reproductively we function differently, but that doesn’t have to divide us into men and women. Some people gestate, others impregnate. A whole bunch of people don’t want to, or can’t, do either. Attaching gender to the process… it’s just smoke and mirrors, you know? It looks like reality, until someone calls foul.’

‘The emperor has no clothes. I remember you loved that one.’

‘Hell, yeah! We have a naked emperor in our minds, but we stand around praising his lavish robes and wrapping ourselves in stale stereotypes and diminished possibilities.’

His mom laughed, and, alright, Foggy could acknowledge that last bit had been kind of dramatic. Ooh! Maybe he should start a band: Stale Stereotype and the Diminished Possibilities. They’d have uncomfortably honest lyrics and discordant backing, kind of like The Smiths meet Rise Against.

‘But the emperor’s a he?’ his mom asked, because she could be tenacious like that.

Right. Awkward conversation: still not over.

Foggy sighed. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I just don’t have the heart to take on the world of gendered pronouns. Language is more than a game to me. I love it. And I think it might actually hurt quite a lot to go to battle with linguistic purists over something so personal and important to me. Also, I’m going to be a lawyer. I need people to focus on what I know and how well I do my job, not how irritated they are that I’m making them trip over tiny words. Not that I plan to hide, I just…. It sounds hypocritical, I know. You can use he to refer to me, but not boy to describe me. It is what it is, I guess.’

‘I don’t see a problem with that. Do you want to talk to your dad about it, or should I fill him in?’

‘Can you do it? I don’t really feel up to a repeat at the moment. Besides, he’s busy with Matt… Mom, do you think-’

Foggy paused while two waiters brought food to their table. ‘Thanks,’ he said, as the dishes were set down in front of him. ‘This looks amazing. Oh, wow! It smells amazing, too.’

‘Is there anything else I can bring you?’ one of the waiters asked. He had dark wavy hair, beautiful eyes, and a charming smile.

‘Ah, no. No. We’re good. Thanks. Thank you,’ Foggy told him.

‘Thank you. Everything looks perfect.’ Once they were alone, Foggy’s mom grinned and raised her eyebrows at him.

He refused to blush. Instead, he emphatically tore a piece of pita and dragged it through one of several dips that were arranged on a platter. It really did smell wonderful, smoky and tangy and rich with garlic, but he stopped before putting it in his mouth. ‘Seriously, though. Tell me I didn’t do the wrong thing with Matt? I mean, I know I didn’t… but tell me anyway?’

‘Sometimes there isn’t a clear right thing, sweetheart. You know that. The way I see it, you were put in a situation that you didn’t know how to deal with, and you had the right to get support. Beyond that, you did what you could to help, and you did it out of genuine concern. I’d have been concerned, too. If everything Matt said is true, there are serious issues involved here. Having said that, Matt has the right to not be happy with the choice you made. Honestly, though, I don’t know how he feels about it. He seemed alright this morning… maybe a little quieter than usual, but that’s to be expected.’

Foggy nodded. It was nothing he hadn’t already told himself a hundred times, but it still hurt to hear it. He wondered when his life had become too complicated for blanket reassurances and cure-all hugs.

He let himself focus on eating for a while. He wasn’t a huge fan of the kafta, but the baba ganoush and hummus were possibly the best he’d ever tasted. Even though his mom was obviously enjoying her salad, he passed random morsels from the platter for her to try.

‘Perhaps you don’t need to worry too much,’ she said, between mouthfuls. ‘I’m not saying Matt doesn’t need support, but he seems like a very resilient young man.’

‘He is, but then, what choice does he have? He’s too intelligent and capable to let anything hold him back.’

‘Mmm.’ His mom looked thoughtful. ‘You know it’s not that simple, don’t you? There are plenty of highly intelligent people whose lives have been derailed by circumstances outside their control. It doesn’t mean they didn’t try hard enough.’

Foggy took a moment to think it over. He could see, rationally, that it must be true. His Disney goggles, though… man, they were persuasive, dangerous things!

‘But you think Matt’s got whatever he needs to get past this?’ he asked, because that was the most important part right now.

‘I hope so, sweetheart. He’s experienced a lot of loss, but he doesn’t seem to have become closed off or uncaring. He hasn’t needed to withdraw from pursuing interests or relationships. It’s obvious how much he cares about you.’

‘Yeah. He’s not exactly a people person but he seems to like Dad, or be comfortable with him, or whatever. Actually, I’ve never seen Matt interact like that with anyone else. Have you heard them when they’re playing Scrabble? So much bonding! It’s like a daytime movie on HBO. I keep expecting Matt to call Dad sir. It’s adorable!’

‘You shouldn’t be listening in.’ There was a look that went with the statement, but it wasn’t particularly quelling, so Foggy just smiled. ‘But, yes, they are rather sweet. Your dad and I like Matt quite a lot. Possibly not as much as you do….’

‘Remember how I changed the subject thirty seconds ago when you tried to bring this up? Here’s the sequel. Oh, wow! This is such good pita. So flat and breadish. Yum!’

‘Uh huh.’

They ate in silence, while Foggy struggled with his ambivalent resistance to the topic at hand.

‘Fine!’ he said, when he finally broke. ‘You know, you should work for some shady government agency as an interrogator or something. But fine! Alright! He’s super intelligent, unreasonably attractive, a massive dork, kind of intense, and has a smile like pure sunshine. You’ve seen those amazing crinkles around his eyes. I’m only human!&rsquo

‘And?’

‘You know, my life is a living hell! I don’t think you fully appreciate that fact, or you’d be way kinder to me,’ Foggy insisted.

‘I’m very kind. Here, try my fattoush.’

Foggy took the bowl and spent a minute sampling various bits and pieces. It was good. When he’d stalled for long enough, he passed it back. He wasn’t sure why he was avoiding talking about this. Maybe because he wanted to talk about it too much. Even thinking about it, he could feel the stupid smile wanting to break out across his face… because, apparently, he was thirteen.

‘Matt is everything but relationship material,’ he made himself say, because it was true. ‘And that’s aside from the fact that he only dates women.’

‘He does? I would never have picked that. He seems so attentive to everything you say and do. I spent the first few days trying to decide if there was already something going on between you.’

‘Nope,’ Foggy said. ‘No, there is not. And that’s a good thing! I’m not sure I want a relationship right now and Matt… well, it’s totally understandable, but his issues have issues. I think he’s literally the most complicated person I’ve ever met.’

‘You’re smarter than me, then. Your dad was a whole mess of issues when I met him. Rosalind had just left, and he was doubting himself as a man, as a husband, doubting his worth because he worked in hardware, in retail. The one thing holding him together, back then, was that he loved you, and that was enough for me. I jumped right in, complications be damned.’ His mom smiled and shook her head. ‘I had such a saviour complex back then, you wouldn’t believe.’

‘Well, I’m glad you jumped in, of course, but are you seriously trying to tell me you’ve gotten over your saving-people thing? You work in a cancer hospital.’

‘I schedule appointments and do admin! It’s not like I follow our patients home and try to fix their whole lives.’

‘Uh huh, because you’d get arrested for stalking if you did, but don’t tell me you haven’t wanted to.’

His mom laughed. ‘It can be difficult… but, actually, working there has put a lot of things into perspective. You come to realise that you can’t fix things that are outside of your control, and that there’s no point getting invested in the injustice of that particular kind of suffering. It can happen to any of us. The daily reality of the work makes some people quit and others become callous, but, you know, mortality is a part of life. What we can offer each other is acceptance and care. On a good day, I remember that.’

‘And on a bad day?’

‘On a bad day, I hold myself personally responsible for every person who walks out of the clinic in tears and goes home alone.’

Something about that fragile truth was more comforting than any of the impossible reassurances Foggy had unconsciously desired. He had issues, he absolutely did, but he had family, too.

Chapter Text

Matt wasn’t avoiding Foggy.

He’d been meditating in his room when Anna and Foggy arrived home from their shopping trip, but he’d gone down to offer help with the groceries they’d bought. It was the least he could do since they wouldn’t allow him to pay his share.

After that, they’d all gathered in the living room and ended up competing at Jeopardy, trying to get the answers before the real contestants did. Then, not satisfied with what he described as a generic sort of victory, Foggy had pulled up an online trivia game and insisted that he and Matt team up against Ed and Anna.

It had been a decisive failure.

Apparently twenty-five years or so of additional experience counted for quite a lot when it came to developing a broad base of general knowledge. And, besides, it was more interesting listening to Ed and Anna go way beyond the scope of the question than it was for Matt to rush in every time he knew the answer.

Matt had invited Ed to play Scrabble after that.

Foggy had gone up to his room. Matt heard a brief burst of violins, so presumably he was listening to music and had switched to headphones.

Anna cooked.

Dinner was pleasant.

After they ate, Foggy offered to help Ed with the dishes.

Matt went up to his room to listen to a book.

Ed had told him that he wouldn’t share anything they’d discussed at the store, and Matt knew he could trust that. Not that they’d talked about anything particularly complicated anyway, just background stuff: where Matt had lived in the Kitchen, what schools he’d gone to, a bit about his dad’s boxing career, general details of life at St Agnes’s. It wasn’t the kind of thing Matt usually shared, but that was more through habit than any overwhelming urge to keep everything to himself.

It was fine, or as fine as it could be.

Ed didn’t know anything Matt hadn’t apparently already dumped on Foggy while drunk, and, even if he did, Ed wouldn’t gossip.

Which meant that Matt had no reason to wonder what Ed and Foggy were talking about in the kitchen. Perhaps his attention was just wandering because the distant but distinctive cadence of Foggy’s voice was an enticing contrast to the drone of the bland narration coming through Matt’s earbuds.

Matt returned his focus to the story.

It was a shame Foggy didn’t make audiobooks. Maybe then the plot would seem more compelling. He’d completely lost track of what was happening and why he was supposed to care by the time there was a soft knock at his door.

He let himself drift instead of bothering to respond.

Foggy must have been tired as well, because, after a bit of a pause, he continued down the hall and went to bed.

Once the house was quiet for the night, Matt turned off his iPod.

Fragments of conversation replayed in his mind: some of them from the last couple of days, but others that were much older. All of them were persistent.

He couldn’t sleep.

He spent a long time in meditation.

In the morning, he got up early to go walking with Ed. It wouldn’t be much exercise, but it was something. With Ed and Anna home, there’d be no opportunity for Foggy’s games, and anyway, it would be nice to get out of the apartment again.

The last week had been good, but intense. Even at Columbia, surrounded by students, Matt rarely spent this much time interacting with other people. Despite the fact that they shared a room, he didn’t ordinarily spend this much time with Foggy, and never without the endless imperatives of deadlines and study.

Ed was easy company though. He wasn’t stoic, but he was indefinably solid, or steady, maybe.

As they got ready to leave the apartment, Matt paused by the door and asked Ed to guide him. Conversation could be difficult when he was relying on his stick. Whoever he was walking with tended to keep their distance and stay quiet. Matt suspected it was because they didn’t want to get in the way of a process that seemed mysterious or alien to them.

When they were guiding him, they were more likely to forget his disadvantage after a while. This was sometimes to his detriment, because he couldn’t act on his awareness of an obstacle if they hadn’t pointed it out, but it was still preferable to the alternative, which necessitated speaking far more loudly than Matt ordinarily would or not speaking at all.

There was no hesitation in Ed’s agreement to guide him, but it soon became apparent that Ed was far more cautious than Foggy.

‘You can relax, you know,’ Matt reassured him. ‘I’m not going to die if you walk me into a lamppost. I won’t even make you clean my shoes if you let me step in something disgusting.’

Ed laughed.

‘Believe me, it happens,’ Matt said.

‘I’m sure it does.’

They covered most of the eight blocks to the park before Ed relaxed enough to talk about anything other than upcoming cracks in the pavement, joggers, energetic dogs, signposts, and faeces.

‘If I ask how you do it,’ he said, ‘how you find enough trust to go out into the world and take chances, you’re going to tell me you don’t have a choice, right? That you do it because you have to.’

‘Something like that,’ Matt said. With his enhanced senses it took less trust than Ed imagined, and Matt disliked misleading him.

Of course there were times when being blind meant that he had to take things on faith: dealing with shopping and money, signage, even haircuts. Those were obvious challenges.

More difficult than that was the knowledge that facial expressions weren’t always congruent with the words or tone of voice people used. Those kinds of nuances were difficult to pin down and were potentially more isolating.

Sure, Matt could tell if someone was lying or anxious, but that didn’t mean he knew what was really going on. And, even without ill intent, so much subtle communication was transmitted through facial expressions and minute gestures. Following a conversation between more than a few people could quickly become boring, if not exhausting, because of the amount of information he missed.

That wasn’t what Ed was asking though. Everyone assumed that crossing the street was more terrifying than misreading social cues in a crowded room.

Although, actually, Matt realised, his response was probably the same, either way.

‘When I was a kid, I was afraid of monsters under the bed, in the wardrobe, the usual stuff, I suppose. But, my grandmother….’ Matt paused, remembering, considering his words. ‘She wasn’t the kind of person to indulge anyone’s fears. And, after she died, I was alone at night when Dad had matches, things like that. I spent a lot of time trying to reason those monsters away. Mostly, it worked. On the nights when it didn’t, I’d just let go. I decided, if this was the night I was going to be torn apart and devoured by some horrifically smelly, slimy beast, then so be it.

‘You do what you can, but there are some things you can’t control. Sometimes you walk into a wall. Sometimes, your roommate slips bright orange socks into your drawer.’

Matt didn’t tell Ed that he’d known they weren’t his usual socks the moment he’d touched them, and had guessed they must be something Foggy would find amusing. Matt had worn them that first time to be a good sport, and still pulled them out occasionally if he thought Foggy needed a laugh. Apparently, they were hideous.

‘Oh, no,’ Ed said, though he sounded amused. ‘Please tell me that wasn’t my son.’

‘I’d like to help you, Ed, but we both know it would be a lie.’

‘Hmm, there’s the ruthless lawyer. I was wondering. And you’re not even willing to soften the blow by leaving room for reasonable doubt?’

‘I wouldn’t insult your intelligence like that. We both know the accused is a remorseless scoundrel. I hear Candy’s a good person though, so you shouldn’t blame yourself.’

‘If I thought you meant that, I’d defend him, but you’re a terrible liar. Turning right, up here, towards the rose gardens, by the way.’

‘I’ve been told my poker face needs work.’ Of course, no one who’d said it had known that, while Matt apparently couldn’t lie, he sure as hell knew how to deceive.

‘The thing with trust though, Matt…. Look, you’re right: we can’t control everything, and it’s no good pretending otherwise. And obviously there are times when you need to rely on people for things that most of us take for granted. You need to trust people who maybe don’t deserve it, because they’re the one who’s job it is to help you, or the one who happens to be there at the time. But people who take advantage of that need….’ Ed sighed. ‘I know I’m no expert when it comes to this kind of thing, sweetheart, but is it possible that necessity has affected your judgement when it comes to deciding if people deserve your trust?’

Nothing could be further from the truth. Trust wasn’t something Matt thought about often, and it certainly wasn’t something he relied on while negotiating all the necessary human interactions of daily life. Those required competence, clarity, and a smattering of self-deprecating charm… and, yes, a degree of acceptance. Trust was different though. It was a personal thing. It was something he’d worked for. He trusted that he could rely on the input from his senses and act without hesitation. He trusted his instincts and abilities.

But, if trust, or something like it, were to be applied to relationships, he considered, then there were possibly two people in the world who Matt trusted at the moment. Strangely, Ed was one of them. Foggy was the other. Even with everything that had happened in the last week, it was true. Gut instinct.

Matt liked Anna just fine, was grateful for her generosity and welcoming presence, but the instinct wasn’t there. Maybe it would develop over time, but maybe not.

He could probably count on his fingers the number of people he’d trusted in his lifetime. Elektra wasn’t among them. He’d loved her, sure, but he wasn’t an idiot. In fact, not quite trusting her had possibly been part of the thrill.

Stick would have been on the list though. In some ways he still was, and that was most likely the point Ed was making.

‘Need doesn’t engender trust,’ Matt said, ‘but, sure, there’s a degree of acceptance. Like I said, I’m not going to die if someone walks me into a post, and most of the time it’d be a matter of distraction, not malicious intent.’

‘Alright, sure, but whatever the cause, would you mention that you were hurt?’

‘I didn’t get where I am by allowing people to walk all over me, Ed. Maybe you don’t realise how much self-advocacy is required in every part of my life.’

Matt knew his irritation was showing, and Ed’s tone, in response, was a little stern.

‘I don’t doubt that for a second. I’m sure it’s a lot to deal with, and I imagine you’re very good at it. But, even so, you must have to choose your battles. What I’m suggesting is that your criteria for choosing might be based on beliefs and expectations you don’t even realise you have. You’re clearly a fighter, Matt. It might be worth noticing the parts of yourself you don’t bother to defend.’

Matt made a non-committal sound, even though Ed’s words twisted somewhere in his sternum. Nothing like a bruise to show you the gaps in your defence.

They walked for a few minutes in silence.

‘Up ahead is where some of the old guys get together to play chess,’ Ed said, eventually.

Matt had been aware. Several games were in progress. In the last few minutes, a player had declared checkmate. Before that, Matt had been trying to place the sound of timers starting and stopping. Now that they were closer he could detect the soft thunk of felt-bottomed pieces being placed on the boards.

They came to a stop a polite distance from the tables.

‘Do you play?’ Matt asked.

‘Not at their level. It’s not really my kind of game. How about you?’

‘Yeah. I’m pretty good, actually.’

‘No kidding?’

If Matt didn’t know Ed better, he’d be annoyed by the tone of surprise. ‘You’ve seen me play Scrabble.’

‘Well, yeah, but that’s not chess. Once a word’s down in Scrabble, it stays there.’

‘You have a point.’ Matt let his attention linger on a nearby game. Two new players had started up and they were the only ones calling their moves. They were using descriptive, which was something he hadn’t heard in a while. He’d always preferred it over the more common algebraic.

Stick had taught him using descriptive.

Years later, Matt had wondered at the improbable excess of someone like Stick rejecting the more prosaic alphanumeric grid. Perhaps it had been a fleeting wisp of nostalgia on Stick’s part. More likely, he’d told himself that simplification was for sissies. Whatever the justification, Matt had recently come to suspect that Stick wasn’t as pragmatic as he’d believed himself to be.

Then again, it could hardly be considered whimsical to choose descriptive notation when the goal was to teach Matt how to maintain awareness of every enemy on a battlefield; to make him plan three to five moves ahead while the clock counted out the seconds; to encourage him to recognise and take out the most powerful pieces as soon as possible; not to mention that most valuable life lesson regarding his opponent’s queen: Don’t be fooled because she’s a woman. She’s controlling the board. Kill the bitch before she kills you.

As a child, Matt had been equal parts shocked and delighted by the curse word.

That had probably been the goal. Many of the things Matt had previously put down to Stick’s churlish and irascible nature may well have been calculated enticements and manipulations.

And they had worked.

Being the only child of a single dad, Matt had grown up feeling like he stood on the edge of being invited into the adult world, even when he was small. Boxing culture was big on the notion of making men out of boys. And, as painful as it was to acknowledge, in some ways his dad and Stick had been alike. Neither would allow Matt to give anything less than his best. Neither was inclined to coddle.

But Matt could make peace with the similarities, because he was certain that his dad only ever had Matt’s best interests at heart. All parents used their power over their children to manipulate them to that end. He was no longer sure where his best interests had been ranked in Stick’s agenda.

‘You can’t win at chess if you try to protect all your pieces,’ he said.

‘That might explain why I never liked the game.’

Chapter Text

By the time they returned to the apartment, Foggy was in the kitchen making mountains of French toast, eggs, and bacon.

Anna was at the dining table, reading an actual paper-and-ink newspaper. The smell coming off the pages seemed particularly intense, and Matt could only hope that he kept his displeasure from showing. Fortunately, the paper was put aside when breakfast was ready, but the smell of bacon and strong coffee sat unpleasantly with the bitter ink.

The food was probably good, but Matt consumed more coffee than anything else.

He felt distracted and unsettled. The walk had left him wanting to run.

Throughout breakfast, he noted the conversations around him with a distant awareness. Foggy and Anna talked about their shopping trip and the cafe they’d been to. There was speculation about the likelihood of Candy extending her holiday into a gap year. Ed and Anna complimented Foggy’s cooking. Ed and Anna were going out for the day.

‘You bo- Foggy, darling? Matt? You’ll be fine to handle the clean-up, won’t you? It’s such a glorious day that I want to get out and make the most of it.’

‘Yeah, of course,’ Foggy said. ‘You and Dad head out. We’ll be fine. And… thanks, Mom.’

‘Alright, well… call if you need anything.’

‘We’re not twelve,’ Foggy said.

‘That’s right, you’re not. Call if you need anything. I told Jan we’d drop by her place this afternoon, and Bess is going to be there, so we probably won’t be home before six. You know what they’re like when they get started with euchre. If we’re going to be later than that we’ll pick up takeout, probably from the Thai place.’

As he rounded the table, Ed squeezed Matt’s shoulder.

Matt was startled, but was almost certain he managed not to show it.

A few minutes later, there was a final chorus of goodbyes and then the sound of the door.

‘Well, that was smooth,’ Foggy said, the moment they were alone.

‘Uh… sorry, what?’ Matt asked.

He’d tried to shake off his distraction by starting to gather the dishes.

‘Really? That unsubtle train wreck of overwhelming parental concern didn’t register? I knew you were vagued out, buddy, but seriously?’ Foggy sighed. ‘They think we need to talk, so they’re giving us space. A whooole lot of space. Nice of them, and all, but… look, we don’t have to talk. You can spend the day in your room, or go out, or whatever. Or I can, if you want to work out down here or something.’

‘They didn’t have to do that,’ Matt said. He couldn’t believe he’d driven Ed and Anna out of their own home.

‘Eh, don’t get me wrong. It’s not unusual for them to spend a day combing the city for new cafes and bookstores and whatever. Also, Mom’s just as much of a euchre fiend as Bess, so don’t be fooled by her little charade of benevolent indulgence. We’ll definitely be having Thai tonight. No… it was more the significant looks and weighty pauses I’m talking about.’

‘I, ah, I didn’t notice anything. Sorry.’

‘It’s fine. Better than fine, actually! It’s good! Or, I don’t know, not really, I suppose…. I mean, I’m glad they didn’t make you uncomfortable, but you must have been pretty out of it if you didn’t notice. And I don’t want to pressure you to talk, I really don’t, because I literally cannot express how much I don’t want a re-run of, well, you know... Last Time. Which is fine, because it doesn’t have to be! Because I’ve learned a lot since then, and I don’t need to repeat that meltdown. So! Progress, right?! You be you, I’ll be me, and we’re good!’

Matt forgot about the dishes and sat back down. He smoothed the pads of his fingers along the tablecloth. It was linen, and the individual strands were of varying thickness. The weave was regular but loose.

‘Except… we’re not, are we,’ Foggy said. He sounded resigned. ‘I’m not pushing. You don’t have to say anything. I just want you to know that, look, you can tell me you’re angry if you want.’

Foggy hadn’t sat back down. He was standing near the wide doorway that led to the hall, rocking slightly from heel to toe.

Matt rubbed his fingers along the cloth. The drag of frictional heat warmed the surface of his skin. ‘I’m not angry,’ he said. ‘I was the one who got drunk. I upset you, and made you worry. You did what you thought was best.’

‘Then why does it feel like you’re avoiding me?’

‘I don’t know what you want me to say. We played trivia yesterday. I’m sitting right here. I’m clearly not avoiding you.’

‘You are. You’re being all polite and withdrawn, and I feel like I can’t say or do anything about it because of what happened last time. I don’t want to make you pull away further by being all desperate and clingy, but that happened because I care about you, Matt! I didn’t handle it well at the time, and I’m trying to do better now, but…’ Foggy stopped. ‘I’m doing it again. Alright, ten seconds. I’m just going to stop talking for ten seconds.’

It was longer than that.

Matt wanted to leave the room, but he stayed in his seat. His fingers began tapping out a rapid counterpoint to Foggy’s weighty breaths and escalated heartbeat. He pressed his hand flat against the cloth.

‘Alright,’ Foggy said. He took another deep breath and exhaled heavily. ‘You don’t owe me anything. I have needs, and I’ll feel better if I tell you how I feel, but you can respond, or not respond, however you like. So. I want you to know that it’s fine if you’re angry at me. I would understand that. If you are, then I’d personally feel better if you said it, because then it’s out in the open, but there’s-’

Matt shoved against the table and got to his feet. The chair tipped behind him.

‘If I said what!? That I felt ambushed!? You let me walk around for days not knowing what was going to happen! When I realised what was going on, it made me doubt every word your dad had spoken to me since I’d arrived. I like him, Foggy. He’s a good man, and I thought we were getting along fine, and then every conversation we’d had felt like a setup!

‘I’ve made a huge effort, since the minute I walked through the door, to ignore conversations that I’m not a part of, to tune out anything that’s none of my business. They’re your family and they’ve invited me into their home, and they don’t know what that means! They don’t know what they’ve invited in. They don’t know what I am. So I’ve been trying! But now I have to wonder what misinformed, condescending bullshit I’d have overheard if I’d chosen to listen!’

Matt knew he wasn’t being fair. He’d already settled the matter with Ed, and he didn’t doubt Ed’s kindness was sincere or that it extended beyond his concern over Matt’s past. He knew there wouldn’t have been anything bad to overhear. But, for some reason, that didn’t seem to matter right now. Instead, he felt the same hot rush of anger and mistrust that had overwhelmed him when Ed first raised his concerns.

‘Alright. OK. So, you’re angry-’

‘Of course I’m angry! You set me up! This is your home and your family. You’re in a place that’s comfortable to you. And you’re such a tight-knit unit! It’s like you’re an ocean of currents all working together to drag me where you want me to go. I feel like a piece of cork, like I have no control, no way to navigate.’

Matt stepped back from the table, but his leg struck the toppled chair. He tried to force back the rush of disorientation. His breathing was a mess. His heart was pounding.

He made himself focus on picking up the chair, but, as he turned, his arm collided with something solid.

The sound of glass smashing on polished floorboards was immediate and shocking.

He retreated until he was leaning against the wall, and somehow ended up on the floor, arms wrapped around his knees, forehead pressed against his legs. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. Humidity was condensing on his face and in the rough weave of his jeans on every exhale. He tightened his hands into fists.

‘I’m sorry, Matt. I’m so sorry.’

Foggy must have come around the table, because suddenly, he was crouched by Matt’s side.

‘Look, you can… you can leave if you want,’ he said. ‘I don’t want you to! I really don’t, but if you need to… if it’s too much. I’m so sorry.’

‘I don’t…’ Matt struggled to catch his breath. ‘I…. I broke one of Anna’s glasses!’ he said. It wasn’t what he’d meant to say.

There was a scraping sound and shuffling movements as Foggy pushed some shards out of the way with his shoe. After that, he flopped down at Matt’s side.

‘Yeah, it’s broken,’ he said, ‘but it’s just a glass. You know she won’t care, right?’

‘I care! I don’t belong here!’

‘Oh, hey, that’ue. I wasn’t saying you don’t belong, buddy. I was saying that I’d understand if you want to go. We Nelsons can be a lot to deal with, that’s all.’

‘I don’t…’ Matt began, trying to calm his racing thoughts. ‘I don’t want to go, I just… I don’t know what I’m doing here, and you’re all... you’re good people, and-’

‘It’s alright, Matt. Honestly, it is. I’m so sorry I hurt you. I wasn’t trying to set you up. I just wanted to help. I love you, buddy. I really do. You’re such a good person. You’ve been there for me when things have been tough. You’ve respected me and supported me, and I want you here. I want you to know my family. I know we’re a lot to deal with, but it’s because we care. You couldn’t be more welcome.’

Foggy’s arm came to rest around Matt’s shoulders, lightly at first, but the gentle pressure increased and then he was resting his head into the side of Matt’s neck.

Matt tensed, but let the touch settle over him.

The larger, thicker fragments of glass were causing eddies in the currents thrown off by Foggy’s movements. Matt wondered if Ed and Anna would tell themselves that it was inevitable that the blind guy would break a glass. He wondered if they’d already resigned themselves to it when they’d continued to use them in his presence. But he knew they wouldn’t… that they hadn’t. Anna had broken a glass, and now Matt had broken one as well. It would be no big deal.

He’d been coming to realise that Ed and Anna were even more like Foggy than they’d initially seemed.

He hadn’t imagined what it might be like to spend time in a place where people like Foggy were the norm. It was unsettling.

‘I wish you’d talked to me,’ he said. It came out muffled, so he pulled his face back from his knees. Foggy shifted to accommodate the movement. ‘I wish you’d told me that you’d talked to your dad.’

‘I promise it wasn’t some big setup,’ Foggy said. ‘It was a spur of the moment decision, the night before we were due to leave. But… also… if I’d told you when you woke up the next morning, you wouldn’t have come. You weren’t in great shape, buddy.’

‘You’re right. I wouldn’t have.’ It felt like a distant truth, unimaginable now that he was here.‘And I’m glad you came. I’m glad you’re here,’ Foggy said.

‘Yeah. Me too.’ But that didn’t resolve everything. ‘I wouldn’t have come, and I’m glad I did, but I still wish you’d told me,’ Matt said.

‘I actually get that. I’m pretty sure I’d feel the same.’

It sounded like the truth.

That helped.

‘Fogs, I don’t want to talk about it, but I want you to know… things weren’t as bad as you’re imagining. With Stick, I mean. It definitely wasn’t great, I know that, but it probably wasn’t as bad as you think.’

Foggy was quiet for a while, and Matt had no idea what to expect.

‘I think we have different expectations about some things, and that’s probably the best understanding we can come to, for now,’ Foggy said, after a while.

Matt would have tried to push the point, but Foggy sounded resolute.

‘I suppose that’s reasonable,’ he said, instead.

‘So, are we good?’ Foggy leaned against Matt heavily, trying to nudge him off balance, as he asked.

Matt smiled. ‘We’re good, Fog.’

Everything about Foggy relaxed, like he was suddenly made of jello.

‘Thanks, Matt. Thank you.’ He gave Matt a tight squeeze that lasted for longer than Matt was used to, then sat up straight. ‘How ‘bout you stay there while I grab the pan and clean up the glass?’ he said.

Matt resisted the urge to refuse. It would be simpler for Foggy to do it, and Matt needed a moment to gather himself, anyway. Out of everything they’d talked about, it was the casual truth of Foggy’s I love you and the certainty of Matt’s welcome here that kept playing through his mind.

Chapter Text

Matt pushed down the flash of irritation he felt at Anna’s presence during breakfast on Monday morning. She’d be leaving for work before twelve, and it was her home anyway.

Matt was a guest. It was beyond unreasonable for him to feel so disgruntled. And it wasn’t as if he disliked her company; far from it. Her affection for Foggy was wonderful, and she’d been every bit as indifferent about the broken glass as Foggy had said she’d be. There was nothing patronising about her. She was a good person.

But the thing was, in their first week, he and Foggy had settled into a routine that took advantage of the empty apartment.

Each morning, Foggy would gather a bunch of mystery ingredients and challenge Matt to guess what they were and what he was making. Matt wasn’t allowed to touch anything, but he’d usually managed to work it out before the food was done, and often much sooner. In an effort to distract Matt from super-sensing clearly, Foggy would toss random objects around the room for Matt to catch, or he’d search the fridge and cupboards looking for smells that made Matt pull outright hilarious faces. He’d even provoked Matt into trying some horrendously sugary breakfast cereal by casually suggesting that Matt wouldn’t be able to catch a piece in his mouth. Matt had been totally aware of the manipulation, but it had been worth doing, just to prove that he could.

After breakfast, they’d migrate to the living room while Foggy constructed his latest game. That hadn’t been on Matt’s radar as something a person could have a talent for, but he was quickly learning otherwise.

Which didn’t mean that Anna’s presence was a big deal.

For the final week of Matt’s visit, mornings would be sedate. That was all. It wasn’t any different than the evenings or the weekend.

Matt stopped himself from checking the time.

‘You, my friend, have been wearing your restless-puppy face all morning.’

Anna had just walked out the door, but, apparently, Matt had failed in his attempt at maturity. Hopefully, it was only Foggy who’d noticed.

‘Relax, buddy. No need to switch to the fraught-with-guilt face. My observation was mostly a smooth segue into something I wanted to talk to you about, although, also, it was totally true. But don’t get hung up on that. Come! Sit!’ Foggy patted his thigh sharply as he gave the command.

Ha ha.

Matt feigned obliviousness.

Foggy laughed, anyway.

Matt settled on the couch beside him, and Foggy turned sideways, his attention sharp and clear. He didn’t seem anxious, just intent.

‘I’ve been thinking about our conversation yesterday morning,’ he said.

They hadn’t talked about anything difficult after Matt’s little meltdown. Instead, Foggy’d roped Matt into listening to parts of the radio series of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy while they idly threw balls back and forth between them. Lulled by the relaxed atmosphere, Matt had relented and confessed that he was more than a little familiar with the production, despite its many linguistic transgressions. Of course, they’d ended up competing to see who could remember the longest and strangest quotes. Matt wasn’t sure if he was impressed or horrified that Foggy knew Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz’ poem by heart.

But now, it seemed, the respite was over. Matt wasn’t sure he was up for another serious conversation.

‘It’s fine, buddy. No need to look all concerned. I just wanted to run something by you. You said you were out of your comfort zone, staying here, and I get that. Recent developments aside, you wouldn’t be the first person I’ve brought home who’s found my family kind of intense. We’re like those tessellation blocks. We’re designed to fit together, but I know that can be a lot from the outside.

‘And I haven’t really given you the space to continue your usual routines, either. I mean, you’ve been awesome, indulging me with my games and whatever, but you haven’t had the chance to exercise or work out or tumble-kick the shadows or anything. So, I was wondering if I should back off and let you do your own thing more. Maybe you’d feel less out of control and, to borrow your metaphor, at sea, if you had more room to be yourself while Mom and Dad are out. Don’t get me wrong, and I want you to know that I feel every bit like a six-year-old when I say this, but I love playing with you, buddy. It’s so much fun… but I know I’ve been kind of selfish in monopolising your time. You’re on holiday. You should be doing the things you enjoy.’

‘I like playing with you,’ Matt said. ‘I mean, I, ah,’ Matt paused while Foggy laughed. ‘I like the challenges you come up with. I don’t…. You’re not monopolising my time.’

‘Well, that’s good to know, buddy! Awesome! And you can stop looking embarrassed, by the way. I won’t tell anyone that you’re the reigning champ at hide and go seek. Your cred is one hundred percent safe with me.’

Matt must have looked sceptical. Perhaps it was because of the way Foggy had barely stopped laughing.

‘No, seriously.’ Foggy insisted. ‘Think about it: I’ve already proved my loyalty by not letting anyone know what a massive dork you are. In fact, I’m president of the Look How Smooth and Sophisticated Matt Murdock Is propaganda club. All of this isn’t the point I was trying to make though. You’re in Nelson territory, but you can still be yourself, you know?’

Which actually made a lot of sense. Maybe Matt just needed to feel more himself, more in control, after such an unpredictable weekend.

He’d spent the night reminding himself of what Foggy had said: that the various conversations about Stick came down to differences of opinion. Matt wasn’t used to other people weighing in on the discussion. Most of his life had been lived with only himself keeping track. Foggy’s family were different though. They were used to knowing each other’s business and being involved in each other’s lives. Ed’s discomfort at Foggy being away from home proved that. Matt couldn’t imagine how they were coping with Candy being overseas.

That kind of entanglement was new to him, but if he thought of it as an inevitable aspect of being in their home, he could deal with it. He had no doubt that they took an interest in the lives of everyone they brought under their roof.

And… well… Matt knew, when it came to his past, that they weren’t entirely wrong.

He’d already been reassessing some of Stick’s bullshit anyway. He’d rejected the idea that he couldn’t tell Foggy about his senses and some of what he was capable of, and that had been a huge deviation from the path Stick had laid out for him. So, the situation with Stick had been… well, it obviously hadn’t been as problematic as Foggy and Ed seemed to believe, but it was definitely up for review. It was a process. There was no need for any of it to undermine Matt’s sense of control.

He’d been letting himself get distracted by conversations with Ed, and games with Foggy. The last time he’d done a full workout had been almost two weeks ago. It was unbelievable. He hadn’t even managed any basic strength or fitness training since they’d arrived. He hadn’t wanted to risk doing anything that might seem out of place while Ed and Anna were around, and when they were out he’d been with Foggy.

‘So, here’s the plan, Murdock. You go off and do whatever it is that makes you flushed and sweaty, and once you’re done, and I say this as someone with an earnest need to regain their dignity after losing every round of hide and go seek, you come back and face a brand new challenge. What say you?’

Matt grinned. Foggy Nelson was, without a doubt, the strangest person he’d ever met. ‘I say that I look forward to defeating you in new and interesting ways.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Foggy said. He shoved Matt’s shoulder, and Matt let himself be pushed. ‘Go upstairs. Work those muscles. And don’t shirk, buddy, chase the burn or whatever it is you people say. I’ll just be down here plotting your demise.’

‘Matt, buddy, we need to get out of the apartment. I’m not sure what comes next after turning the whole of downstairs into an obstacle course, but I can guarantee it’s nothing that would bring joy to my parents’ hearts, and they’re the ones who live here full time.’

It had taken the two of them forever to put all the furniture, cushions, bedding, lawn chairs and pop-up sun shelters back where they belonged. Matt wasn’t sure how Foggy had managed the set-up on his own.

‘You’re just sore because you lost,’ Matt said. He didn’t make much effort to keep the smugness out of his voice. ‘You’ll feel better once you embrace the truth: there isn’t a challenge that can defeat me.’

‘I actually think I believe that,’ Foggy said. He didn’t sound bothered at all.

He sounded fond.

Matt didn’t know what to say.

‘What I’m thinking though,’ Foggy continued, and suddenly he was all restless tension, ‘is that tomorrow morning we should catch a bus to somewhere far, far away. You can ditch the cane and show me how you do your thing out in the world. It’ll be fantastic.’

‘Ah…,’ Matt said. ‘Do my thing?’ he added, not really wanting to know, but needing to ask.

‘You don’t remember, do you? I shouldn’t really be surprised. The day of the fireball, you told me you’ve passed as sighted before.’

Matt groaned and buried his face in his hands. ‘Please forget I ever said that. It’s so, so problematic.’

‘Yeah, I can kind of see that, but why, though? Doesn’t it come down to intent? If I cut my hair and wore a suit, most people would think: Look at that devilishly handsome straight man. In reality, I’d still be the whole complexity of me, acting on whatever mood struck me at the time. I get it that passing is a privilege some people don’t have, that they never get that choice, but erasure and visibility both have their own issues when it comes to the whole discrimination and marginalisation soup. And you’re not responsible for other people’s assumptions, Matt. If you jog along the beach with your sunglasses on, why should you worry what conclusions people draw from that? I mean, unless you crash into someone, of course. Would you, though? Crash, I mean. Or is that something you could do without causing a pileup of toned and spandex-clad persons?’

‘Of course I could, Fog. I’d probably want to spend a couple of minutes checking the place out first. I don’t know. There’d be some unfamiliar variables, but I doubt it would be too taxing.’ That might be hubris, because sand was probably the most unpredictable surface Matt had ever walked on, but that wasn’t the point.

‘You totally want to do this!’

‘I didn’t say that! It’s a bad idea. I was just weighing up whether I could, theoretically, do it.’ Matt dragged his hands over his face. ‘I can’t believe I even mentioned it. I didn’t know it was possible to be that intoxicated.’

‘Chill, Murdock. We’re just talking about you going out in the world and doing what’s normal for you. What’s so terrible about that? And I’ll be there as backup, buddy. I mean, not if you actually go running, because there’s no way I can keep up with your crazy athletic self, but we could wander around, get out in the sunshine!’

Foggy’s enthusiasm was contagious. It reminded Matt of the naive sense of freedom he’d felt in his teens.

‘First year of college, I used to head to different parts of the city and switch my cane for a baseball cap and these terrible aviator glasses. I don’t think it occurred to me back then that most people wouldn’t wear hats and sunglasses indoors. Anyway, this one time, I wandered into an art gallery, mostly because it was quiet and cool. They had an exhibition of modern art, apparently, but I’m pretty sure I spent ten minutes contemplating the trash bin. No food was allowed in the gallery, of course, so it didn’t smell like other bins. I can’t imagine what they expected people to put in it, but it had this amazing resonance. The air conditioning and clack of heels made it vibrate in the best way. I only suspected something was odd when I noticed that people were staring at me. It was worth it though. It really was a wonderful sound.’

‘You must love the eastern stairwell of the dorm. Why didn’t I realise that? Wait, hang on… was that a yes? It was, wasn’t it? We’re doing this?! Oh, my god, Murdock, tell me we’re doing this!’

Matt couldn’t hold back his smile. ‘We’re doing this, Fog.’

‘Yes! Oh, yes! This is gonna be great!’ The couch cushions shifted as Foggy launched onto his knees for what Matt presumed was some sort of dance. There was flailing involved, in any case.

Foggy really was hilarious.

Chapter Text

They wouldn’t be going to an art gallery, and Matt wouldn’t be running, either, although the possibility had lodged itself in the back of his mind.

The plan was simple: head back over to the city and get lost in the crowd. Even with the seemingly thousands of people Foggy knew, there wasn’t much chance of being seen.

Matt decided to reprise the baseball cap and aviators look, just in case. The cap was Foggy’s, and was plain blue denim. The glasses, Foggy insisted, were the type that turned up at the back of cluttered drawers to prevent the holes that would otherwise undermine universal stability every time a sock went missing in the wash. Matt was pretty sure that meant he just didn’t know who they belonged to.

Given the time Foggy was taking to get ready, Matt was sure he was going all out with his appearance.

That the juxtaposition of their situations should be expressed so clearly in the visual realm was, honestly, kind of amusing, but Matt kept that thought to himself. The blind guy trying to be invisible while the sighted one had to go to great lengths just to be seen probably involved too much pathos to be truly funny.

And, anyway, Foggy was in the bathroom, cloaked in a dense cloud of warm air and hair products.

Hair styling, it turned out, was a time consuming endeavour, so they hadn’t joined Anna for breakfast. Instead, they settled for toast, which they ate standing at the kitchen counter.

Matt was relieved. He couldn’t imagine sitting still and making polite conversation right then. He didn't have misgivings, exactly, but he maybe wasn’t quite as chill as he hoped he seemed to be.

Foggy tried to goad him into a gross-toppings competition, possibly as a distraction but possibly just because he was like that. Matt refused, on the grounds that he was the sane one. It was an indefensible claim, given what he was about to do, but Foggy didn’t challenge the assertion. Matt didn’t concede that Foggy’s peanut butter and jalapeño topping smelled surprisingly good.

Foggy was in a rush to get going as soon as they were done, and they were out the door before Matt had time to get cold feet.

He held on to Foggy’s elbow until they were on the train, in case a neighbour or someone saw them.

Foggy was being more expansive than usual, and Matt couldn’t work out if it was just joie de vivre or if Foggy was intentionally offering a distraction. Whatever the cause, the steady flow of exclamations and commentary kept Matt from focusing entirely on his own uncertainty.

They got off at 42nd with no immediate plan other than to acquire coffee. Matt suppressed the urge to tug his cap lower as they climbed the stairs from the station.

He could do this.

It would be fine.

It was far from the most reckless thing he’d done in recent times, although it was the most premeditated. Still, it probably wasn’t much of a defence to argue that his reckless behaviour was usually impulsive.

It wasn’t until they were on the street that he noticed Foggy had become quiet. It took even longer to work out that it was because he was busy watching Matt navigate the crowd.

The lack of distracting conversation was probably for the best. Matt didn’t have the focus for it right now. Not that it was completely different from any other day. He rarely relied entirely on his cane. But he was used to most people giving him a little space, if only because they didn’t want to get tripped up.

Now, as people pushed past him, there wasn’t going to be an awkward moment where they forced out a frustrated or embarrassed apology once they became aware of what they’d done.

He was reminded of descriptions of atoms randomly colliding and dispersing.

Such was the bustling anonymity of New York.

He loved it.

He wasn’t sure why he’d given it up after those earlier trials.

As soon as they were seated, with stupidly expensive coffees in front of them, Foggy found his voice. ‘No offense, buddy, but that was so uncanny! I knew you could do it, but just… wow! That was amazing! It’s stupid crowded out there. I mean, it’s Midtown, it’s always crowded, but I think I bumped into more people than you did. I kind of wanted to get behind you and just be drawn along in your wake!’

And, for reasons unknown, Matt found that he didn't actually want to talk about it.

‘Subtle, Fog. I thought the whole point was to avoid drawing attention.’

‘Yikes! Sorry. Although… I wouldn’t really say that was the point. The point is that you get to go out in the world and be your awesome self. The discretion is just a buffer so you feel like you can.’

Matt felt his jaw tighten. This wasn’t being himself. It was using his skills and abilities to create a different illusion than the one he wore every day. ‘Can we not talk about it,’ he said.

‘Of course. Sorry. I’m just a bit blown away. That was…. Nope! Doing it again. Right. Not talking about it.’

Foggy drummed his fingers on the table.

There was a drawn-out pause.

‘Sorry. I can’t think of a single other thing to talk about. There isn’t one thought in my head right now that doesn’t boil down to holy shit. Sorry, buddy. It might take a few minutes for me to recover my chill.’

It wasn’t quite a change of subject, but it still made Matt smile.

‘Fogs, it’s imperative that you know the truth, even if it means I have to be the one to say it: you have no chill. Absolutely none. You’re way too passionate and expressive to be truly mellow. I’ll concede that you sometimes give a credible impression of chill, but that, in itself, is a testament to your thespian intensity.’

‘You wound me, buddy,’ Foggy said. There wasn’t a shred of sincerity in it. ‘Especially since you’re the very essence of chill, yourself.’ And that, he managed to make sound even less sincere, although Matt could hear the smile behind it.

They sipped their drinks. It should have been companionable, but Matt could feel Foggy staring at him. It was making the skin at the base of his throat start to prickle. Being the one to carry the small talk wasn’t usually Matt’s role. Finally, he hit upon a random thought he’d had over dinner the night before.

‘You’ve stopped calling me man. You used to say it a lot.’

Foggy laughed. ‘Now you’re calling me on that?’ He put down his cup and shifted in his seat. ‘Fine, fine. Fair enough. We can talk about this. It’s kind of embarrassing, but I used to think it was funny, alright? People take gender labels so seriously, like they’re an actual thing. So, yeah, I did it to be, well, not quite ironic, but it amused me. I mean, we turn common nouns into proper ones so that we reinforce their social standing, right? Mum, Dad, Sis. But man, when it’s used in that way, falls somewhere between a term of endearment and a weird-ass alternative pronoun, and it just seems like such a strange thing to feel the need to reinforce.’

‘And buddy?’ Matt asked.

‘Well, I’m all for reinforcing that one, obviously. Consider me committed to the cause, buddy.’ Foggy laughed. ‘You know, when I first started thinking it was bizarre to shore up identities in that way, I tried to convince my little cousin, Celeste, to name one of her dolls Replica Infant. I thought it would be brilliantly satirical. Unfortunately, she was too young to get it, and even my parents didn’t fully appreciate the comic genius of their eldest child. I’m pretty sure Auntie Rita and Uncle Ricco had no clue what I was on about.

‘So, anyway, the shorter version is that it was something that used to bug me, the whole reinforcement of machismo thing, and then one day I decided to find it endearingly absurd. After that it was mostly just habit, to be honest. But, lately, it doesn’t seem as funny. I’m trying to be more aware of the things I say.’

‘That was more than I was expecting,’ Matt said. ‘Why did I not anticipate that there’d be back-story?’

‘I don’t know, man! You’d think you’d know better by now.’

Matt grinned. He wouldn’t tell Foggy, but he’d actually kind of missed hearing it.

‘Had to do it just once, now that I’ve confessed,’ Foggy added.

‘Understood. And, for the record, I respect and admire the comic genius of naming a doll Replica Infant. It has a dignified air to it, while also being very sci-fi.’

‘I knew you’d appreciate my brilliance, buddy! Where were you when I was surrounded by doubters?’

People with Foggy’s background took rhetorical questions about the past lightly. Matt was pretty much used to it by now, and only ever considered providing a bluntly honest answer if he really disliked the person.

‘I read a book,’ he said. ‘The Tomorrow File, I think it was called. It was full of that kind of direct attribution.’

It was an old book, and not all that riveting, but it had provided enough novelty to hold his attention a few years back while he was hiding out in the Heiskell to avoid the stifling heat.

Foggy hadn’t heard of it, but he could throw himself enthusiastically into just about any topic. They talked about dystopian futures and then segued into zombie apocalypses while they finished their drinks.

When they returned to the sidewalk, Matt was once again occupied with navigating the crowd.

As he settled into the flow of people, though, setting his pace to theirs and taking cues about obstacles from their behaviour, he was able to extend his awareness to a few non-essential details.

The gap between himself and Foggy felt disturbingly wide, given the absence of Matt’s cane. Ordinarily, if they were out walking like this, Matt would be holding Foggy’s elbow or they’d have their arms intertwined.

It took a few more blocks to register the anxious twitch of his empty hand. It was similar to the nagging feeling when he’d first stopped concealing his heightened senses in front of Foggy. It was a learned discomfort arising from the belief that Matt was doing something inappropriate and stupid.

He tightened his hand into a fist and then shook it out.

Walking unaided through a crowd was no big deal.

He refused to let it be.

Half-listening to Foggy’s observations was entertaining enough to keep Matt from focusing entirely on himself, but it wasn’t until they were wandering through Central Park that he relaxed enough to fully enter into a conversation.

All around them, the sounds and smells of animals and trees intertwined with the inescapable presence of the city.

Getting out had been a great idea.

‘Could you skateboard, Matt?’

Huh. Matt was sure they’d been talking about the possibility of finding a pretzel cart. Foggy had seemed quite committed to the idea, but perhaps that had been a few minutes ago. This end of the park was noisy, given that they were close to the zoo, the carousel, and the amusement park. The sound of so many shrieking children would probably be more irritating if they weren’t surrounded by open spaces and trees. Matt realised his attention had been wandering, chasing impressions from all around him.

He didn’t spend enough time in parks.

‘I’m not going to skateboard, Fogs,’ he said, even though the idea made him smile.

‘Not what I asked, buddy. Could you?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe? Maybe not?’

‘I bet you could.’

‘I honestly don’t know. I’ve never tried anything like it.’

‘In a skate park: smooth surfaces, nothing left lying around. I bet you’d be awesome.’

‘I’m not skateboarding, Foggy.’

‘Yeah, but just imagine…’

‘Foggy! I’m not going skateboarding.’

‘But aren’t you curious, though? Come on, Matt, with your skills? I can’t believe you wouldn’t want to try.’

It sounded more demanding than cajoling.

‘Let it go, Fog.’

Foggy let out an irritated huff of a breath. ‘I’m just saying it would be amazing. I bet you’d love it.’

‘Drop it, alright. Isn’t it enough that we’re doing this?’

‘Ugh! Why don’t you get it? Hiding who you are is bullshit, Matt! It’s pointless and frustrating and literally no one is going to thank you for maintaining the status quo, because it’s just expected that you will! It’s not worth it! If you want to skate, fucking skate! If you want to run, fucking run! I don’t get why you’re not angry about this! Do you know how many things I’ve given up because of ridiculous imposed beliefs about gender? So many! Theatre, motorcycle riding, ballroom dancing: very different activities, you might think, but no! Because every one of them was turned into some kind of statement about the kind of man I am.

‘When I dance, I lead. I’m good at it and I enjoy it, but even if I’m dancing with a non-female person, it somehow means I pitch and they catch, as if that even makes any sense! It’s just a translocation of gendered assumptions. Same with the motorbike, but this time there’s a bonus serve of hyper-masculinity. If I put you on the back of my bike, we know who’s in charge and we know what that means. The whole thing is repulsive. Even theatre, literal acting, frequently fails to say or do anything uninhibited and meaningful in representing humans differently. So I stopped, because it’s painful wading through all the stupid ideas people attribute to the great chromosomal lottery. It’s too much! And I dress the way I do to remind them not to go for the easy assumption. Not that I don’t like the way I look right now. I do. But, even with all of that, I still don’t know how to make people relate to me the way I relate to myself. All I know is that hiding doesn’t work!’

They’d come to a stop in the middle of the path. People were moving around them, but some didn’t seem too happy about it. Matt took Foggy’s arm and directed them onto the grass.

‘I’m sorry, Fogs. I assumed, because we’re away from Columbia, that you wouldn’t be stressed about any of this. That was stupid of me. I don’t stop being blind just because I’m on break, so why would everything suddenly be fine for you.’

Foggy laughed, but it sounded a little forced. ‘I feel like there’s a whole conversation to be had about that comparison, not because it’s necessarily a bad one, just that it’s fairly complex. But, I’m going to put a pin in it because I really need some processing time right now. I honestly don’t know where the hell that just came from. It didn’t even make sense! Not going to apologise… or, well, actually, I am going to apologise for pushing you with the whole skateboarding thing: that bit was bullshit. Sorry, buddy. The rest though….’ Foggy sighed. ‘Can we, like, lie under a tree or something? I can’t have feelings and walk at the same time.’

Matt didn’t smile, because Foggy wasn’t trying to be funny.

‘Sure,’ he said. ‘But it might be easier for you to find a good spot.’

Foggy seemed glad for the distraction. He set about finding the perfect spot, and the place he chose was pretty good. The grass was dry and soft, and Matt could feel dappled shade on his face. He stretched out his legs and braced himself with his arms behind him. Foggy sprawled across the grass, claiming Matt’s thigh as a pillow. His hair, he insisted, was too perfect to end up with twigs and leaves in it.

They settled for a while, with the sounds of the day flowing around them.

It was nice.

‘This morning was the first time Mom’s seen me dressed like this,’ Foggy said. He was fiddling with a dry leaf he’d picked up from the ground.

‘Like…?’ Matt prompted, although he knew what Foggy meant in general terms.

‘Oh, sorry, buddy. Description. Ah... I don’t know. Hair braided. Loose cotton pants that are kind of wide in the leg. Straight shift that’s about thigh length. A few buttons at the back. Sleeveless and kind of sack-like. Um. Brown sandals. Oh. And the pants are really light green, the shift’s a light coffee colour with partial yellow circles here and there, kind of like ring marks from a coffee cup on a table.’

Matt had only a vague idea what a shift was, but he was familiar with braids. He liked the intricacy of them.

‘And that’s why we ate breakfast in the kitchen?’ he asked.

Foggy shrugged against Matt’s leg, but then pushed up into a sitting position.

‘Yeah. It was fine. She… she didn’t say anything.’ There was a tearing sound from the leaf. ‘Not a single word.’

‘We left in a hurry,’ Matt observed.

‘There was time.’

‘Yeah. I guess there was.’ Matt hesitated, but decided he didn’t want to hold back when it was possible that Foggy needed to hear it. ‘I’ve been told that compliments from a blind man mean nothing, but, Fog, even with the lacklustre description you just gave, I know that what you’re wearing suits you. It sounds perfect. I can’t imagine your mom would think otherwise.’

‘Yeah, you didn’t see her face, buddy.’

‘No, I didn’t. But I’ve heard the way she and your dad talk about you. I’ve heard how they talk to you. They’re really proud of you. I know you don’t need anyone’s acceptance, but they-’

‘Yeah, actually, here’s the thing: it turns out, when it comes to them, I kinda do.’

‘And you really think you don’t have it?’

‘No. No, of course not. It was scary, that’s all. Worse than any single day at Columbia. I don’t know what I wanted from her. There was a split second where she looked kind of shocked, and that was too much. I ran. What if she’s repulsed? What if she doesn’t want to know? I mean, I absolutely know she loves me and supports me, but what if it’s like the whole thing… you know, like: I’m not homophobic. I don’t care what the goddamn queers do as long as they do it in the privacy of their own bedrooms and keep it off the streets. I mean, I’m not saying she’s homophobic, she’s absolutely not, but, like, you know the mindset, right? In this case, maybe dressing this way is too much. What if she’s embarrassed that someone she knows might see me? What if she cares what the rest of the family think? What if she’s hoping I won’t sit down to dinner like this tonight? And what about Dad?’

Matt was shocked that Foggy could doubt that he had his parents’ support. It seemed impossible to Matt that they’d be anything less than completely accepting. But Foggy knew them much better than Matt did, obviously. Still, ‘Ed adores you, Fogs. Your mom does, too. I don’t know. Maybe it’s just going to take them by surprise for a while. It doesn’t mean they’re thinking terrible things about you. I don’t think they’re capable of that.’

‘Yeah, you’re probably right.’ Foggy picked up another leaf and tore through it, then another. After the fourth, he sighed. ‘Of course you’re right. They’ve never given me reason to doubt them. Thanks, buddy.’ Foggy reached out and poked Matt’s leg. ‘Although, honestly, I was kind of expecting a strategic distraction. You’re usually good at those.’

That kind of hurt, even though Foggy wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true. He’d said it lightly enough that it wasn’t meant to be an insult, but Matt still didn’t know how to respond. He made a noncommittal sound while he tried to work it out, but Foggy spoke first.

‘No, it’s a good thing. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I can be a bit like a sleepy toddler sometimes. I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine, until bam, everything gets too much and I launch into unreasonable meltdown mode. Sometimes I just need to whine and talk myself out, but other times I get caught in a spiral. That’s when a shiny toy helps.’

Matt raised an eyebrow, though Foggy probably couldn’t see it over the horrible aviators. ‘Am I seriously the shiny toy in this protracted simile?’

‘So shiny. All the bells and whistles, Murdock.’

‘Fine. But just so you know, you’re not allowed to drool on me.’

‘Ha! You wish! Sorry, buddy, but I was the kind of toddler who’d flush things to make them disappear! Ooh, and one time I put a beanie frog in an old ice-cream tub full of water and froze it. Yikes! I kept that poor little critter on ice for months. I’m not sure what that was about. Whatever it was, it possibly wasn’t too healthy.’

‘You’re not going to freeze me. Not even for science.’

Matt sat up and crossed his legs so that he could move closer. Despite Foggy’s rapid-fire conversational gymnastics, Matt hadn’t missed that there were genuine fears and insecurities driving the outburst. He wanted to say something to let Foggy know that he didn’t need to doubt himself. Matt was sure, even based on the few descriptions he’d been given, that Foggy was beautiful when he let himself make the choices he wanted to make… but maybe that was an offensive thing to think?

He didn’t usually think of men as beautiful, and he wasn’t quite able to stop himself from thinking of Foggy as a man, although the possibility felt less nonsensical than it had at first. Still, given that Matt didn’t really understand his own thoughts on the subject, he knew he wouldn’t be able to come up with the right thing to say to put Foggy at ease.

‘And I’m still not going skateboarding,’ he said, because it was safe and it would help. Strategic distraction.

Foggy groaned, but he reached out and shoved Matt’s shoulder at the same time. ‘Don’t provoke me, Murdock. Toddler, remember. I know you’re not going skateboarding, and I’m sorry for whining at you.’

‘You weren’t whining. Projecting a little, perhaps.’

‘Pff… a little, he says!’

‘Fine, you were projecting a lot,’ Matt agreed, but his mind was suddenly elsewhere.

Foggy threw something, and it bounced off Matt’s cheek before it registered as a bundle of dry grass and leaves.

Matt ignored it.

‘Wait. Do you actually own a motorcycle?’

‘Eh, kind of. Technically it’s Dad’s. He inherited it from his uncle, Bert, but he doesn’t ride it much. I used to ride it to school all the time, but also just for fun.’

That… was not something Matt had expected.

‘Good grief, Murdock! What’s with that look?! Is it so unbelievable? When you met me I looked like a stoner.’

‘I didn’t notice. I must have been distracted by the fact that you said something about my eyes getting knocked out, and then flirted with me.’

‘C’mon. That wasn’t flirting. It was ogling, combined with a total absence of brain to mouth filter. And, besides, I backed off the second you reacted like a terrified straight boy. But, seriously, are you really going to tell me that queer stoners can’t ride motorcycles, because you know where this conversation is headed if you provoke the toddler, Matthew. It’s not going to be pretty. I can reprise the whole existential crisis, I assure you. It has layers.’

Matt ignored everything but the central point. ‘Take me for a ride,’ he said.

‘What?’

‘On your motorcycle. Take me for a ride.’ Matt could feel the heat rise to the surface of his skin, but he ignored it.

‘Yeah, I got that. Huh…. But wouldn’t it be, like, way too loud and windy, though?’

‘Everything’s loud, all the time. Constant noise is more bearable than relative quiet broken by unpredictable blasts. I don’t think it’d be a problem.’ It would be so far from a problem. Just the thought of that kind of speed and motion, wind and noise was intoxicating.

‘Well, I should at least inform you that I haven’t ridden in a while.’ Foggy sounded wary, but he’d already sewn the seeds of his own defeat.

‘I don’t know why not,’ Matt said, trying to play it cool. ‘I’ve been led to believe that hiding from the things you want to do is bullshit.’

Foggy laughed.

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Maybe it is.’

Chapter Text

Foggy was having the best break!

It was probably strange, or inappropriate, or whatever, because Matt was kind of pensive sometimes and definitely not as relaxed as he pretended to be, but even that felt right.

Foggy was accustomed to the knowledge that, even when things were tough, there was comfort at home, and it felt good to know that Matt had been made part of that, like a chick brought under wing… a floopy, fluffy, slightly bewildered but endearingly earnest, adorable chick… who, in peak form, was more like an eagle or a dragon or… the point was, Matt wasn’t helpless, just a bit wobbly legged and dewy right now, but he was where he should be, so it was good!

During the day, they mostly messed around at the apartment or went on small expeditions… yes, Matt, an Expedition: we’re looking for the North Pole. It probably smells like reindeer pee and candy cane, and with your super-sniffer you’re totally qualified to find it, in fact I appoint you Expedition Leader… so, things were good!

So good.

Yep.

Unqualified, unequivocal goodness.

Because it wasn’t cowardice that had led to the temporary postponement of acting upon Matt’s entirely rational suggestion that Foggy should talk to his folks about the variable-fashion-situation. It was just that timing was everything, and the few times his mom had given him a should we talk look, the moment hadn’t been right.

Everyone had a lot going on.

So busy!

Even without fitting in time for a motorcycle ride, which was another thing Foggy would get to when the time was right.

Matt hadn’t mentioned it, after the park, and Foggy hadn’t either.

He had snuck down to the garage one evening while his dad and Matt were busy with their game. The bike was as he’d left it: clean and undamaged. He’d kicked the engine over, just to check, and it had started fine. His dad must have been riding it enough to keep the battery alive then.

It was a blue and black Vulcan 750, approaching twenty years old, not a stylish bike but reliable and comfortable to ride. In his late teens it had felt like freedom and power, and Foggy had loved it. Right up until he’d noticed that a whole new range of people were circling in his orbit. Some of them were good people, some not so much, but either way he wasn’t who they thought he was. He didn’t want to be.

The motorcycle became just a mode of transport after that, and, eventually, Foggy had decided he’d rather stand on a crowded bus or train. Anonymity in the pack, and all.

But! That was in the past. These days, he was all about moving forward… at his own pace, which was, in fact, more mature and productive than pushing on and winging it. He would talk to his parents, and he would take Matt for a ride, and he would do both those things when he was ready.

It was the very opposite of avoidance.

Siobhan would agree.

Maybe.

Except, instead of agreeing, she’d actually push him to examine what he was afraid of. But, ha! Foggy would be ready for her, because he knew exactly the answer to that! Columbia was a bubble, an itty-bitty microcosm of mostly twenty-somethings and academics. A year out of Columbia and he’d probably never see most of those people again. Now, though, he was in his parents’ neighbourhood, where Nelson’s Hardware was part of the landscape and his mom and dad were part of a network of friends and neighbours who were invested in each other’s lives. And… also… these were his parents, who almost certainly loved him too much to admit that they were uncomfortable with his... general being... or at least with him making that being visible.

So! No pressure!

None. At. All.

He would move forward.

Soon.

In the meantime, goofing around with Matt was fabulous. Like, actually, honestly, the most fun ever. Foggy almost wished Candy could be home to join in. She’d be so excited! And, also, they could team up and maybe have a chance of defeating the impossible dork. Except they couldn’t, of course, because Matt would go all mild-mannered-blind-man if Candy was around.

Fortunately, even without little sister as backup, there were areas where Foggy’s skills shone through. For the last few days, he’d insisted on preparing the evening meals, and Matt had been happy to help. Beyond happy, actually, because Matt genuinely wanted to do something nice for Foggy’s folks. He even questioned whether the meals would reheat well when Foggy’s mom got home from work.

Matt had kitchen skills, too. He just hadn’t cooked many full meals by himself before. So, between the two of them, they were totally acing it.

Their current offering was going to be stuffed cabbage rolls served with a three bean salad and slaw, complete with homemade mayo. The kitchen smelled fantastic with the warm tomato, basil, and garlic infusing the air, and Foggy breathed deeply to savour it.

Matt was slicing the salad vegetables, but he paused with the knife over the board.

He was smiling.

‘Are you going to wash the beans, Fog?’

‘Hmm? Yeah. Yeah, of course. I’m just….’

‘Staring.’ And how could such a subtle smile look exactly like a raised eyebrow?

It was a mystery. Truly. Although the smile-brow had a point.

Because, the thing was, cooking with Matt involved one tiny problem.

‘Yeah. Sorry, buddy. You caught me,’ Foggy admitted. ‘And I know it probably makes me a jerk, but it gets me every time. Especially when you’re handling a knife like that. You could be a surgeon with that kind of precision.’

‘It’s fine.’ Matt sounded entirely sincere.

Foggy deflated.

Even after the You SHOULD Skateboard fiasco and subsequent meltdown in the park, Matt was so patient with Foggy’s endless tests, games, and curiosity. And it was fun, exciting, awesome. But. There was a little voice in Foggy’s head that was becoming kind of emphatic, because his giddy fascination wasn’t diminishing. Not even a little.

‘But it’s not fine, really, is it?’ he said. ‘I mean, it’s a bit like the obnoxious belief that intelligence only happens in English. I must have some unconscious idea that vision makes me uniquely capable of skilful activity, because, when you do things like that, I’m way more impressed than I should be. It’s patronising.’

‘Nah.’ Matt didn’t sound the least bit conflicted. ‘You throw things at my head all the time. Either you truly want to hurt me, or you have absolute faith in my ability to do things my way. The knife fixation is just because vision’s your safety net and you’ve been taught that knives are dangerous.’

Foggy hmmed.

Matt returned to pretty much making matchsticks out of a bell pepper.

Foggy tried to focus on washing the beans, but Matt’s brow was doing a thing.

Foggy waited.

‘I’m not sure it’s wrong to be entranced by something unexpected or unfamiliar, Fogs. It’s not like you’re telling me to be careful, or to put the knife down. It really doesn’t bother me. If you stare, I mean. I shouldn’t have said anything.’

‘Thanks, buddy. It’s just, ever since you told me about your thing, I feel like I spend a lot of time gawking. I mean, I did before, as well, which you probably already knew. And, at first, it was alright because I’d never spent time with a person who’s blind before and curiosity is a thing, you know? But now there’s a whole lot more to be wowed by and I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. I know you said you don’t want people making a fuss over things that are just normal for you, and I’m probably the worst offender. I get so excited by it all.’

Matt pushed the peppersticks to the side.

He grabbed a carrot and fussed with it for a while.

‘Fogs?’ he said.

‘Yeah?’

‘You don’t fetishise my blindness. If that’s what you’re worried about. I’ve met people who do. You’re nothing like them.’

Foggy felt a slight prickle of tears as he took a deep breath. He hadn’t known how much he’d needed to address the fear that had been building behind his stupid boundless enthusiasm.

‘It feels like a fine line, sometimes, buddy, and I don’t love myself for it.’

Matt put down the knife and began straightening the already neat mounds of peppers and scallions on the board.

He looked troubled, which did not bode well despite the reassurance he’d just given.

‘I, um, I like the clothes you’re wearing, when you…. You don’t usually tell me what you’re wearing and it shouldn’t matter because you never did before, but I’m the only one who doesn’t get to know, and I’m curious, but I don’t want you to feel like I’m making a thing of it or being some kind of creep. It just feels like it’s so important to you that you dress in a way that communicates something about yourself, but I don’t get to know that part of you. Except that’s not all there is to it, and maybe it’s like the knife thing, because sometimes I just really want to know... and if that’s… I’m sorry. I don’t really understand it myself. I don’t usually care what people are wearing, never even think about it… so, ah, you shouldn’t feel bad for staring when I cook. Like I said, I think you’re just entranced by something unfamiliar.’

Which was not at all what Foggy had expected.

He made a sound that probably qualified as confused acknowledgement, because what else could he do? He didn’t know what to think.

Then they returned to their cooking.

They talked, but only at the level of their more familiar daily banter.

In the gaps in between, Foggy’s mind was not filled with serenity.

He wondered if he should be angry… insulted… thrilled.

Was he some kind of curiosity to Matt? Or had he been insensitive for not considering that his blind best friend, who was nothing but supportive, might want a description from time to time? And how would that have gone? It wasn’t like they usually discussed their wardrobes.

But mostly, he was perplexed. Did their current dilemma seriously come down to: you’re not being a creep because I’m being a creep too? Or was Matt right? Was it just that it was natural to be entranced, and wasn’t that the word for it, by someone compellingly different from oneself?

Except, Foggy wasn’t sure that he’d have the same response if it was anyone but Matt. His sense of awe seemed completely intertwined with the fondness and admiration he felt for Matt in particular. And maybe that was the answer.

‘You should think about staying for the rest of the summer,’ he said.

They were almost finished cooking.

Matt was rinsing dishes and stacking them by the side of the sink. ‘I’d lose my deposit with housing,’ he said. ‘And it wouldn’t be like now. I’d have to work.’

‘Yeah.’ In the past, Foggy had worked informally for his dad during breaks, or else helped out in other ways, but Matt took on casual transcription work to earn money.

That didn’t need to be a problem.

‘And I’d have to check with Ed and Anna,’ Matt said.

‘You know they want you to stay.’

‘Yeah. Your dad has made it pretty clear,’ Matt admitted. ‘I’ll... I’ll think about it.’

Foggy looked around at the signs of their quiet domesticity, and really hoped he would.

Chapter Text

‘Ed told me I should stay.’

It was a warm day, and Matt had just reappeared after exercising in his room. His hair was hanging heavy and flat from the moisture he obviously hadn’t bothered to towel away after a shower.

He looked defiant and vulnerable, like a younger cousin standing just inside the living room doorway, nervous that calling attention to himself might mean he’d be sent away. Or maybe he just looked like Matt; like someone Foggy wanted to hold on to until he knew he belonged.

‘You should stay,’ he said. ‘You know we all want you here. What’s the problem, buddy?’

‘Three months isn’t a visit, Fog. It’s longer than any foster placement I ever had. And Ed’s spending most of his free time with me. Your parents haven’t had guests since I arrived, even though I know that’s not normal for them. They’re feeding me and I’m increasing their utility bills, but they won’t let me contribute financially. They think I’m a sweet boy who they want to take care of, but they don’t know anything about me! They don’t know that I’m lying to them, that while they’re going to the trouble of being accommodating and inclusive, I’m running around the apartment, jumping over furniture and catching fruit that’s thrown at my head! They don’t know that I could eavesdrop on every one of their conversations just by choosing not to block it out. They don’t know that I’m aware of when they last had sex. They think I’m a good kid. Doesn’t it bother you that I’m lying to them?’

‘Honestly, Matt, I feel like it should, but it really doesn’t. I’m just so glad you’re here, buddy. And I know Mom and Dad would prefer you to keep your secrets and stay, if the alternative is that you feel like you have to leave.’

‘That’s…’ Matt began, but then stopped.

He came fully into the room and flopped on the couch beside Foggy. He seemed resigned, which probably meant he knew Foggy was right.

‘They will legit pine if you go back to campus housing, buddy, but it’s your choice. You need to do what’s right for you.’

And that was true.

Foggy reminded himself, once again, that Matt was the only person who could decide what was right for Matt.

Chapter Text

Saturday morning, Foggy was still unsure what Matt would decide to do.

He was due to leave on Sunday.

The two of them had just finished the breakfast clean-up, and Matt’s mind was clearly somewhere else, but Foggy wasn’t going to ask.

They’d planned to go for a walk. Matt would probably say something then.

Foggy reminded himself that either outcome would be fine.

As they left the kitchen, though, Matt grabbed Foggy’s arm.

‘Could we go to the living room?’ he asked.

‘Of course.’

Matt’s grip was firm as they walked down the hall, but he let go as they entered the room.

‘Can you sit down, Fog?’ he said, perfectly pleasant and calm.

Huh.

Foggy’s mom put her tablet aside as he joined her on the couch. His dad was in one of the armchairs nearby, with a book in his lap.

You’re probably wondering why I’ve gathered you all here today, Foggy thought. It was possibly a hysterical reaction.

Matt was standing just inside the doorway, but he couldn’t have looked more different than he had a few days ago.

‘Ed, Anna, sorry for interrupting, but I’d like to talk to you, if that’s alright.’

‘Of course, sweetheart. Come and sit.’

‘Thank you, Ed, but I’d rather stand, for now. I’d be grateful if you could hear me out, and I’ll answer any questions you have after that.’

Foggy stared at Matt. He wanted to jump up and squeal at what he knew was coming but, fortunately, he was transfixed by the heroic dork across the room.

Matt was totally going to do this! Foggy’s parents had given their bemused agreement, and Matt was standing there, looking poised and ready to present his case.

He adjusted his glasses and squared his shoulders. It was a subtle shift in someone who already had fantastic posture, but it was always a sign that he meant business.

‘When Foggy invited me home with him, I assumed I’d spend a couple of weeks making polite dinner conversation and enjoying some time away from campus. It hasn’t been like that at all. You didn’t just welcome me into your home, you’ve included me in your daily lives. You don’t treat me like a blind man, or even Foggy’s friend. You treat me like a person, issues and all. I didn’t come here planning to talk about anything personal or significant, but I have, and it’s been… unexpected, but good.’

Matt looked comfortable, sincere, a little fond.

Foggy, on the other hand, was possibly not breathing quite right. He wanted to see how his parents were reacting, but couldn’t drag his gaze away from Matt.

‘Now, you’ve made it clear that I’m welcome to stay,’ Matt said, ‘and I need to demonstrate that the respect and care you’ve shown me is returned. I didn’t feel like I could do that before, and I’m sorry. Sometimes, honesty has a price, and I didn’t feel ready to take that chance. But, if I’m going to stay, and I’d like to, there are some things you need to know. Then you can choose whether the invitation is still open, once you understand what having me here really entails.

‘Matt, sweetheart, you don’t have to-’ Foggy’s dad began, but Matt cut him off.

‘Please let me explain, Ed. This is important. The accident that left me blind involved some kind of liquid that was being transported in barrels. In the collision, a barrel burst open and spilled its contents over me. The most immediate effect was caused by the liquid getting in my eyes. Obviously, losing one’s eyesight is a dramatic experience, and, given that there were no other serious physical injuries, that’s where the doctors directed their attention. And I was overwhelmed for a while, of course, and didn’t notice that there’d been other consequences. In any case, they only became apparent gradually. I assume that’s because they were the result of the systemic impact of the toxin rather than its immediate topical effect, but, whatever the explanation, within months, all of my other senses began to improve. I was busy relearning my independence, relearning how to read, how to look after myself. At first, I didn’t trust my own instinct that something wasn’t normal. I never mentioned it to my dad. I’d already given him enough to deal with.

‘By the time I was at Saint Agnes’s, the increased sensory input had become so intense that it was more than I could stand. I was losing my mind. That’s when Stick came into my life. He taught me how to filter the constant stream of input, how to use it to navigate the world.

‘So, the truth is, I can’t see, but I’m nothing like other blind people. If you walked down to the corner and spoke at a normal volume, I could hear you if I tried. I can hear your heartbeats. I can hear the neighbours on either side, and their neighbours beyond that. My sense of smell, touch, taste, all of them are equally strong. They’re enough to provide me with an accurate understanding of the space around me. I don’t actually need my cane or a guide to get around.

‘Fog, toss me the remote,’ Matt said.

It was so left of field that Foggy didn’t immediately register the request. Then he wondered why Matt wanted to turn on the television. When his brain finally caught up, he laughed. He grabbed the remote and threw it at Matt’s head.

Beside him, his mom gasped.

Matt caught the remote easily and tossed it carefully, letting it flip in the air before closing his hand around it. His face soon turned serious though, and he walked over and handed the remote to Foggy before taking a seat in the empty armchair.

‘The reason I’m telling you this is that I’m not comfortable deceiving you. But, also, and more importantly, you have a right to know. Since I’ve been here, I’ve done everything I can to respect your privacy. I can’t avoid hearing, but I can choose not to listen, if that makes sense. I use my iPod as white noise when I’m alone so that my attention doesn’t wander. There are some things I can’t avoid knowing though, because my brain identifies them immediately, and the information is just there. That includes things like sexual arousal, recent sexual activity, digestive issues, illness, anxiety, anger… I’m sure you get the picture. Like I said, I can’t avoid knowing some things, but I tend not to dwell on them. It’s not as interesting as people might assume, being constantly swamped by the intimate details of everyone’s lives. It became routine years ago.

‘But that doesn’t mean you have to be comfortable with having me in your home. I realise my presence is invasive just because of the way I am. As I said before, I’m sorry I didn’t feel able to tell you this when I first arrived. If you’d prefer me to leave, I’ll understand entirely.’

There was silence for a drawn-out minute. Matt looked calm and kind of blank, but Foggy could see his fingers twitching slightly against his thigh. He wondered what cues Matt was reading, and if they were to blame for the tic. He turned to see what response his parents had, but his mom was already up and moving. She sat on the arm of Matt’s chair and put an arm around him. She had tears on her cheeks.

‘That’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever heard! I know I shouldn’t worry, you're not a child, but I’ve been so anxious about what it must be like for you, living in a city like this. Not that I don’t think you’re capable, sweetheart, I know you are, but I just want you to be safe. I want things to be easy for you. I’m sorry. I’m rambling. It’s just such a relief.’

She’d moved from hugging Matt to running a hand over his back. The way she was looking at him, Foggy was certain she was moments away from holding his cheeks and kissing his forehead. It was kind of hilarious. Matt’s expression was photo-worthy, except Foggy wasn’t that much of an insensitive jerk. He’d make do with revisiting the memory over and over until it stuck.

He turned to his dad, expecting him to be equally amused, but he was wrong.

Foggy hadn’t often seen his dad get worked up. Edward Nelson was no saint, but he wasn’t someone who believed that raised voices and clenched fists were likely to solve a problem. At the moment he looked like it was a struggle to stay in his seat, and not because he wanted to give Matt a hug.

‘So, that man came along after you’d lost your sight, your father, and your home… while you were suffering from some kind of chemical side effect that sent your whole body into crisis… and, instead of arranging proper medical care, he bullied and belittled you until you made yourself cope.’

‘Ed. That’s not going to help.’ Foggy’s mom had stopped fussing over Matt and was looking stern.

‘Well, what am I supposed to say, Anna? You heard the same thing I did.’

‘I did. Matt told us that some incredible twist of fate has given him abilities that, I’m sure, don’t make up for the loss of sight, but must go a long way towards making life easier. No one I deal with at work gets that kind of silver lining. It’s fantastic! I’m so happy to hear about it.’

‘Of course it’s fantastic. It just makes what that man did-’

‘I know you’re glad. You’re also angry, and it’s making you say things Matt might not be comfortable with you sharing, since he talked to you about them in confidence.’

‘Jesus. I’m sorry, Matt. I didn’t mean to-’

‘It’s fine, but can we not talk about that right now, please?’ Matt looked a little lost, buffeted by the intensity of their reactions.

‘Of course. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just don’t understand how he could-’

‘Ed! This is good news,’ Foggy’s mom said.

‘Right. Good news. Of course it is.’ His dad obviously meant it, but it was taking a while for the anger to dissipate.

‘Do you… ah… do you understand what I was telling you? About what this means?’ Matt asked.

Foggy shifted in his seat, unsure of what his role was, here. Matt looked confounded, but nothing was going badly. There was nothing for Foggy to do. He might have felt a little like a spectator, except that he was way too invested in the scene.

‘I’m sure I don’t fully understand the details, darling, but I understand the broader implications.’ Foggy’s mom put a hand on Matt’s cheek, and stared at him like she was studying him. ‘Actually, it makes a lot of sense. I had no idea, obviously, but there have been a few times I’ve been surprised by the way you do things, or the way you seem to notice things that I wouldn’t expect. You’re not entirely like the other people I’ve met who are blind.’

‘You should see him when he’s not holding back!’ Foggy enthused. ‘His senses give him this amazing three-sixty-degree awareness, and he’s so agile from all the working out and training that he moves like-’

‘Foggy!’ Matt said, at the same time as Foggy’s mom spoke.

‘You knew?! No, wait. Of course you did,’ she said.

Which was a convenient opportunity to change tracks, because, apparently, talking about the martial arts thing was a no go? Oh, right. Probably because his dad was still angry about the very existence of Stick, which, perfectly reasonable, but it was probably best not to go there.

Instead, Foggy went with the diversion.

‘Yeah. Matt told me a while after mid-term break,’ he said. ‘He, ah… you know this has to be a secret, right? Other than us, there are only two people who know about it.’

‘You don’t understand what I’m telling you!’ Matt sounded a bit desperate. ‘Foggy, do the three truths, one lie thing.’

‘I could, but I don’t think they need to see that, buddy.’

Matt’s overwhelmed confusion was less amusing now. He clearly couldn’t believe that no one was horrified by what he’d revealed.

Fortunately, Foggy was sufficiently qualified to bridge the gap.

‘Mom, Dad: Matt wants you to know that he can tell if anyone lies to him because it causes a brief surge in their heart rate and small changes to skin temperature, et cetera, et cetera… things that I can’t imagine even noticing. He thinks you should be bothered but, as I’ve told him before, he can’t lie for shit because anyone who can see his face knows at a glance. And, anyway, most people can’t pull off really important lies without some kind of visible tell, and I doubt it’s worth putting the effort into super-sensing the kind of everyday convenience lies most people deal in. Also, the whole polygraph thing has some serious flaws which have been researched and reported at length.

‘Next: Matt can super-sense arousal and other intimate details. But, buddy, honestly, I’ve watched you flirt, and I can tell if you’re really interested or if you’re just having fun. You’re not the only one who can detect these things. And many people, even non-male ones, experience arousal fairly frequently. People masturbate. People have sex. These are truths that we’re embracing because the internet has made us bold, brave, and honest. We can cope if you know these things.

‘Also: illness. Matt tries to be stoic when he’s sick but it’s obvious, just like it is when anyone’s under the weather. And, alright, I can’t smell disease or whatever, but I can’t see how that’s invasive. It’s kind of comforting, actually. If you ever think any of us should be running to a doctor, buddy, please let us know: early detection and all.

‘And, finally: Matt thinks his very existence is invasive because he can hear all the conversations going on around him, but, from what I understand, he’d still have to choose to focus on one. If I choose to listen to private conversations, I can do that, too. Not over such a wide range, but I hardly think that’s the point. And like you said, buddy, the vast majority of it’s not interesting enough to bother. So, did I miss anything?’

Matt was visibly working at processing Foggy’s comprehensive and, frankly, impressive challenge to the wide array of Murdockian Insecurities. His fingers were tapping against his thigh. His face was angled away from Foggy’s mom, towards the ground.

And, perhaps it was the obvious display of overwhelmedness that made her move back to the couch to give Matt some space.

‘Matt, honey,’ she said, once she’d studied him for a bit. ‘It’s not that I’m disregarding your concerns, and I’m sure, when I get a moment to myself, that I’ll probably feel a little embarrassed about some of the implications of what you’ve told us. But what you don’t seem to understand, sweetheart, is that no amount of embarrassment is going to make me unhappy that you have these abilities. What kind of person would I have to be to prioritise some stuffy and outdated notion of modesty when you’re telling me these abilities let you move around more safely; when they allow you to know if something is going to hit you in the head?’ And that was accompanied by an accusatory and totally unjust look in Foggy’s direction, even though Matt had told him to throw the remote! ‘It doesn’t matter if some of it’s confronting,’ she continued, her expression softening again now that she was looking at Matt, ‘because none of it’s a deal breaker. I want you here, Matt, and I’m sincerely touched that you trusted us enough to tell us about all of this.’

‘I agree, sweetheart,’ Foggy’s dad said, and he seemed calmer now, like he was finally able to focus on the magnitude of the trust Matt was putting in them. ‘I’m glad you talked to us, but nothing you said changes how I feel about you staying. In fact, your concerns made me think of when Foggy was little. Anna and I never really had a honeymoon, because he was already a toddler when we met, and every stage of raising Foggy has made me examine and re-examine my ideas of privacy and invasiveness. If you never ask me what a vibrator is, you’re already ahead of the game.’

‘Don’t pout, Foggy, you know we love you,’ his mom added, even though Foggy was glad to hear his dad joke about it.

‘The truth is, I’d love you to stay, Matt,’ his dad said.

‘I… I’d really like that,’ Matt admitted, like it was an emotional truth.

‘That’s wonderful, hon,’ Foggy’s mom said.

‘Wonderful,’ his dad added.

And, yeah, Matt still looked totally lost. Foggy wanted to drag him over to the couch, so they could sprawl out together and let the day slide by. It seemed like a gentle option that would give Matt the time he clearly needed to process all of this.

‘There are a lot of emotional looks going on right now,’ Foggy said, when the silence stretched. ‘But if no one objects, Matt, buddy, we are going to flop right here on the couch and begin listening to something truly awesome.’ Which was maybe taking advantage of Matt’s bewildered state, because this particular selection was more than a little quirky. But it was fine. Foggy was sure, once they got started, that Matt would be hooked.

‘Right, then. Anna, my love, that sounds like our cue. How about we head off to a cafe or something?’

‘If that’s alright with you, Matt, honey? We can stay if you’d prefer.’

‘No. It’s fine, Anna. I'm fine, thanks.’

‘Alright. Good,’ Foggy's dad said, getting up from his seat. He moved to where he could squat down in front of Matt, and spoke in his soft and serious voice. ‘Look, sweetheart, obviously we’ll be talking about all of this, but I promise you nothing’s going to change. And we’ll be discreet, of course.’

‘It's fine, Ed. I understand. I…’

When Matt ran out of words and just sat there looking lost, Foggy came under some serious parental scrutiny.

‘You’ll look after him, won’t you, sunshine?’

‘Of course, Dad. We’ll be fine.’

‘I know you will. Just don’t let him convince himself that we’ve gone off to say what we really think. Matt, that isn’t something we’d ever do. You know that, right?’

There was no response.

‘Matt?’ Foggy prompted.

Matt appeared to drag his attention back to the conversation, but he must have already been listening enough to keep track.

‘I know, Ed. I trust you.’

‘Alright. That’s good to know, sweetheart. We’ll be back soon, and we can talk some more if you’d like, maybe go for a walk or something.’

The goodbyes and reassurances were kind of drawn out, but Foggy understood why. There was still a part of him that couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. Obviously, it wouldn’t be appropriate to be all celebratory when Matt seemed kind of shell-shocked, but wow! Just wow!

Foggy grinned as he set up the audio on his iPod and then dragged Matt to the couch and flopped down at his side.

Chapter Text

Matt spent most of that Saturday stretched out on the couch. Foggy seemed determined to provide a steady stream of audiobook, snacks, and random chatter. He also stayed close, which was good because Matt felt oddly distant from himself and from everything around him.

He wasn’t sure why telling Ed and Anna had affected him more than telling Foggy had. At least this time it had been planned. Matt had gone over everything he’d wanted to say with the same careful scrutiny he applied to preparing arguments for class. He’d even practised his delivery.

And it wasn’t as though he’d expected anger. He’d hardly have shared such sensitive information if he believed they were the kind of people who’d react too badly.

What he had anticipated, he was realising, was that he would most likely become some kind of uncomfortable oddity to them, a challenge they’d take on because they were good people.

What he’d never imagined was anyone being relieved on his behalf.

Matt had found himself wanting to be insulted by Anna’s reaction, because there were plenty of ordinary-blind people who managed to live their lives amid the bustle of New York City, but he knew that taking offense would be unreasonable. If he allowed himself some distance, it made sense to be glad that someone’s challenges were less significant than they’d seemed.

What didn’t make sense was the fact that their relief on his behalf overshadowed their own discomfort at having no potential for true privacy in his presence.

He found himself drifting into speculation about how the next days and weeks would unfold.

He couldn’t help remembering Foggy’s bout of anxiety when they’d gone to Central Park. That irrational anticipation of rejection, or, at the very least, ill-disguised discomfort, felt a lot more understandable right now.

And it was irrational. Matt knew that. He’d allowed himself to track both Ed and Anna carefully while he’d spoken to them, so he knew their reactions had been genuine. They unreservedly wanted him to stay.

Foggy had no idea how unusual his own easy affection and care for the people around him were, and Matt now suspected that Ed and Anna were the same.

It was inevitable that people like the Nelsons would struggle to understand people like Matt and Stick.

He wondered what they’d have thought of his dad.

He wanted to believe that Ed and Jack would have gotten along, even with their different approaches to life. After all, both of them worked hard to be good fathers, although, sadly, Foggy probably wouldn’t have thrived growing up with Matt’s dad.

‘How can you look miserable like that when there’s A-grade existential humour going on, buddy? You can’t be listening, because I refuse to believe that this scene could give rise to that face.’

Matt forced a smile. ‘Sorry. I was distracted by all the casual blasphemy.’

‘Sure you were. Everything all right?’ Foggy had stopped the audio. He was leaning against the opposite arm of the large couch, their legs sharing the centre. He nudged Matt’s thigh with his foot.

‘I’m fine,’ Matt said.

‘Uh huh, and?’ Foggy rubbed a hand over the top of Matt’s foot, then left it resting on his ankle.

It gave Matt something to focus on.

‘Your parents are… unusual.’

Foggy had sent Anna a text to say that he and Matt were fine and that they should stay out for the day if they wanted. That had resulted in a flurry of messages back and forth, which Matt hadn’t been privy to, but it was late afternoon and they were yet to return.

Matt suspected they were giving him space.

He knew he should feel uncomfortable about it, but he didn’t. There was something routine about their kindness. He didn’t take it for granted, but on some level he’d begun to accept that their personal ethics drove their choices. That wasn’t something he was inclined to argue against.

‘My parents are fucking awesome!’ Foggy said. ‘How did I forget that?’

Matt laughed. Foggy didn’t usually swear unless he was quite worked up about something, but when he did, he owned it. It was unexpectedly sweet.

‘No, really, buddy,’ Foggy said. ‘Living in the dorms, I kind of forgot how important it is to have a solid base, you know? Not that there aren’t good people there, and I love the endless opportunities to connect, but this…. I shouldn’t have forgotten what I have here. I shouldn’t have doubted them.’

‘You deserve them, Fog. You’re fucking awesome, too,’ Matt said, and tried not to cringe. He’d probably always swear like a guilty Catholic boy, half pulling back the words even as they left his mouth, but how could it be any other way, with so many sisters and priests hanging over his shoulder?

Foggy laughed, almost certainly at Matt instead of with him.

‘After what you did this morning? We deserve them,’ he said. ‘Seriously, that was amazing, buddy. I’m even glad you didn’t tell me you were going to do it, because the shock was part of the delight. But you know what you’ve done, right? There’s no way they’re letting you go, after that. You’re an honorary Nelson now.’

Foggy lifted his legs and dropped them down on top of Matt’s, possibly as a physical representation of Matt’s doom.

‘How ever will I cope?’ Matt said. He didn’t bother trying for deadpan, because he couldn’t keep the smile from his face.

It didn’t escape Foggy’s notice.

‘Oh, my god! Look at you. You’re adorable!’

‘Fog.’ Matt knew he was blushing. He made a grab for Foggy’s foot, intending to distract him, but Foggy pulled away and Matt let him.

The couch cushions moved as Foggy resettled himself, upright now and with his legs crossed, but still facing Matt. ‘Seriously, though,’ he said. ‘You’re not the only one whose thoughts have been wandering today. I’ve been thinking. Mom and Dad actually are awesome, and that means we have an opportunity. We have issues, Matt. Both of us. But I’m here, in the safest place I know, and this time I even have my best friend with me. I mean, I feel like you’re ahead of the game, because you’ve already been dragged out of your comfort zone and you’re handling it like a champ, but I was thinking that we could make a pact. Now that my parents know your stuff, and they already knew mine: no holding back. We both be ourselves, even when it’s uncomfortable. What do you say?’

Be himself?

Matt wasn’t quite sure what that would entail.

Obviously, he wouldn’t be feeling his way around so much or making a show of counting steps now that Ed and Anna knew, but he’d hardly be announcing everything he could hear or smell.

Still, he could give it a try.

‘Sure,’ he said.

‘Yeah, no, buddy. That was way too casual. Whatever it is you think you just agreed to, that wasn’t what I mean.’

‘Uh…’

‘Exactly! That confused look: that’s what I’m talking about! You have no idea!’ Foggy said. He sounded a little exasperated. ‘Matt, these last couple of weeks, I’ve seen a side of you that I didn’t even know existed! Even with all the stupid challenges I threw at you in the dorm, and the awesome martial arts display, I still had no clue how much you were holding back.’

Matt had told Foggy that he hated the facade of faking challenges he didn’t actually face, and that was true. He didn't like lying to the people he was closest to, even if it was only through the things he did, like feeling around for a cup of coffee despite the fact that the heat gave him a crystal clear sense of its precise location. His life involved a habitual pattern of pragmatic choices, and he was perpetually aware of that fact. So what was he missing? What would bridge the gap between not hiding and being himself?

‘Look, I don’t want to make you self-conscious, buddy, but just hear me out, alright? The thing is, when you give yourself permission, you don’t really move like other people. You stand with a slightly different posture, move your head differently, you have this kind of alertness, like you’re focused on what your whole body is telling you. You become more fluid. Now that I know more about what’s going on, I can tell that your attention’s spread all around, far wider than just the room you’re in. And you should be able to be that. You’re strong and agile, and kind of breathtakingly graceful, by the way, just saying. You should be able to move freely. And if you want to tap along to a tune that’s playing a block away, or answer questions out loud when the neighbours are watching Jeopardy, you should be able to do that, too. Now that Mom and Dad know, you don’t have to hold yourself back whenever they’re around.’

‘Are you suggesting I should scramble over the furniture more often? Maybe cartwheel to breakfast?’ Matt said.

‘Yeah, yeah. I speak fluent Murdockian, buddy. When you start being a smart arse it means you need time to think… but do think about it, because, you know, even with me, you sometimes default to the charade. You don’t have to wait for me to challenge you to some mad contest for you to let yourself go. Aaannd I’m pushing. How about I put the story back on so you can miss the rest of the embalming?’ Foggy said. He stretched out again, flinging one leg over Matt’s and leaving it there.

‘I accept,’ Matt said. ‘The pact, I mean. You might have to prod me, if you’re willing, but, yeah. Alright. Why not? I’ll even walk to the dinner table on my hands if you’ll take me for a ride on your bike tomorrow.’

‘Ha! You just failed Negotiation 101, my friend. I’d already decided to do that! But because I’m a decent sort, I’ll be reasonable. No need to go all carnivalesque about it. You let yourself behave like you would if no one was around, and I’ll dress like I would if no one cared.’

‘Deal,’ Matt said, even though most of his precautions and facades were automatic and relatively unconscious. It would take some effort to identify them and let them go.

Chapter Text

Foggy didn’t wait until Ed and Anna were back to demonstrate his own commitment to the pact. He disappeared after lunch, while Matt was dozing on the couch, and came back in a cloud of sweet scents, and fabric that swished as he walked.

He didn’t describe his outfit to Matt, and Matt couldn’t decide whether to be bothered or relieved by the omission.

They hadn’t talked about his confused… confession, maybe? And that was definitely a good thing, because Matt was no closer to understanding what he might say if they did. The nearest comparison he could find was the way his mind sparked when he read rationes decidendi that took the letter of the law and turned it, through the language of reason, into acts of justice. It required a particular finesse and certitude to use mundane tools to shape something that rang so clearly with its own integrity. He couldn’t tell Foggy that, though. Matt doubted it would make sense to anyone but himself, and it didn’t fully express what he felt, anyway. He didn’t know what would.

And it was probably best if he focused on his own end of their agreement, in any case.

He didn’t need to know anything about Foggy’s appearance to enjoy goofing around with him and doing nothing in particular.

When Ed eventually sent a text saying that he and Anna were on their way home, Foggy asked if Matt would mind disappearing for a while.

He sounded tense, which was to be expected, but Matt knew that this was something Foggy needed to handle for himself. Still, Matt gave his shoulder a squeeze before heading upstairs.

It was extremely difficult to choose not to listen in, once Ed and Anna arrived, but Matt made himself focus on the podcast he’d found. It addressed, fairly superficially, some of the possible legal implications arising from developments in artificial intelligence. Some of the ideas seemed a little far-fetched, but it was interesting as a hypothetical.

He hadn’t even finished with the first episode when Foggy came to give the all-clear.

He wasn’t jubilant, but he assured Matt that everything was fine.

Matt was pretty sure that wasn’t entirely accurate, because, instead of dragging him downstairs, Foggy curled up at the end of the bed and told him to go back to what he’d been doing.

Matt hesitated, but then did as Foggy asked.

By the time the episode was over, Foggy had wriggled up a little and buried his face against the side of Matt’s knee, with one arm wrapped around Matt’s lower legs.

Matt switched off his iPod and put it aside. He remembered Foggy’s comment about Matt being a shiny toy, a strategic distraction, and he knew that wasn’t what he wanted to be.

He reached down and ran his fingers tentatively over Foggy’s hair.

Almost immediately, Foggy took a gasping breath and began to cry.

Matt’s first instinct was to pull away. His second was to find something to say that might shift Foggy’s focus from whatever was upsetting him. Instead, he tugged Foggy up the bed, and rearranged them until Matt was lying on his back with Foggy tucked against his side.

Foggy wrapped one arm tightly around Matt’s chest, and pressed his face into Matt’s shoulder. His breathing had a strangely mechanical rhythm that shuddered on the way in and out.

Matt returned to brushing his fingers over Foggy’s hair. It was crisp and wavy, which meant he couldn’t properly comb through it, but he hoped the sensation was soothing anyway.

Matt wasn’t sure how long it lasted, but, eventually, Foggy stopped crying.

His breathing softened into a more natural rhythm.

After a while, he pushed himself up on one elbow so he could lean across Matt to grope for the tissue box on the bedside table.

Once he’d blown his nose, accompanied by perfunctory jokes about assaulting Matt’s delicate super-hearing, he flopped back down and returned to his previous position. This time, he practically burrowed into Matt’s armpit, which couldn’t have been pleasant. ‘Happy tears,’ he said, and Matt could just barely make out the muffled words.

‘Relieved tears,’ Matt suggested, even though he was sure there was more to it than that.

‘Maybe.’ Foggy lifted his head and seemed to be looking at Matt, though they were so close that Matt wasn’t sure what he could actually see. ‘Have you ever wanted someone to lie to you?’ he asked.

Matt thought about it.

‘I don’t think so,’ he said. There’d been times when he’d desperately wanted to hear a different truth, but that wasn’t the same thing.

‘Right. Well. Dad said he’s a little bit uncomfortable with this. Not… he doesn’t want me to change anything. He said it’s on him to get past whatever made him feel weird when he saw me, but he wanted to be honest. He said he loves me and that I shouldn’t do anything different, and then he hugged me like he wanted to drag me back into the womb.

‘Mom said she was shocked when she saw me the other day, but that it wasn’t a big deal. She was upset that we hadn’t talked about it since then, but said that she was trying to respect my boundaries, which, for the record, is not a sentence I’ve ever heard from her before, so I’m pretty sure she’s maybe kidding herself a little bit.

‘Bottom line: they’re both super accepting and, also, kind of uncomfortable when they look at me. And, you know what? I don’t want to talk about it any more.’ There were tears in Foggy’s voice again. He buried his face against Matt’s shoulder, and Matt instinctively rolled onto his side so he could pull him closer.<

He couldn’t deny that he still struggled to fully understand some of Foggy’s ideas about gender, so it was probably unfair to be annoyed at Ed and Anna. He knew, rationally, that they’d been honest, and that they loved and accepted Foggy.

Things would be fine.

But, as Matt lay there, carefully smoothing a hand along Foggy’s back, he couldn’t help formulating a rather forceful statement about the constant tension Foggy had dealt with at Columbia; about all the overheard insults, all the insensitive comments and questions he’d been subjected to; about how someone as generous and vibrant as Foggy shouldn’t have to constantly brace himself against disapproval.

He knew, without question, that being able to see Foggy wouldn’t make him understand Ed’s discomfort, however slight it might be.

Matt tightened his hold, and pressed his face against Foggy’s hair. ‘You’re beautiful,’ he said, and he knew it was true without needing to think about it. ‘You are. Please don’t dismiss what I think because I’m blind. I know you are.’

Foggy started crying again, but he tightened his grip on Matt at the same time, so Matt didn’t think he’d said the wrong thing.

They stayed that way for what felt like a long time. It was intimate and awkward, but Matt didn’t dislike it.

‘I’m not a crier,’ Foggy said, after a while. His voice was rough with proof to the contrary. ‘Not usually,’ he added.

Matt could relate. He’d cried more in the last two weeks than he had in a long time. Even when Elektra left, he’d been more numb than sad.

‘It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.’ He released his hold on Foggy, but ran a hand over Foggy’s hair one more time before leaning back to make space between them.

Foggy yawned.

Matt knew what it was like to cry until he slept, even though it had been years since the last time he’d done it. He was wondering if he should leave Foggy to nap, but Foggy roused himself and wriggled back to put more space between them.

Matt could feel Foggy’s attention on him, and, instantly, the small distance became more uncomfortable than their previous closeness had been. He wanted to sit up or turn away, but he didn’t move.

Finally, Foggy broke the silence.

‘I’m just going to say it... or ask it, I suppose,’ he said, his voice quiet and sincere and serious, ‘and whatever you say is fine, it honestly is, but is there… am I imagining it, or are things maybe… changing here?’

That… that was…. Matt wanted to pull away.

He stayed where he was.

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Maybe.’ He wasn’t sure where the word had come from. He hadn’t been thinking it, hadn’t meant to say it, and yet he didn’t want to take it back. ‘I… I don’t know. I’m not…. Can we not….’

‘Yeah. Yeah, of course,’ Foggy said. He sounded tired, but genuine and warm. Everything about him was so much calmer than Matt’s suddenly racing heart and shallow breathing.

‘Is there… ah… do you…?’ Matt said, even though he’d just tried to end the conversation. He wasn’t making much sense, but it was all he could manage.

Foggy squeezed his arm. ‘Relax, buddy. Everything’s alright. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Look, as far as I’m concerned, you’re in my life for good. And, beyond that... honestly, I’m a bit lost right now, so I’m not sure I’m in a great place to decide what’s best for me… but… yeah. I’ve thought about it, and whatever form this takes, I’m in. And, just to be clear, that includes the possibility of a grand platonic friendship for the ages. That’s not a problem at all. Never will be.’

Matt shuffled onto his stomach and rested his forehead against the pillow. He felt self-conscious and slow. He wondered if Foggy spent any time struggling with barely-formed thoughts, whether Foggy ever completely failed to understand his own feelings, because even Foggy’s anxiety seemed to be driven by too much self-awareness and analysis.

It was frustrating, sometimes.

If there really was something happening between them, Matt would have gotten there on his own, eventually. It was just that everything was unfamiliar and complicated, and, alright, maybe he didn’t understand exactly what he was feeling, but he wasn’t an idiot.

And it wasn’t Foggy’s fault, but Matt hated it when other people were aware of his uncertainty while he was still trying to work things through. It felt like every time some well-meaning OT or teacher had stood back and watched him work out how to avoid falling on his face, how to read, how to take notes, how to organise his things so he could manage everyday tasks. It was hardly a mystery why Stick’s hard-line approach had been such a relief after all that cautious anticipation and condescending support.

Then pull yourself together, he told himself, even though he knew it wasn’t as simple as that.

But he could break it down and figure it out.

He’d liked lying close to Foggy, just now. He’d liked touching Foggy’s hair, feeling Foggy’s breath against his skin. But he’d been feeling protective and concerned. At the same time, he’d really wanted Foggy to accept not just that he was beautiful, but that Matt thought he was beautiful. And that was becoming a familiar desire. He just wasn’t sure what it meant, because it wasn’t attached to any sense of arousal.

‘It’s alright, Matt,’ Foggy said. He placed a hand on Matt’s back and just rested it there. ‘My self-esteem isn’t riding on this, and nor is my opinion of you. I’m not the type to pine, buddy. I don’t believe in One True Love. If there’s nothing more than a frankly awesome friendship here, then that’s cool. There’ll be somebody else for all the other stuff. I know that’s not super-romantic, but it’s the truth.’

Matt huffed a laugh into the mattress. He felt a bit ridiculous, hiding like he was, and there was no point being annoyed by Foggy’s forthright nature when it was something Matt adored.

He sat up, taking pains to inconvenience Foggy in the process, but once they were both settled, Matt forced himself to be sincere. ‘Can we give it time?’ he said. ‘I don’t know what I want and I don’t know how I feel. I… I don’t think I know myself as well as I thought I did, and I don’t know how long it might take to work it out. I… Fogs, I really don’t want to feel like this is hanging over us. I don’t want it to ruin our friendship.’

‘I’m so with you there, buddy,’ Foggy said, and Matt was relieved to hear the sincerity and conviction in his voice. ‘I brought it up because I don’t want a lack of communication to mess up our already fabulous partnership. We’ve got a good thing going here, Murdock. If it ends up involving squishy feelings and orgasms, that’s cool. And, if not, that’s also cool.’

Matt’s mind went blank.

He wasn’t timid about sex, but right now there wasn’t a single coherent thought in his head. He knew he was flushed, because his cheeks and even his forehead burned.

Foggy laughed. It was such an easy, relaxed sound.

It unfroze Matt, and he did the only reasonable thing he could think of. He gave Foggy’s shoulder a shove.

Foggy yelped as he fell off the bed.

The thud as he hit the floor was loud, but that didn’t stop his laughter.

After a moment, Matt was laughing too. He hadn’t meant to push so hard, but if Foggy wasn’t hurt then it was kind of hilarious.

Unfortunately, the increased noise must have been a signal, because Foggy was still laughing on the floor by the time Anna came up the stairs and knocked on the door. She didn’t open it, just called out that they should come down for dinner as soon as they were ready.

She sounded tentative, and Foggy sobered instantly.

Matt jumped up to stand over him, and offered a hand. Then, once they were both standing, he wrapped his arms around Foggy’s shoulders and pulled him close.

‘You can do this, Fog. They love you. And, remember, any small discomfort they have is their own. They know that.’

Matt took a deep breath, and smiled when he noticed how much the air smelled like Foggy. ‘And, you’re beautiful,’ he said. ‘No matter what you wear, that’s true, but it’s especially true when you’re being yourself. No holding back.’

Foggy was quiet for a long moment.

It stretched until Matt was conscious of little else but their proximity.

‘I’m going to kiss your cheek,’ Foggy said. He gave Matt plenty of time to pull away, but Matt found that he didn’t want to. ‘And, just so you know, you’re pretty special, yourself, buddy. So, no holding back, no matter how uncomfortable.’

‘Deal,’ Matt said.

He grinned as he swooped down and hefted Foggy over his shoulder, into a fireman’s hold. Foggy was heavy, but nowhere near too much for Matt to carry.

Foggy shrieked.

It was perfect.

‘No! Put me down, Matthew! This is not what I meant! Unhand me, you fiend!’

Matt managed to get his glasses on and the door open with one hand, but wasn’t sure he could fit through safely with Foggy flailing as he was. ‘Fine,’ he relented, ‘piggyback, then.’

‘Yes! Awesome! So much more dignified!’ Foggy moved behind Matt, and there was a rustling of fabric. ‘You’ll have to bend down a bit. Yep. That’s perfect.’

Matt reached back and got his hands around Foggy’s thighs as Foggy jumped.

They both spent a moment adjusting their holds, then Matt bounded down the stairs.

Chapter Text

Dinner was the strangest occasion Matt had experienced since his arrival. Every interaction was punctuated with an intense and effusive air of good will. It had possibly been prompted by Matt and Foggy’s dramatic entrance, but it didn’t seem to be settling as they ate. There was too much vigorous small talk, too many overly emphatic comments about how good the food was.

The silences in between felt strained, even though the gaps in conversation should be normal while they were eating.

‘In case you’re wondering, because I don’t know if you can tell, in this setting, buddy, Dad’s trying not to stare at me, and Mom’s trying not to stare at you. So! I’m going to go ahead and say some things. Mom, Dad, please stop worrying. The reason we’re all in this slightly uncomfortable situation is because Matt and I both know you’re amazing people. We trust you. We appreciate you. If you want to ask something, ask it. If you need to stare, stare. If you want me to throw a dinner roll at Matt’s head to prove the thing with the remote wasn’t a fluke, I’m happy to oblige. Please ask me to do that!’

An emphatic ‘No!’ came from both Ed and Anna at the same time as Matt sensed the roll flying through the air. He grabbed it, and automatically lobbed it back at Foggy, whose surprised attempt to catch it sent it bouncing onto the floor.

‘Matt,’ Foggy whined, ‘I wasn’t ready! You made me look like a klutz!’

Ed laughed. ‘Well done, Matt. Keep the little reprobate on his toes.’

‘Where’s the loyalty?!’ Foggy cried, from where he was already scooping the roll off the floor. He took it to the kitchen, and Matt heard it crash against the swinging bin lid like it had been thrown from across the room. ‘Yes!’ Foggy said, which confirmed Matt’s theory.

Foggy returned to the table. ‘So,’ he said, at the same time as Ed spoke.

‘I was staring because I’ve never noticed how much you look like your auntie Susan,’ he said. ‘And I don’t know if that’s something I should say.’

‘Ooh, he does, too! Not so much how she looks now, but when she was younger. I hadn’t noticed.’

‘Anna,’ Ed said. He sounded uncomfortable.

‘It’s fine,’ Foggy said. ‘I mean, it’s kind of weird, because surely I don’t look that fundamentally different right now than I do any other day, but you’re allowed to say it, Dad. You’re allowed to say anything. Unless you think I look like Rosalind. If you ever think that, I want you to lie to me. I’m not kidding. I literally never want to hear that.’

Foggy was obviously serious, and Ed left the subject alone. ‘You’ve been crying’, he said. ‘I made you cry.’

‘Yeah. You did.’ There was no resentment in Foggy’s tone, just honesty.

‘I don’t want that,’ Ed said.

‘I know, Dad. Like I said, I trust you.’

In the silence that followed, Matt felt intensely aware of his own tendency to hide his vulnerability. It was so different from Foggy, who seemed to step up every time. Matt wasn’t sure how Stick had ever thought that kind of honesty was a weakness.

‘While we’re at it,’ Anna said, sounding a little awkward, or at least not completely like herself. ‘Matt, honey, I’m sorry I was staring. I’ve just never seen you looking as happy as you did when you came down to dinner. You looked your age, and it made me aware that I usually think of you as older than Foggy, even though Ed says you’re not.’

‘Well, I am more mature,’ Matt said. He’d once thought it was true, but he didn’t anymore.

‘It’s the snarky, dry humour,’ Foggy said. ‘It makes him seem like a crusty old man.’

‘I’m witty, not snarky,’ Matt insisted.

‘You’re both too sharp for anyone’s good,’ Ed said. ‘The legal profession has no idea what it’ll have on its hands the day Columbia sets you loose.’

‘Ain’t that the truth, buddy.’

‘Absolutely,’ Matt said. It was still two years away, but the future seemed more tangible than it had in a while.

‘So,’ Anna said, ‘we had some ideas while we were out, about the next few months. We were hoping to discuss them, but it can wait if now’s not the right time.’

‘Fog?’ Matt asked.

‘Yeah, I’m good, buddy. How about you? It’s been a long day.’

It had. It felt more like a week.

‘I’m fine,’ Matt said. He didn’t want to wait.

‘Great,’ Anna said. ‘This shouldn’t take long. First thing: Matt, Ed told me you’re uncomfortable about not paying your way. We discussed possibilities, and decided that it’s best if you just make peace with it. You’re not adding much to our expenses and, anyway, accepting your money suggests a different relationship than the one we want. It’s not up for debate.’

‘Oh, my god, Murdock, you’re face just went through, like, ten different expressions in, what? Thirty seconds? I think that’s a record.’

Ed sighed. ‘Ignore him, Matt,’ he said, with an increasingly familiar mix of fondness and exasperation.

‘No! Don’t mess this up, Dad. It’s a precarious moment! Mom got him to stop on uncomfortable-acceptance instead of feigned-agreement-while-already-considering-all-the-options-to-get-his-own-way. If you humour him, he’ll regress. I know of what I speak.’

Matt groaned and slumped in his chair.

When he was low enough, he kicked Foggy under the table, then grinned when Foggy yelped.

Foggy tried to kick back, but missed. ‘No fair! You can see through the table!’

‘Foggy, I’m blind.’

‘Fine. You can super-sense through the table. How many fingers am I holding up?’

Matt laughed. He probably couldn't work out that kind of fine detail through the table, but he didn’t need to try. It was obvious from the tone.

‘Foggy,’ Ed said, even though Foggy’s hand was under the table.

‘Second thing,’ Anna said. ‘... wait, you can see through walls?’

‘I’m blind, Anna,’ Matt said, with a very different tone than he’d used on Foggy. He could feel the heat rushing to her face, hear her increased heart rate and breathing. ‘I can’t see anything. I can detect heat through walls, feel vibrations through the floor, hear all the sounds that bodies make, and it’s enough to build a fairly accurate idea of what a person is doing. But just because I can, doesn’t mean that I do.’

‘Oh, come on, Matt. Don’t tell me that, on campus, you don’t check if there’s a shower free before you stumble to the bathroom in the morning. Wait. Why haven’t I thought of getting you to check for me?’

So much for soothing Anna’s embarrassment. ‘I can tell by sound, and, yes, I check, but there’s no detail in what I discern. I have no idea what anybody looks like, no idea of facial expressions. Even in the same room, nudity doesn’t register much differently than someone who’s fully dressed… slightly stronger smells, the absence of rustling fabric. It doesn’t translate into anything particularly intimate. It’s not that kind of image.’

‘That’s astonishing,’ Ed said. ‘If I went into the kitchen and waved, you’d see that?’

‘I’m blind, Ed.’

Ed laughed. ‘Yeah, yeah. You know what I mean. Don’t sass me, Matthew. How did I not pick you as a troublemaker?’

‘So, when people are, ah, being intimate?’ Anna asked.

‘Foggy,’ Ed said, while Foggy was still taking a breath.

Matt was impressed with Ed’s foresight.

He steeled himself against embarrassment, because Anna deserved the truth. ‘It’s difficult not to notice some sounds, but as soon as I identify them I do my best to ignore them. I have an analogy. I’m not sure about it, because I became blind long before I was old enough to encounter porn. But imagine if everywhere you went, all the time, there were great big screens showing all sorts of porn: at the supermarket, the bank, cafes, billboards. Imagine you’re exposed to that for about fifteen years, while those screens never turn off. That’s the world I live in. There was a brief period in my mid-teens where the constant barrage was difficult, for reasons you can probably imagine, but that was a long time ago. I’m sure you’re familiar with the idea of desensitisation. I can honestly say that I don’t have a shred of voyeuristic interest in what other people do, and that there isn’t anything I haven’t heard and learned to ignore.’

‘Literally all the time?’ Foggy asked. He sounded genuinely curious.

‘Fog.’

‘No, really. Like, right now?’

Matt was already blushing from explaining to Anna, but maybe this would help her understand how little it mattered to him. He took a minute to scan the area.

‘Maybe not quite literally all the time,’ he conceded. ‘But.... I have no intention of working out the details, but, yes. Also, one of your neighbours has a fish tank, another one has two birds in a cage, someone recently opened a jar of kimchi that’s seriously fermented, and someone is crying. Right now, the crying is hardest to ignore.’

‘Oh, sweetheart,’ Anna said. ‘That can’t be easy.’

‘It’s fine, Anna. Like I said, I don’t usually pay attention. I’m sure you don’t notice the sound of every car that goes down the street, although I assume you can hear them?’

‘Right. Of course,’ she said.

Everyone was quiet for a while, and Matt had no idea what they were thinking.

‘How about we leave it there for tonight?’ Ed said. ‘Foggy, you look tired, sweetheart. Your Mom and I’ll clear away what’s left of dinner, if that’s alright, Anna?’

‘Of course. I just… I don’t want to let them go,’ Anna said. ‘You know we’re here for both of you, right? Anything you need.’

‘It’s fine, Mom. We’re fine.’ Foggy moved to pull Anna up from her seat, and hugged her. ‘Get over here, Murdock,’ he said, and reached out a hand to Matt.

Matt approached a little warily, but, as soon as he was close, Anna let go of Foggy and latched on to him. He wrapped his arms around her, and she squeezed him tight.

‘I’m sorry if I made you feel like you had to explain yourself,’ she said, her voice somewhat muffled against his chest.

‘It’s fine, Anna. It was a reasonable question.’

‘I didn’t upset you?’

‘No. Really, it’s fine.’

‘I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable here.’

That made Matt smile.

‘I don’t remember the last time I felt this comfortable in someone’s home,’ he reassured her.

‘He thinks that’s comforting,’ Foggy said.

‘Hush, you. Leave him be,’ Anna said, but she reached out and patted Foggy too softly for it to be even a playful swat.

‘Alright, alright. Enough of this love fest,’ Foggy said. ‘I’m going to bed. Are you coming, Matt?’

For a moment, Matt remembered the feeling of lying with Foggy pressed against his side, the sound of Foggy’s slow, sleepy breaths filling his mind.

It wasn’t what Foggy was asking though, and Matt really needed to meditate.

‘I’ll come upstairs,’ he said, ‘but this time, you carry me.’

Chapter Text

‘You were right about keeping the motorcycle,’ Anna said. She was comfortably stretched out on the couch, her feet in Ed’s lap. They’d decided on a slow day at home, since the kids had gone out for a ride.

One of the nice things about a full house was the quiet joy of snatching a moment of peace.

‘Eh, I was being sentimental more than anything, partly because it was old Bertie’s pride and joy, but mostly because of how much Foggy used to love the thing. You know how much it worried me when he stopped riding it.’

‘I do. But like I told you at the time, everything’s up in the air at that age. I remember trying out all sorts of things. Not all of them stuck.’

‘Ah, well, my sweet. Not everyone is meant to be a Morris Dancer,’ Ed said.

Anna shoved her foot against the soft curve of his belly. Since she loved him, she did it reasonably gently.

‘I believe we were talking about Foggy,’ she said, partly to get him back on track, but also because some choices were better left in the past.

Ed sobered, and the weight of his thoughts tugged at his face. ‘I know. I guess it’s just…. Candy changes like the weather, but she never went through a time of seeming so….’

‘Lost?’

‘Yeah. Lost. I know I’ve said it a million times already, but that son of ours….’ Ed shook his head. ‘He’s always been some impossible mix of fragile and determined, like he’s made of soap bubbles and steel. Like he’d never break, but he might just vanish into thin air or blow away on a breeze.’

Ed was right. It was something they’d talked about so many times over the years, though it varied as to which of them was feeling afraid and which was providing the reassurance. But Anna stepped off that well-worn path, because there was something more constructive she could do in the moment.

‘That child of ours,’ she said, and gave Ed a meaningful look. He’d seemed to understand well enough when she’d talked to him about Foggy’s discomfort with gendered terms, but doing was different from accepting.

Ed looked confused for a moment, before realisation dawned. ‘Right. Our child. Of course.’

He frowned.

‘I hurt him, Annie. I love that kid so damn much, and I’m getting it wrong at every turn.’

‘You’re not perfect, Ed, and neither am I. All we can do is work at it, and trust that the years we’ve spent building good relationships with our kids will carry us through. Foggy knows you love him.’

‘He was crying because of me. Because I looked at him dressed like that, and something in my gut twisted, and I wanted, I mean really wanted, for him to be normal. How could I do that to him? How could I even think it?’

Anna considered what to say. She thought about what Ed needed to hear, and what Foggy needed him to hear. They weren’t the same thing, but they weren’t so far apart, either.

One of the many things she loved about Edward Nelson was his commitment to doing what he believed was right. But, it could make him stubborn in his thinking, particularly when it came to understanding himself. Sometimes he needed guidance, and sometimes he needed a prod.

‘You know, I was speaking with a patient who has cerebral palsy the other day. Her speech difficulties were making the whole interaction take much longer than it usually would have. It was almost my lunch break, it had been a long morning, and I was getting annoyed. This woman has breast cancer and cerebral palsy, and I just wanted her to get to the point. Actually, I wanted the person with her to speak for her. We all have shitty, selfish moments, Ed. Sometimes we’re not the people we want to be. But that’s not the totality of who we are. Those ignorant things we do or feel, they’re not alright because we’re human, but they are inevitable because we’re human. And all we can do is try to be better next time.’

‘But, he’s my son, Anna. Sorry. My child, and I’m uncomfortable with how he looks? What the hell kind of father does that make me?’

‘An imperfect one. But do you think you should somehow be immune to social conditioning just because you love your kids?’

‘Yes!’

‘Why?’

‘Because nothing matters more to me than my family.’

Anna smiled and prodded him in the stomach with one foot, much more gently this time. ‘And that’s why I know I made the right choice all those years ago,’ she said. ‘You’re a good person, Ed. Give yourself a break.’

Ed smiled, but it didn’t last. ‘How do I change how I feel, Annie? My reaction, I mean. How do I get rid of it?’

‘Exposure. Questioning why you feel the way you do. And I don’t mean beating yourself up over it. Think about it, hon. When you were growing up, what images and role models did you have that would help you be comfortable with this? Honestly, I was a bit surprised that you never even blinked when we realised he wasn’t straight.’

Ed gave a soft laugh. ‘That one, we both saw coming a mile off. And, besides, we have friends and family who aren’t straight. It wasn’t anything new. But, this…. Do you really not feel uncomfortable at all?’

‘I do, a little,’ Anna admitted. ‘At least with the visible stuff. But... I don’t know. In a strange way, having Matt around makes me think about how superficial it all is. Which is probably silly. I know visual aesthetics aren’t meaningless just because someone who’s blind can’t see them. But maybe… if Matt understands the world without relying on how things look, then maybe the meaning we derive from appearance isn’t as significant or absolute as we make it.’ Anna shrugged. ‘Between that and Foggy’s analysis of how arbitrary gender is? When I forget to think about what’s normal, I’m left with the fact that I like his ideas, and I like the way he looks when he’s dressed this way. It’s so much nicer than the scruffy… whatever that was… look that he had going on at the start of the year. He looks like he cares about himself now, and I love that.’

‘Mmm.’

It was a despondent sound, still heavy with self-judgement if Anna had to guess.

‘Hon, have you considered that maybe it’s different for you, as a man? You’re surrounded by so many expectations when it comes to masculinity, especially with the store, and I know you’ve had your own struggles with that. Maybe, Foggy’s willingness to be feminine when he feels like it… maybe that’s pushing some buttons?’

Ed got that slightly twisty look around the mouth that meant he was considering what she’d said.

‘I don’t think that’s it,’ he concluded. ‘He’s always been so soft and shiny. It’s one of the things I love about him.’ After another thoughtful pause, Ed smiled, even if it looked a little uncertain. ‘Our son is pretty,’ he said.

‘Our older child is pretty,’ Anna corrected, but she smiled as well. ‘Both our children are, in fact, but I know what you mean.’

‘Our older child. Right. Keep reminding me, will you? I’m not trying to resist that change, I swear. I’m just slow.’

‘I know,’ Anna said. She looked at Ed, and considered his own combination of softness and steel. ‘And, maybe that’s all it is. Maybe you just need more time. You’ve never pushed Foggy away for being who he is, and nothing’s changed, really. He’s still himself. This is who he’s always been. He’s just finding new ways to let the world see it.’

‘And do you think he’s ready to deal with the world’s reaction?’

It was a valid point, and it landed with more force than Anna had been ready for, possibly because there was nothing she could do about this one. ‘Not alone,’ she admitted, ‘but he isn’t alone, Ed. He has us, and he has Matt.’

It was supposed to be comforting. It comforted Anna.

Ed groaned. ‘And Matt! I’d finally managed to stop putting my foot in my mouth with Matt, and now that’s all up in the air as well! His face never shows it, but I know he’s being patient with me.’

Wonder where Foggy got his flair for drama, Anna mused.

‘I would think that’s a good thing,’ she said, ‘and I’m sure it’s not just you. I would bet very large sums of money that Matt has cause to be patient with a lot of people. And think of it this way: he still can’t back you up on those bowls being brown… although, even if he could, that would just mean you were both wrong.’

Ed gave her a look. It was eloquent with regret for sharing the details of that particular conversation.

She smiled, and, once he’d given up on his plea for sympathy, or effort at chastisement, or whatever that face had been about, so did he.

‘It’s incredible, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘I would never have believed anything we saw last night was possible, even after Matt told us and made a show of catching the remote. I mean, I know we talked about it yesterday but, honestly, it wasn’t real until I saw him running down the stairs last night with Foggy on his back. He didn’t hesitate for a second.’

‘I can’t imagine keeping something like that a secret for so long,’ Anna said. ‘The isolation of it, and the freedom he’s given up.’ She’d lain awake for a large part of the night thinking about it, and even crying about it, because what kind of fear would it take to make someone keep something like that entirely to themself? It was a terrible thought. And the change that had come over Matt in that brief moment of play had been astonishing. All at once, it had been obvious that he was the same age as Foggy.

‘His life’s been nothing like ours, Annie. It’s made him a complicated young man.’

‘I know,’ she said. Ed had talked to her about it in very general terms, but he hadn’t shared specific details and she hadn’t asked.

‘I’d wish that he’d come into our family sooner, but I’m not sure how Foggy would feel about having Matt as a brother,’ she said, not deliberately lightening the mood, but not entirely sorry to do so. ‘It might get awkward.’

Ed turned the full force of his curiosity on her. ‘You think you were right about them?’

She raised a well-deserved eyebrow at him. ‘Of course. I’m not sure Foggy has a clue though. He thinks Matt’s straight.’

‘He does?’

‘Apparently. That’s what he told me, anyway.’

‘I suppose it’s possible. It’s not something Matt’s talked about,’ Ed said, even though he looked like he thought it was every bit as unlikely as Anna did.

‘Foggy also insisted that Matt’s not relationship material. But, of course, he was blushing like a teenager with a crush the whole time we talked about it. He’s always been so transparent.’

‘He has, except for the times he hasn’t,’ Ed said, then seemed to shake off that thought. ‘And what do you think of it all? Matt’s a good kid, but maybe now isn’t the best time. He’s pretty shaken up.’

‘He is, but, like I told Foggy, so were you when we met.’

‘It’s not the same, Annie. He’s got some seriously difficult things to work through. The impacts of child abuse are worlds apart from an adult relationship gone bad.’

Anna shifted uneasily, unsettled by the heaviness in Ed’s tone.

‘I’m not asking for details,’ she said, ‘but how difficult are we talking, here?’

Ed looked pained.

‘Not details. Just broad strokes,’ Anna said.

After further thought, Ed nodded. ‘Well, I don’t think Matt would agree with this assessment,’ he said, ‘but I think it’s accurate to say that he’s experienced significant physical, psychological, and emotional abuse, along with the inevitable neglect you’d expect from institutional care. Nothing sexual, it seems. I asked specifically, and he sounded sincere when he said no.’

Anna felt her stomach turn, even though none of it should have been a surprise. Everything about Matt’s careful demeanour spoke of someone who worked hard to keep a buffer between themself and the world. Although, now that she knew about Matt’s hidden abilities, it was difficult to decide how much of his aura of intense vigilance was related to filtering his responses to his environment and presenting a careful facade. It would be nice to think it was something like that. It would be a lesser evil, of a sort, though disturbing in its own right.

‘I just want to wrap that kid up in soft things, and feed him cookies,’ she said, half joking but also deciding that she was damn well going to find out exactly what type of cookies he liked best and keep him well supplied for the foreseeable future. ‘You know, it never stops being shocking to realise how much shittier some people’s lives are than others.’

‘I know.’ Ed looked troubled.

‘I know you care about him,’ Anna said, ‘but you also like him a lot, don’t you?’ It had been interesting, noticing how Ed seemed so deeply pleased to have the opportunity to spend time with Matt.

‘I do.’

She’d been hoping for more of a response, so she waited to see if he’d offer anything else.

It worked.

It almost always did.

‘You know I couldn’t love our kids any more than I do,’ he began, as if it needed to be said. ‘And I love the way their minds work, so quick and flittering and creative. But Matt’s different. He’s just as intelligent, but he’s much more singularly focused, and, I don’t know, deliberate somehow. Foggy and Candy make connections faster than I can keep up, but, in some ways, Matt surprises me more. Maybe it’s just his background, but I don’t know. I think it’s also because of the way he takes in the world.’ Ed sighed. ‘I shouldn’t be comparing them.’

‘Why would that be a problem? We compare Foggy and Candy all the time. It’s never about loving either of them more.’

‘Well, yes, but they’re our kids.’

‘And Matt’s going to be our son in law.’

‘Annie!’ Ed slapped her shin lightly. He looked scandalised, but not very. ‘That’s a bit of a leap, don’t you think?’

‘Maybe, but Foggy’s out riding his motorcycle for the first time in aeons because of Matt. And... well….’ Anna couldn’t contain her curiosity and delight. ‘Do you think anyone has ever told Matt that his face is an open book?’ she whispered, sotto voce.

Ed laughed softly. ‘No, I don’t suppose they have. It’s very sweet, though.’

‘It’s lovely,’ Anna agreed. ‘But I’m not sure how Foggy doesn’t see exactly how Matt feels about him.’

Ed’s brief good humour faded again. ‘I just wish everything could be simple for them, but it’s all such a tangle. Matt’s not in a good place. Foggy’s got a lot going on.’

‘Yes, but that’s going to be true whether they’re a couple or not. You’ve seen how much they care about each other. And even though Foggy’s invested in being there for Matt, he’s too smart to think he can save anyone. I think he called you that night because he understands that he can’t fix Matt’s problems.’

‘Yeah, but he’s so fierce and tenacious, Annie. How’s he going to cope if Matt decides to put the lid back on his problems and ignore them? Do you think he could just let that be?’

Anna leaned her shoulder against the back of the couch and studied Ed. He was no less invested in Matt than Foggy was. ‘Do you think that’s something Matt’s likely to do?’ she asked.

‘I really don’t know,’ Ed said. ‘I don’t know all the details of what happened, but it’s not good and he doesn’t seem to be able to fully recognise that or talk about it. He’s used to overcoming his problems through an effort of will, like every problem is a fight in the ring. Honestly, if Foggy expects some kind of communication, I’m not sure Matt’s up to meeting him halfway. Not that I doubt that Matt cares about Foggy. You’re right about that. He’s always talking Foggy up, or hanging on his every word, always so quick to play along with Foggy’s stories and jokes.’

‘Like I said: our future son in law. Or, well, probably not. I’m fairly certain that the institution of marriage isn’t something our older child is likely to be in favour of. But however they sort it out, I think Matt might be with us to stay.’

Ed smiled so softly that it was adorable.

He clearly didn’t know how much of a proud new dad he was when it came to Matt.

Chapter Text

Braids, Foggy had decided, were best for avoiding helmet hair. He was fully capable of being practical, and, anyway, long hair streaming in the wind on the open road only sounded good in theory. In reality, it was pretty much entirely annoying.

But the rest of his chosen presentation for the day had less to do with practicality. It was more about overthrowing inner demons. Bright red runners, vibrant purple jeans, a pale mauve shirt that was soft and billowy and almost reached his knees, and over the top of that, his long, dark blue vest. And a windbreaker that would be jettisoned… fine, scrunched up and stashed, whatever, when they arrived. Not super protective, but he didn’t plan to crash.

And, yep, he’d described his outfit to Matt.

Which wasn’t awkward at all!

It was more of an intellectual quandary: was it weird, or being a decent human being, to describe something like that in this situation?

This situation being one where Matt had haltingly confessed to some unclear but presumably positive feelings about Foggy’s garment choices, and one in which their increasingly intense and honest relationship was currently in keep all options, including platonic friendship, wide open territory.

So, yeah! Not weird at all, describing what he was wearing.

Once the squirming discomfort had worn itself out via an impromptu conga line twisting its way through his mind and his gut, and, really, was there anything in the world as awkward as a conga line, Foggy had decided to assign the provision of such details a neutral status and add it to the casual descriptive commentary that was a normal part of their interactions.

He’d already been working on updating his narrative script anyway. And they were small changes really. In the past, he might have said something like: there’s a dog over to the left that I swear looks like Canine Tony Stark, but now he was moving towards: I swear that dog looks like Canine Tony Stark! Tell me, does it smell like a high-end alcoholic?

The plan was to get Matt to think of it as a two-way street, or a tidal flow, or something metaphorically much more dynamic but which equally implied a relaxed state of mutuality. The point was that Matt could provide just as much detail that was out of Foggy’s reach, and now he didn’t have to pretend otherwise.

Not icky stuff, obviously. It was clearly important to Matt that he minimise the invasive factor, which, potential for fun aside, made a lot of sense.

It was probably naive, but Foggy hoped that goofing around and pushing Matt to use his abilities in more light-hearted ways might help break down some of the bullshit conditioning from when Matt was a child. Which, alright, maybe that was more than naive. But, Foggy wasn’t sure what else to do, and he knew, theoretically, at least, that he couldn’t shove Matt in Siobhan’s direction and have her magically fix everything. That wasn’t how counselling worked, and Matt had shown no personal interest when Foggy had mentioned his own sessions.

So. Having Matt lead them on a quest to find the biggest dog or the best carrot cake within five city blocks was good.

As was the possibility of employing him as a weather gauge, although that had truly been unexpected. Who knew that barometric pressure was an actual thing that meant something? Matt did, was the answer, though he insisted that it was no big deal, just an instinct he’d developed without even being fully aware of it.

Which meant that their current adventure could be undertaken in the sure knowledge that, whatever other disasters might befall them, the weather was on their side. Not that Foggy was being pessimistic. He wasn’t prone to pessimistic thinking in general. But the intersection of super-sensitive everything and an absence of sight didn’t necessarily sound like the best starting point for travelling very fast with nothing but the wind around them. He wasn’t sure how Matt would get his bearings, and Foggy had ridden with passengers who became rigid and unpredictable weights on the back of his bike before. It was not fun.

So, even though he doubted whether Matt, spectacular acrobat that he was, could ever be so unbalanced, he’d still insisted that Matt borrow his old leather jacket. Matt didn’t own anything like it, and what if the noise and vibrations messed with his senses and he fell off the bike? Also, it would cut some of the wind and hopefully keep things fun instead of overwhelming. Also-also, Foggy kind of loved seeing Matt wear it. A grey t-shirt, black jeans, and a beat-up leather jacket should not look that good.

It did.

And even if he and Matt were only ever best friends, Foggy was absolutely allowed to appreciate that. 

It turned out there’d been no need to worry about Matt, which really wasn’t actually that shocking. He clung tightly to Foggy through the start-stop crawl from their apartment to the Boulevard, but once they hit the relatively open road, Matt relaxed. He rested his hands on Foggy’s hips and began shifting smoothly in response to corners and lane changes. On straight stretches, where Foggy could really pick up speed, Matt leaned in close and tightened his hold, but from the way his forearms were positioned across Foggy’s chest, Foggy was pretty sure that wasn’t about fear.

Which was interesting.

Foggy was totally chill.

After riding for forty minutes or so, they pulled up by the water at Bayville.

Matt practically vaulted off the bike and was standing beside Foggy seconds after they came to a stop. The grin on his face was kind of intense, as was his rapidly revealed helmet hair. He was literally bouncing on the balls of his feet.

‘That was amazing! How could you have chosen to stop doing that? I mean, I know there was a good reason, but the wind, Fogs, and the way every movement connects your body with the bike, and even the noise, the vibration! We should keep going!’

His voice was pretty loud, and Foggy wasn’t sure if that was an overflow of exuberance or if prolonged exposure to the bike’s engine had thrown off Matt’s calibration somehow. It was adorable, either way.

‘Buddy, we’ll definitely ride some more but, before we do, I need coffee, lunch, and to sit on the end of the pier over there, dangling my legs above the mysterious depths of the Atlantic.’

Foggy pulled off his helmet and ran a hand over his hair. Not as neat as it had been, but it definitely wasn’t as wild as Matt’s. Wins all around then because, unlike Matt, Foggy had never managed to make dishevelled look good.

He climbed off the bike, heaved it onto its stand, and locked their helmets at the back.

Matt still looked pretty buzzed, but he began scoping out the area. He turned in a slow circle, angling his head this way and that. When he was done, he put a hand on the seat of the bike and smoothed along it like he was petting a dog. His grin hadn’t shifted one bit.

‘The only coffee I can smell is burnt,’ he announced, somewhat triumphantly. ‘Maybe we should try somewhere else. There’s probably a great place further out.’

Foggy pulled off his windbreaker and stuffed it in his bag. ‘Real subtle,’ he said, ‘but I’ll suffer bad coffee. Now let me fix your hair so we don’t scare anybody.’

Foggy reached out, intending to settle the unruly tufts created by the removal of Matt’s helmet. Before he could make contact, Matt grabbed him around the middle, lifted Foggy’s feet clear off the ground, and spun them both in a circle.

Foggy might have squealed. A little. The whole manoeuvre was unexpected, that was all.

So was the way that, even after Foggy’s feet touched down, Matt stayed close, arms wrapped tight.

‘Um… hello,’ Foggy said.

This wasn’t a bad development, as such, but it was a little weird given Matt’s request for time to work things out. It didn’t feel super platonic, was all. Although there was no reason it couldn’t be.

‘How much faster could we go?’ Matt asked. His face had the fervent edge Foggy associated with his mom’s occasional PMS-fuelled quests for the perfect chocolate: the unrelenting fixation, the feverish delight when a worthy object of devotion was acquired, and the unquestioned belief that the obsession was shared.

Oh! Well, now Matt’s intensity made sense. Foggy smiled. ‘You’re an adrenaline junky, Murdock! Look at you!’

‘It’s like flying, Fogs,’ Matt said, in the solemn tone of someone imparting a sacred truth.

There were times when the affection Foggy felt for the dork was overwhelming. He reached up with both hands and ruffled Matt’s hair until it was a total disaster. ‘Change of plans,’ he announced. ‘We’re going for a walk along the shore so you can work off some of the buzz, then we’ll re-evaluate.’

Matt complied.

It was clear that, if they weren’t getting back on the bike, he needed to move.

He held Foggy’s elbow as they set off along the waterfront, but after a few minutes and some pretty specific questions to confirm their surroundings, he handed Foggy the leather jacket and declared that he wanted to run.

And it absolutely was a declaration. There was an assertive edge to Matt’s tone which, Foggy decided, was most likely directed at whatever inner voice usually told him this was something he shouldn’t do.

As Foggy watched him begin to jog, at first slowly but then more confidently along the path, he hoped that some inner demon of Matt’s was realising that it should shut the hell up, because freedom of movement was obviously as vital to Matt as breathing.

It was ridiculous that, only a few months ago, Foggy had firmly believed Matt to be an inexplicably well-built desk dweller.

Of course, Foggy had believed a lot of things back then that had turned out not to be entirely true. Which, in retrospect, was kind of hilarious, given how much he’d insisted that he knew Matt Murdock through and through.

Now, Foggy knew that he didn’t, and it was fine. He hoped to keep being surprised by Matt… like he’d been surprised by the comfort snuggle on Matt’s bed the previous evening. Yep! That had definitely been surprising. As had Matt’s sweet words, and picking Foggy up, and Matt’s maybe. All of that had been… unexpected.

Foggy visually tracked Matt as the gap between them widened. The path along the shore curved around the bay, which sounded picturesque but was flat and kind of bleak, actually. There were a few trees and shelters, but nothing much of interest.

Foggy was probably a sap for thinking it, but the best thing about the view was the sight of Matt moving freely among the kids on bikes; dogs and dog walkers; and parents with prams. The sunlight glinting off the water was pretty nice too, but, no: Foggy’s gaze was fixed on the crazy person running in jeans on a warm day.

Which made it a good time to remind himself of the list he’d made with Siobhan all those months ago. Ever since Matt had admitted how out of control he felt after talking with Foggy’s dad about Stick, Foggy had made a point of revisiting The List every night. He knew it by heart, but he wanted to be as careful as possible not to stomp all over Matt’s boundaries. Matt had shared how vulnerable he felt and, given Matt’s tendency to hide what he thought of as weaknesses, Foggy hadn’t taken that conversation lightly.

The relevant point at the moment, though, wasn’t about boundaries as much as it was about expectations. Relationships grow and evolve, but they should be allowed to do so without expectations or pressure.

Foggy was committed to not pressuring Matt, or himself, about any potential changes in the dynamic between them. And it was true what he’d said: if it didn’t work out that they could be more to each other, then that was fine. Foggy had never expected to meet anyone like Matt, but having Matt in his life just proved that the world was full of amazing people. There was no way Foggy was only ever going to meet one of them. Plus, he’d worked hard to let go of those pesky conditioned beliefs that he was only lovable if someone loved him. He had no plan to back-slide on that one.

So, he wasn’t going to get hung up on this. He was going to value what he had with Matt, and just let it be… which was seriously going to take some work if Matt was going to do things like literally sweep him off his feet, give compliments so earnestly, and hold him like he was precious… but all of that could totally be part of an awesome friendship!

The thought had a slightly hysterical edge, but Foggy considered it as though it were true.

Huh.

Actually, it really could be true and that was honestly fine. It was possible that Matt just wasn’t wired, or whatever, to be attracted to anyone but self-identified women, or to people with breasts and vaginas, which seemed strange to Foggy, but some people’s sexuality was like that. Or maybe there were other reasons why their relationship would stay platonic.

As Foggy watched Matt turn and start running back towards him, he felt certain that things between them were already good. He could relax and trust that there was no need to push. 

Matt was a delightfully sweaty mess by the time he got back. Foggy shoved him towards a tap on the side of a picnic shelter, and the dork immediately stuck his head and shoulders under the running water. He shook himself off like a dog and made no effort to straighten his hair. He was still smiling, but it was less manic than before.

Foggy had been keen for coffee and lunch, but seeing Matt so relaxed and mussed made him reluctant to go somewhere as mundane as a cafe. He directed them back towards the pier, and Matt seemed happy enough to follow along.

When they were stretched out on their backs on the weathered grey boards, Foggy took a moment to appreciate his surroundings. There were a few older folk out for a stroll, and a couple of kids further down. The sky was clear.

‘So, the ocean kind of stinks,’ he said. ‘Is that whole thing about fresh sea air a lie, do you think, or do we just live in the one place on earth where the water always smells funky?’

Matt’s nose scrunched up and he looked deep in contemplation. ‘It’s the fuel from all the different boats and ships, the run-off pollution from a city of over eight million people, and then there’s the seaweed, algae, dead fish and birds, dog shit, bird shit, and salt. I think the salt is what makes it smell so flat. The rest is just pungent.’

Foggy laughed. ‘Well, that clears that up. Thanks, buddy. It’s always good to have an expert on hand.’ He squinted through the bright sunshine. Matt was so impressed with himself that he was smiling up at the sky.

‘Alright, so tell me,’ Foggy said, buoyed by the freedom of the moment. ‘Speed and noise, and whatever, really do it for you, huh? I feel like I should have warned you that some people find the vibrations from a motorcycle engine kind of… pleasant.’

‘I wasn’t… Foggy!’ Matt laughed and rolled onto his side, head propped on one arm and the other hand splayed on the rough wood between them. ‘It wasn’t like that. I.…’

There was a long pause, and Foggy could see that Matt was thinking seriously. He was running his fingers over the boards, mapping out the deep grooves and sunken bolt heads.

Foggy scanned the area for anything gross, just in case, but it was clear.

‘The noise is relentless,’ Matt said. ‘On the bike, I mean. And when we were going fast there was almost no change in the discernible wind direction, just the unbroken force of it. The vibration of the engine and the movement of the bike kind of… I don’t know. I don’t know what comparison to make.’

Matt wasn’t always great at expressing the complexity of his feelings, so Foggy was used to studying him in search of missing information. ‘I thought I was just teasing you for being such an excitable puppy, but this is an actual thing, isn’t it?’

‘A thing?’ Matt said, but it didn’t sound quite like denial despite the raised eyebrow. He sat up smoothly, crossed his legs, and began fiddling with the drying clumps of hair at the back of his head.

Uncertainty equals movement, Foggy thought.

He heaved himself up until he was sitting too. It was almost noon and there was no shade on the pier. ‘Get over here, Murdock,’ he said. ‘I wanna sit on the edge.’ At least it would put his face out of the sun.

They both shuffled until they were facing out over the water, which Foggy now knew way too much about. ‘I didn’t mean it was a big thing,’ he said. ‘Just a thing. You know: a small t thing. Although it’s cool if it’s a big T thing. We all have a few of those.’

‘Fog.’

Foggy turned towards Matt, one leg dangling over the side, the other bent between them.

He waited.

Matt began to rub his hands over his face, then grimaced and pulled them away. He sighed. ‘You know with pain, how it helps if you give all your attention to the sensation and stop fighting it? It’s like that… or… not quite. I don’t mean it’s painful, just that the brain responds differently to strong sensations depending on whether you stay relaxed and accept them, or fight against them. The bike provides a lot of strong sensations all at once.’

‘My idea of pain management involves ibuprofen and comfort foods, buddy. You know that. But, hmm… so it’s about letting go and, like, relaxing? I mean, that makes sense, sort of… but I have to say, you didn’t seem particularly Zen when you hopped off the bike. I’d go so far as to say that you seemed very unrelaxed.’

Matt started swinging his legs. ‘Maybe… maybe it’s like free-fall. I imagine when people jump out of planes, their brains want to insist on opening the ‘chute straight away, but somehow they let go and enjoy the fall. It’s not that they don’t have self-preservation instincts. They just put them aside, let go. If they fought against free-fall, every jump would be traumatic. The sensory overload from the bike is maybe like that. If I fought against it, it would be hell. Letting it in, though…’ Matt shrugged.

‘So it is an adrenaline thing?’

‘More an endorphin thing, I suppose. Adrenaline’s the fight or flight one, and it’s definitely not that. I’m very familiar with what adrenaline rushes feel like.’ Matt smiled.

‘How is that a happy thought?’ Foggy asked, genuinely curious.

‘From training,’ Matt clarified.

‘Right. Of course.’ It made sense, Foggy supposed. Cirque du Soleil acrobats probably got through their performances on adrenaline as well… which was not strictly comparable. Because, even though Foggy tended to think of Matt’s moves as acrobatic, he knew, in reality, that Matt was trained to fight. ‘So, endorphins, they’re, like, happy hormones, yeah? Still… free-fall sounds like there’s some aspect of feel the fear and do it anyway.’

‘I’m not sure. Maybe it’s more like feel the fear and let it be a good feeling,’ Matt said.

Foggy waited for him to continue, but he just subtly shifted into the shy-awkward version of himself. A mystery. How had Foggy ever thought that knowing everything about Matt was better than this?

He gently bumped Matt’s calve with his foot. Matt didn’t respond immediately, but after a few seconds he turned until his knee bumped Foggy’s knee. Foggy pushed back against it.

‘If you hadn’t told me what’s in this water, I’d push you in, Murdock,’ he said.

‘Possibly, but I’d take you down with me.’

Foggy huffed a laugh. ‘No, you wouldn’t.’

‘Probably not,’ Matt agreed.

‘No probably about it, buddy, but I’ll let you keep your air of danger. Real talk, though: please tell me there’s actually a place nearby that doesn’t have burnt coffee. I need caffeine, Matt. It’s like a drug!’

‘Like a drug?’ Matt said.

His tone implied that Foggy was being ridiculous, but it still made Foggy’s insides smile. 

Even sitting in one of the more picturesque picnic shelters overlooking the fetid-yet-sparkling-ocean, Foggy’s burger and coffee had been... well… average was probably a kindly description. Matt’s salad wrap hadn’t caused the kitten sniffing dish soap face to make an appearance, and bottled juice was a safe bet as far as Foggy was aware, so Matt had probably made the better choices.

Knowing about poor hygiene standards and less-than-fresh ingredients must be a bit like finding out Santa Clause wasn’t real, Foggy reflected. There were some things you just couldn’t unknow, no matter how much you might want to, and no matter how much it spoiled the fun.

Still, there were so many things Matt chose to tune out, so why not that one?

Foggy was about to ask, but Matt straightened his posture and tilted his face towards the sky in that way that meant he’d been thinking about something and was choosing his words.

Foggy had never noticed a sighted person move their head quite as freely as Matt sometimes did, and he wondered if it was a result of different sensory orientation or if sighted people unconsciously policed themselves in response to visible social cues. As a kid, Foggy had tried to imagine what it would feel like if his brain were in the middle of his body instead of being in his head. He’d wondered if he’d notice his limbs differently if he was more like a starfish. Obviously, Matt’s thought processes happened in his head, but he seemed to receive so much information through his whole body that it was probably the closest anyone could ever get. Which was very cool.

‘Adrenaline and endorphins, they’re different but kind of similar, in a way,’ Matt said. ‘Not in the way they feel, but the intensity. I… I’ve always been….’

‘The child of a guy who literally got into fistfights for a living?’

Matt smiled as though Foggy had given him a gift. ‘Yeah. I suppose I am,’ he said. ‘I hadn’t thought of Dad’s post-win highs in that way. Maybe because even when he won, he was respectful… proud but never arrogant, you know? He always had something good to say about his opponent. Sometimes, though… sometimes he’d be so pumped up from a win that he’d sing at the top of his voice, no matter that it was the middle of the night. And his accent would thicken, some of that Irish lilt break through.’

Matt was quiet for a long moment, lost in thought. ‘I wonder if those were the nights he knew the fight hadn’t been fixed… that he’d won because he was the best. Because there must have been times when the fight was thrown in his favour, and those couldn’t have felt like victories.’

They hadn’t talked about the circumstances of Matt’s dad being murdered, even though Matt had mentioned that the random attack had been a cover up, and Foggy wasn’t sure if this was the time or place to ask about it.

‘Elektra, though,’ Matt said, before Foggy could decide. ‘Everything was a victory to her because hers were the only rules that mattered. And she wouldn’t tolerate anything less than reckless abandon. The things we did, the freedom… it was so much more than singing loudly at 2 in the morning. It was free-fall, and I loved it.’

Foggy scrunched his burger wrapper into a ball. His hands were kind of sticky, which wasn’t great, but otherwise he felt fine. He was curious. He genuinely wanted to understand what Matt was telling him. He was still certain that Elektra Natchios was bad news, but he didn’t feel compelled to make Matt agree with him. Foggy was going to buy Siobhan chocolates and flowers. Scratch that. He was going to buy her the best bottle of whisky he could afford.

‘The things you did?’ he said, with full eyebrow waggle implied.

They were sitting side by side, and Matt nudged their shoulders together. ‘I wasn’t talking about sex, Fog. I mean, we did... ahhh….’ Matt sucked in a breath that sounded like every detail of that drawn out ahhh was very fresh in his mind, then blushed like the sweet Irish Catholic he was.

‘Ahhh?’ Foggy prompted.

‘Alright, a couple of times we, ah, we had sex in… questionable places. But that wasn’t what I meant, or, well, not all of it.’

‘No, of course not. You were totally not saying that being reckless was like foreplay. It was nothing like a mating dance, except... hang on! You’re like… what were those animals? I saw them on some nature documentary. Can’t remember what they were, but I’m pretty sure it was narrated by David Attenborough. Which is really unsexy, now that I think about it. Can you imagine that guy in your bedroom, or, you know, whatever public place you’re doing it? He’d be all hushed tones and jubilant commentary. Actually, that would be hilarious! Would it still be porn if David Attenborough did the voice-over? I think not!’

‘Definitely science, if Attenborough’s involved,’ Matt said.

‘For sure.’ Foggy got a little caught up in imagining that. ‘Wait,’ he said, once he’d returned to reality. ‘I wouldn’t think nature documentaries would translate well into audio mode. How are you familiar with David Attenborough?’

‘My grandma deemed them suitable viewing when she used to look after me, before the accident. I wasn’t a huge fan at the time, but, actually, he’s the reason I have a working concept of kangaroos and platypuses. Without Attenborough, I’d never have known that even God gets stoned occasionally.’

‘Matthew Murdock! I can’t believe you said that! And even if you’re right, creating everything in just six days would have been a heavy load. It would definitely strain the Manifesting Muscles. If there was any drug use, I’m sure it was medicinal.’

Matt snorted. ‘You don’t even believe in God.’

‘And you’re not a creationist. Besides, I’m going to be a lawyer, Murdock. I take the cases that land in my lap, and it seems to me that you just defamed my client. And, anyway, which of us is the more virtuous representative here? The clean-living agnostic or the exhibitionist believer?’

‘Foggy! I wasn’t talking about exhibitionism. I wasn’t even trying to talk about sex.’

‘In public places. Which include?’

Matt sighed with apparent exasperation. He was adorable when he was all riled up.

‘A stolen convertible. The boxing ring where my dad used to train. Any empty room or closet at the random parties Elektra enjoyed. The, ah, the social sciences library.’

And, sure, that last bit sounded a tad sheepish, but, mostly, Matt looked pleased. Kind of smug, even.

‘That is not….’ Foggy laughed, even as a wave of sadness passed through him. It was accompanied by a rush of words jumbled in his head, but he didn’t feel like taking a look. He’d sort them later. ‘I am way too vanilla for you, buddy,’ he said, which was probably what all the words came down to, anyway.

Matt frowned. ‘Fog.’

‘No judgement, honestly, Matt. I’m just not the type of person who enjoys risky behaviour.’

‘No parkour dates. Got it,’ Matt said. He reached out unerringly and took Foggy’s hand. To Matt’s credit, he didn’t screw up his face at the residual stickiness.

Foggy’s thoughts untangled a little. ‘Some people who haven’t been intimate with someone with the same anatomy before, they… it’s... Matt, please don’t pursue whatever this is if it’s just another illicit rush. I can’t… I can’t be that for you. For anyone.’

Matt’s grip tightened. ‘I wouldn’t do that, Fog.’

Foggy sighed. ‘I know you wouldn’t do it on purpose, buddy, but, honestly, I’m not sure you’d realise what was going on until the novelty wore off.’

‘I’m not sure which of us you’re insulting. You’re not a novelty,’ Matt said, and he sounded annoyed. He didn’t let go of Foggy’s hand though.

‘I’m not insulting anyone, Matt. I’m just being smart about this. Five minutes ago you were looking kinda turned on, remembering your adventures with Elektra, and that’s fine. It is. But I’m nothing like her. She and I couldn’t be more different. So, if the rush you got from being on the back of my bike makes you think that we could have something like you had with her, I just… I want you to understand that I’m not that person. Don’t get me wrong, I totally adore your-’

‘May I kiss you?’

‘What? Matt, are you listening to me?’

‘I’m listening, Fogs, of course I am. May I? Please.’

It was probably weird that Foggy wished he could ask his mom what she thought, but she’d taken a gamble on his dad and it had paid off. She’d probably tell him to jump right in.

‘I’d say nothing you wouldn’t do in the immediate vicinity of a church, but in light of recent revelations I’m no longer sure that would have the desired effect.’

Matt didn’t laugh. He let go of Foggy’s hand, and turned on the bench so his back was to the table. He took Foggy’s face gently in his hands and leaned in, then paused with only space for breath between them. ‘I still don’t know what this is, and you’re right, it’s different from anything I’ve ever felt. But it has nothing to do with anatomy or illicit thrills, and everything to do with you.’ Matt touched his lips to Foggy’s in a brief, firm kiss, then stayed close. ‘I’ve never known anyone like you.’

‘You’re such a smooth talker,’ Foggy said, when he could get his words to work.

‘Don’t, Foggy. Please.’ Matt sat back and took Foggy’s hands in his.

‘I… don’t know what else to say. I’m… I… did not know that being happy could feel so terrifying.’

‘Happy?’

‘Of course. I’m sorry. Of course I’m happy. It’s just… I wander through life telegraphing everything I think and feel, while you… well, you seem to be staying still and then suddenly it’s like you flip a switch and you’re somewhere new. It can be hard to put faith in that, even though I see you do it all the time.’

‘That’s… reasonable,’ Matt said. ‘I don’t know what I’m asking you to put faith in. Do you need me to work it out before we do this?’

‘Maybe.’

Foggy hesitated. ‘No.’

Matt smiled, but it was subtle and quiet. ‘May I?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ Foggy said.

The four or five kisses Matt pressed to his lips were warm and soft and definitely church appropriate, but they left Foggy speechless all the same.

Chapter Text

Foggy was unusually quiet as they wandered along the foreshore. He didn’t seem pensive or withdrawn though. If Matt had to guess, he’d say that Foggy seemed calm.

They were walking close, hand in hand, and Matt had been the one to instigate it.

That wasn’t something he usually did. If a girlfriend had pushed for it in the past, he’d said something vague about his hands being his eyes, and pointed out that he already had one hand occupied with his cane. It was nothing but an excuse. Feeling tethered just wasn’t something he’d ever wanted.

Then there’d been Elektra, who had only ever held his hand to drag him in her wake.

Even now, warmed by the simple intimacy, Matt felt a stirring desire to run or to provoke some absurd debate. The fingers of his free hand twitched. It was like his early years of learning to meditate, he supposed. He was restless because he didn’t know how to be still. This was just a new context for stillness.

And he’d learned, hadn’t he? He knew now, without doubt, that if he sat for long enough the restlessness would pass. And this was just walking. It was just being with Foggy.

Matt didn’t need to run.

Foggy squeezed his hand and Matt expected him to speak, but that was all there was to it. Foggy didn’t say a word.

For some reason, that made a more complicated and urgent feeling swell in Matt’s chest. He wanted to stop walking, pull Foggy close, kiss him in a way that wasn’t quite church appropriate. He wondered if Foggy would pull away or push into the touch.

He imagined running his hands over Foggy’s face, his back, breathing him in. He thought about the times they’d been close, touching, holding each other. And he was struck, not for the first time, by how solemn it had felt, how vivid and real, even when Matt, himself, had been wrong-footed and self-conscious about the proximity. He remembered pushing Foggy off the bed, and the way Foggy’s laughter had made Matt’s confusion and avoidance as normal as any other reaction he might have had.

He squeezed Foggy’s hand gently and kept walking.

After a while, his thoughts caught up with him and he almost laughed. He knew, intimately, how creative his mind could be in pursuit of avoidance. He was glad he hadn’t kissed Foggy just to shake off whatever had unsettled him in the quiet calm.

Dinner that evening was strange. Matt was fairly certain that Ed and Anna suspected something of what was going on between Foggy and him. On top of that, Matt was, as Foggy had delightedly pointed out, still a little hyped after their ride home. He wondered if that was obvious to Ed and Anna as well. Maybe that was the reason for the subtle amusement in their voices. Maybe it had nothing to do with suspicion about other things.

‘Did you hear that, buddy?’ The look on Matt’s face must have been enough of an answer, because Foggy continued before Matt managed a reply. ‘Dad just offered to take you out for some exercise. I thought all puppies immediately tuned in to the word walk.’

‘Foggy’, Ed said, sounding more amused than scolding.

‘Alright, alright, I’m just play-’

‘-you’re just a trouble-maker,’ Anna cut in. ‘But maybe one day you’ll learn to stop poking at things just to see what they do.’

‘No, he won’t,’ Matt said, at the same time as Ed responded with a sincere sounding ‘I hope not,’ and Foggy gasped and declared, ‘Nuh-uh! Never will!’

Matt was pretty sure there was some gesturing and, possibly, face-pulling going on between Foggy and Anna for a few seconds after that, but the details were out of reach.

‘So, Matt. Did you want to go for a walk?’ Ed asked. ‘It’s fine if you’re not up for it or if you have other plans?’

Other plans? Alright, maybe they did suspect something.

‘A walk would be good. Thanks,’ Matt said, leaving the possible provocation unanswered. He was becoming less surprised by Ed choosing to give so much free time to him, but he still appreciated it more than he knew how to say.

When they’d finished eating, Foggy and Anna started clearing away the dinner mess while Matt and Ed got ready to go out. Matt tried not to listen to them, but he was pretty sure that Foggy was glad for the chance to be alone with his mom. He supposed it had been set up that way. Ed and Foggy were close, but Anna seemed to be the one who Foggy confided in. This evening, Matt was glad that he’d be too far away to be tempted to eavesdrop.

Matt and Ed took the now-familiar course that would lead them to the park. Matt had rested a hand at Ed’s elbow when they left the apartment, as he did every time they walked together. It was simple now. Casual. Ed had become a lot more relaxed about the process, particularly since he’d been made aware that Matt wasn’t relying on him as much as he’d first believed. He was still observant though, and careful to point out the ever present dog droppings and other gross deposits on the path. It was a good balance. It allowed them to chat more casually than they’d been able to when Ed was being excessively vigilant.

Ed was quieter than usual this evening though.

‘I’m not sure if this walk is a chance for you to talk to me, or for Anna to corner Foggy,’ Matt prompted.

‘Eh. Little this, little that,’ Ed said. ‘Little bit of neither. It’s nice to get out in the evening at this time of year, and Foggy wasn’t wrong: you were looking a bit restless.’

Matt smiled to himself. Restless. And Ed made it sound light, like it was no different than being a bit tired or a bit hungry. Just an everyday thing and not something Matt worked constantly to contain.

‘I guess I am. I hadn’t been on a motorcycle before. It’s pretty wild.’

‘Ah,’ Ed said. ‘So that’s what got you all worked up.’

His tone wasn’t questioning, but it did feel like an invitation. Even so, Matt didn’t know what to say, because it wasn’t really the motorcycle, or not only, and he was pretty sure that Ed knew that.

They were making a circuit of the park before Ed tried again.

‘I understand it’s probably weird to talk to me about this, but it’s going to be even weirder if we’re all living together and ignoring it. And, just to be clear, this isn’t me trying to protect Foggy’s virtue or to ask your intentions. I just want you to know that you can talk to me about anything, just like I know Foggy’s able to talk to his mom. Relationships, new ones or even established ones, can bring up lots of feelings and dilemmas. And I know you’re used to working through everything on your own, but you don’t have to. I guess I just want you to know that.’

Again, Matt didn’t know what to say. At least he knew his suspicion had been correct, which probably wasn’t surprising given the way he and Foggy had been more physically close lately. It occurred to him that he’d never had a conversation like this before. Was this what it would have been like if his own dad had been around as Matt grew into adulthood? Would they have talked about things like this?

‘It’s not weird,’ he decided, ‘just complicated. I trust you, Ed, but I’m not sure you’re likely to be as impartial about this as you might want to be. Not that I have nefarious intentions, but, well, when it comes to Foggy, you’re… powerfully devoted.’

‘Ha! I think that’s the most euphemistic version of obsessively protective I’ve ever heard. You have quite a talent for diplomacy, but I think you know that.’ There was a pause while Ed laughed quietly to himself. ‘Alright, then, I’ll be the direct one,’ he said, like he found Matt’s reticence somehow amusing and exasperating all at once.

Apparently, being direct wasn’t that easy though, because there was some hesitation before he continued, more quietly and without the humour.

‘I suspect that any relationship between you and Foggy is going to be new ground for you. He told Anna that you’ve only dated women before, and I assume he knew what he was talking about?’

Matt blushed, but nodded. ‘Ah, yeah. Yes. That’s… yeah.’

‘I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable, Matt. I’m just letting you know that it’s alright to talk about anything at all that’s going on in your life.’

‘It…. I’m not…. Foggy already told me that I need to be sure I’m not just experimenting or, um, attracted to… well, some kind of novelty factor. I’m not. I… I know what that’s like, from the other side, you know? People who’re curious to hook up with the blind guy. I wouldn’t do that. And he knows that I’m… we’re taking things slow. I know I need to work out how I feel, what I want, and I’ve been honest with him about that.’<

‘It’s alright, sweetheart. I know you care for Foggy.’ Matt’s hand was resting at Ed’s elbow, and Ed placed his other hand on top of it. ‘The truth is, either or both of you could get hurt if things don’t work out, but that’s the reality of relationships. They involve risk. I know you would never intentionally hurt him.’

Matt wanted to say thank you, because he was grateful, but something else was prickling inside him that had been itching under his skin since the night before.

‘It’s not that simple,’ he insisted. ‘Foggy wouldn’t be any less hurt just because I didn’t intend to hurt him. It doesn’t work that way. You can still hurt someone when you don’t intend to. Especially when they’re counting on you for support!’

Ed was quiet for a drawn-out moment, long enough for Matt to know that he’d heard the underlying message, but Matt didn’t want to take it back. Foggy’s dejected insistence that everything would be fine, despite his tears, was too fresh in Matt’s mind.

‘Alright,’ Ed said. ‘Can we-’

‘You really hurt him, Ed! You made him feel bad about himself, made him feel ugly, or, I don’t know, somehow unacceptable. And he’s not. He’s beautiful. Lovely. And if you can’t see that-’ Matt let go of Ed’s arm as he spoke, and they came to a stop.

Matt could tell that Ed had turned to face him, but he was too worked up to try and read anything beyond that. Now that he’d started speaking, there were too many words queuing up in his mind, and he didn’t know if he wanted to try to restrain them.

‘I…. You’re right,’ Ed said. ‘And you’re right to be angry about it. Can we… there’s a seat over there, just across the lawn… can we sit for a minute?’

Matt didn’t want to sit. There was too much energy under his skin, too much emotion, but he agreed anyway.

Once they were seated, Ed stayed quiet for a while. It did nothing to decrease Matt’s own agitation, but he managed to keep his thoughts to himself. He’d begun to wonder if it was his place to bring up any of this, and whether Foggy would be upset that he had.

Eventually, Ed sighed. ‘I know I hurt him. And even though it wasn’t the first time I’ve let him down, it doesn’t get any easier. I suppose it was pretty arrogant of me to bring you on this walk and tell you that you can come to me for advice and support. Truth is, I could probably use some advice myself when it comes to my relationship with Foggy.’

‘You have a great relationship. Foggy loves you so much!’

‘I know. And I love him. I’m just not sure when he got so far ahead of me, you know? And I don’t want to lie to him. I don’t want to pretend to be in the same place he is when, honestly, I’m a bit out of my depth. But then I hurt him, so now I have to wonder if I should have lied.’

‘You shouldn’t have to lie! That’s why I’m angry! What do you think it’s like to have someone you care about, someone you trust, admit that looking at you makes them uncomfortable? Or Anna, saying she ignored this huge risk he took, letting her see how he prefers to be, because she was respecting his boundaries? It’s like you don’t understand how much courage it takes for him to be so vulnerable all the time. It’s exhausting for him! He needed you to… not just not hurt him. He needed you to be genuinely pleased. He deserves that, but you didn’t even manage the bare minimum.’

Matt stood, not sure what he was intending. He paced a few steps away from Ed but then turned and made himself sit back down.

He didn’t know what to do with the twisting emotions in his chest.

He breathed heavily and tried to calm his thoughts.

‘I know you’re right,’ Ed said. ‘But I also think you’re telling me not to feel what I feel, and I’m not sure that ever works for anyone.’

‘Honestly?’ Matt asked, genuinely incredulous at Ed’s response. ‘You’d been worried enough about him to pull me aside that first night to ask if he was alright, and yet the first thing you felt when you saw him dressed differently was that he didn’t look… what? Comfortably normal? You didn’t feel proud? You didn’t feel grateful that he was sharing something important with you?’

‘Not in that moment, no. I’m sorry, Matt. He needed more from me, and I think you do too. You’re worried about him, aren’t you?’

‘Of course I am! He just… he gives people too many chances. He’s so… habitually generous, and I don’t think he even knows it. He doesn’t let people push him around exactly, but he puts so much energy into trying to help them understand.’

Matt rubbed his hands over his face and sighed. ‘I need you to be on his side, Ed. Both of you.’

‘And you think we’re not?’

It wasn’t that simple. Matt had expected more from Ed because he knew how dedicated Ed was to Foggy. How could someone care so much but still get it so wrong?

‘No. It’s not that,’ he said, some of the anger draining away. ‘I know you are. But he needs to have no reason to doubt it.’

‘You’re just as protective as I am.’

Matt wanted to believe that Ed was deflecting, wanted to let his anger return, to push for further acknowledgement that Ed had messed up. Instead, what he felt was something far more difficult and insecure.

‘Do you think it’s wrong, or, I don’t know, strange? Is it patronising that I want to keep him safe? And… and how am I supposed to know what I feel about him when it’s caught up in all this?’

‘All this?’ Again, the question felt like an invitation rather than a demand.

‘In….’ Matt took another heavy breath and sighed. ‘The way I feel, it’s not like any other time I’ve become involved with someone. I’m not usually protective like this, and it’s all tangled up in things I don’t fully understand. I don’t know. That probably doesn’t make sense.’

‘I think it does. Look, Matt, I know I hurt him, and I wish I could go back and do something differently in that moment… or before then. I should have pushed myself harder after he first talked to us during recess. I should have found ways to confront my own discomfort and conditioning without Foggy getting caught up in the middle of it. It’s my thing to work through and it has nothing to do with him. But Anna tells me that I’m not perfect, and I suspect she’s right.

‘The thing is, Foggy’s an amazing kid, intelligent, creative, always pushing the line, and I love him for it. But for forty-five years I’ve lived in a world that’s insisted that male and female are different things, and that they’re the only things a person can be: one or the other. That’s not an excuse for the way I messed up. It’s just not so easy to drop ingrained beliefs. The point I’m trying to make, I suppose, is that you’re allowed to feel like it’s complicated for you personally, even while you’re feeling protective of him.’

Matt sat in conflicted silence. He wanted to argue that nothing was more important than protecting Foggy from even more ignorance, even more hurt, but the words felt hollow. Worse, they felt hypocritical, since Matt had kissed Foggy despite his own uncertainty. Or maybe not despite it. The uncertainty just hadn’t felt real in that moment. He wasn’t even sure it was real now. He just wasn’t sure that it wasn’t real, either.

‘I struggled to understand, when Foggy first told me,’ he admitted. ‘It didn’t make logical sense to me, but I knew that was my problem. And the more I’m with him, the more I don’t need it to make sense. I like who he is, and I have no reason to doubt his understanding of himself. Why question the reality of something when the proof is right in front of you.’

‘So what’s the complication?’

Matt hesitated.

He could feel the heat rising in his face but he willed himself to ignore it. He could talk to Ed about this. It was important. He didn’t want to hurt Foggy, didn’t want to mess things up.

‘Like I said, it’s not the same as any relationship I’ve been in before. I’ve always, ah…’ Matt stopped, caught off guard by the sudden echoing presence of the confessional: a mix of shame, teenage angst at confessing lustful thoughts and deeds, but also reverence and ritual and faith.

But Ed wasn’t a priest, generically paternal and unaffected by Matt’s shortcomings, and Matt was rapidly discovering that discussing questionable behaviour was far more difficult than confessing it.

It turned out, he thought somewhat hysterically, that his teenage self didn’t know how easy he’d had it.

Ed was silent for a while, but then gave a small huff of laughter. ‘You’re blushing, Matthew,’ he said, amused again but never mocking. ‘What happened to the guy who calmly told Anna that his whole world is like being surrounded by porn, twenty-four-seven?’

Matt laughed and shook his head. No absolution here, but Ed had an up-front kind of honesty that made Matt want to offer the same.

‘Alright. I’m not… I don’t think I’m gay, or bi, or whatever. I’ve never been attracted to a man before, but it’s not that simple because Foggy’s not a man, but he’s not a woman, and I don’t feel the intense kind of attraction I’ve felt to women in the past, but maybe that’s not a bad thing because all my past relationships have been… well… I haven’t been good at the relationship part. I’m good at flirting, good at, um….’

‘Good at...?’ Ed asked, as if he needed clarification. His tone of voice suggested otherwise.

‘Yeah. That,’ Matt admitted. ‘I’m good at being attracted before I really know someone. Good at having intense but short lived relationships that die when we get to know each other.’

Even Elektra had left when she found out who he really was, and the rare times he’d tried to commit to longer connections had been slow torture.

‘But you know Foggy, and he knows you.’

‘Yeah. It’s partly that, for sure. But how can I know if that’s the only reason it feels so different? I know he’s not a man, but… well….’ Matt ignored the increasing heat in his face, and pressed on. He just needed to get the words out. ‘What if the reason it feels different is that I’m kidding myself. What if, um, what if anatomy matters to me more than I think and that’s why I feel protective more than, well, lustful?’

Matt fervently wished they were walking instead of planted on this wooden bench. He was suddenly intensely aware that this was Foggy’s father sitting by his side.

‘That’s a tricky one,’ Ed said, without any discernible discomfort. ‘I remember Foggy theorising once that it takes a special kind of self-hatred to be repulsed by sex with someone who shares the same anatomy as you. It made me laugh at the time because it made such delightful sense. Honestly, I suspect that attraction and arousal are a bit more complicated than that, but what do I know? Maybe it’s all conditioned. Would it be a problem for you if you found that you were sometimes attracted to men?’

‘No. I don’t think so. I couldn’t avoid knowing from an early age that sex can be all sorts of things between all sorts of people. I’m not repulsed by the idea, and I don’t think it’s wrong.’

‘You just don’t know how you personally might respond to the question of anatomy, as you put it. Do you wish he was a woman?’

The question surprised Matt, but the answer was simple.

‘No. No, he wouldn’t be who he is if he wasn’t, well, himself. And I don’t… when I hold him, it feels right. I don’t want him to feel any different, smell any different.’

‘Because he’s beautiful. Lovely, you said.’

Matt nodded. He felt lightheaded, almost giddy with the rush of speaking this out loud.

‘Maybe you don’t realise this, sweetheart, but you respond to his presence like there’s no doubt he’s the most fascinating person in the room. Whether you’re sassing back or pretending to ignore him, every one of his wild tangents makes you smile like you’re in on a secret. And, yes, you want to protect him, want to stand up to his family when we let him down, but I don’t see how that’s a bad thing. I’d do anything I can to protect the people I love. Of course, the tricky part is letting them do the same in return. I’ve often thought that’s a better gauge of how much we’ve really opened our hearts to the people in our lives, anyway. When I met Anna it was the first and hardest lesson I had to learn. I suspect it might be the same for you, but I see you doing it, Matt. You’ve let him in, let him take care of you. Only you can decide what that means but I doubt it’s something that could be derailed by anything as simple as anatomy.’

It was a lot to consider, but the memory of soft, chaste kisses left Matt almost certain that Ed was right.

Chapter Text

‘Dad’s not giving Matt the shovel talk is he?’ Foggy had managed to put the question off until he was pretty sure Matt was far enough away that he wouldn’t overhear. He didn’t want to make Matt uptight if that wasn’t what was happening.

‘Why would he be doing that?’ His mom was using that tone she had, the one that employed raised eyebrows as serifs, because this conversation wasn’t going to be a mellow, comic sans kind of affair.

‘Mom.’

‘Is there something you’re trying to tell me?’ she pressed.

Foggy groaned. His mom was just as inclined to poke things to see what would happen as he was. Unfortunately, it was hard to play along when things were still a bit weird between them. He so wanted them to be normal right now. He wanted this to be easy and fun, wanted to say all the things that had been buzzing in his mind since Matt had kissed him. He wanted his mom’s opinion. Her blessing, maybe? Her approval. But now that they were alone together, something felt off.

‘I know that you know what’s going on. Is Dad harassing Matt?’ he insisted.

His mom came and stood beside him. He turned his attention to running water into the sink.

‘Of course he isn’t. Is everything alright, sweetheart? I was only playing.’

Foggy swirled the dishcloth slowly through the deepening water. ‘Yeah. Yeah, sorry. Everything’s fine. Good. I don’t know why I overreacted.’

‘There’s a lot going on in your life.’

‘Yeah, I guess, but I know Dad wouldn’t do that to Matt.’ He sighed. ‘Things are just complicated at the moment.’

‘They are, and they’re not. You’re still my duckling. It’s just that these days I’m the one being pulled along in your wake.’ She bumped her shoulder gently against his arm. Foggy had been taller for years, but it wasn’t something he usually noticed. ‘I’m grateful for being dragged,’ she told him. ‘I hope you know that.’

‘You are?’ He hadn’t realised that he’d doubted it until the words were out, disbelieving and vulnerable.

‘Oh, honey, of course I am. You keep me thinking, keep me growing. I’m so proud of you. So grateful for what you bring to my life.’

‘But I make you uncomfortable. The way I look, I mean.’ Even after all the tears, and Matt’s reassurances, it still hurt to say it.

‘No. You absolutely don’t. Conditioning makes me uncomfortable, and only the tiniest bit. But conditioning also makes people racist, sexist, ableist, all the very worst things a person can be. Challenging those things, unsettling people’s conditioning, that’s a gift. You know that.’

And he did. He knew. He just hadn’t thought of his mom and dad as people, in that sense. They were the ones who taught him to look at all the weirdness of the world with acceptance… with excitement, even.

turned off the water but didn’t touch the dishes stacked by the sink, just kept swirling the cloth slowly through the warmth.

It was hypnotic.

Nice.

‘I wanted to not care what anyone thinks about me, but I do. What you and Dad think, that matters.’

‘I know, sweetheart. And, for the record, I care very much what you think of me, too. If I ever lost your respect, I’d know I’d somehow lost my path. That’s what love is for, right? To help us find our way.’

‘And you don’t think I’m off track, or going too far, or whatever? Because, I realise we’re going to need a topographical map if I keep this metaphor going, and I really don’t understand those things, it’s all those squiggly lines, they make zero sense, but, well, I think I need you to tell me if you think I’m lost.’ His voice broke, along with the spill of tears he’d been holding back. The dish gloves stopped him from swiping at his eyes, so he just sniffed and screwed up his face.

‘Foggy, love, look at me.’

It was more confronting than it should be, but he slipped off the gloves and turned away from the sink.

As soon as he did, his mom wrapped her arms around him, but then almost immediately pulled back far enough to look him in the eye.

‘You’re not lost, sweetheart,’ she said. ‘You’re the sparkly, shiny treasure I was lucky enough to find.’

‘Well, treasure maps, I can handle. You know, the sort drawn on aged parchment with tatty edges, marked with here be dragons and everything.’ The damn tears were building again, or maybe they hadn’t gone away.

His mom smiled indulgently, but followed it up with that no-nonsense look he was so familiar with. ‘Listen to me, Foggy, please, because I want to be sure you hear this. It’s not my place to tell you how to live or who to be, but if you were making choices that seemed to point to some kind of problem, I’d let you know. I don’t feel that way now. I sometimes worry for you, but I’m not worried by you. Far from it.’

Foggy’s breath felt shaky. ‘Thanks, Mom,’ he said, and pulled her closer so he could kiss the top of her head.

Her words couldn’t undo the horrible hot shame he’d felt at him mom and dad’s obvious discomfort, but maybe that was alright. There’d been plenty of times when they’d put their own hurt or embarrassment aside to give him space to figure things out. It felt good to think that he might be able to offer them the same freedom. Maybe growing up meant letting your parents be people too.

‘Now, while the boys are still out, tell me: is Matt a good kisser?’

Alright, so maybe Foggy wasn’t that grown up. He reached behind himself and scooped a heap of soap bubbles from the sink. In his defence, he was yet to wash a single dish, so they were totally clean bubbles. They plopped onto his mom’s head with an overly wet sploop, which shocked both of them enough to make them laugh.

‘Was that a yes or a no?’ she asked, laser focused, like she wasn’t mopping at her hair with a dishtowel.

‘Oh, my god, you’re incorrigible! For your information, it was all very decorous.’

‘That sounds sweet.’ The words were remarkably restrained given the grin she was sporting.

Foggy relented. It wasn’t like he could hold back his own smile anyway, and he’d wanted this.

‘It does, doesn’t it! It wasn’t though. Or, it was, but not in any restrained, Victorian manner. It was kind of intense, actually. I’ve done far more physical things that have felt significantly less intimate.’

‘I’m not surprised… by either of those revelations.’ There was a raised eyebrow, but Foggy let it slide. ‘I’m glad you’re working things out, sweetheart.’

‘And you’re seriously not going to make fun of me for the sudden turn around?’ he asked, because the possibility seemed far too good to be true. ‘It wasn’t that long ago that I was telling you I didn’t want a relationship right now and that Matt wouldn’t be a good choice for me anyway.’

‘Oh, duckling, it was pretty clear that your rationalisations and concerns didn’t necessarily match up with your feelings, even then, but that’s just human. It was good that you were thinking things through. And, for the record, your dad and I think Matt’s a really good choice for you, and that you’re good for him.’

‘How much have you been talking about us?’

‘Oh, just a little. Enough that Jan and Bess have demanded a dinner invitation for this weekend so they can meet the new man in your life.’

‘Mom! I meant you and Dad! You talked to Bess about us? I mean, Jan will turn the full force of her scrutinising self on Matt for a long minute, for sure, but then she’ll move on. Bess, though! She’ll be just as sharp as Jan right up until she discovers what a precious puppy Matt is, and then she’ll want to adopt him. She’ll be planning our wedding by the end of dinner!’

‘At least she’s moved on from trying to make you her son-in-law.’

Foggy leaned against the side of the sink and groaned. He’d almost forgotten, or maybe purged from his mind, how much Bess had wanted Foggy and Brett to get together once Brett came out.

‘Why would you remind me of that? See! This is just further proof that you like seeing me suffer. Bess, Mom! What were you thinking?’

‘I was thinking that Matt needs family, sweetheart. Not just you, me, and your dad, and Candy, of course, when she finally returns. He needs more than us, and he doesn’t seem to have anyone. I want Bess to feel protective towards him, to make him one of hers. I want the extended clan, or at least the decent ones, to make him theirs, as well. And it’s not like it’s a one-way street. He’s a good person. He’s got a lot to offer our friends and family. So if you want to try and stop me from meddling, you’re gonna need more than soap bubbles on your side, kiddo. You know what I’m like. You know you can’t win this fight.’

Foggy was completely turned around, even though he should have known without needing to ask. ‘That’s… why would I fight you on that? You’re amazing, Mom.’

‘I am,’ she said. ‘And just so we’re clear, if there ever is anyone in your life who needs a shovel talk, I’ll be the one to give it.’

‘Yeah,’ Foggy agreed, ‘that is definitely something I should have known.’

Chapter Text

So, Matt might have been a little bit right when he’d insisted that Foggy had no capacity for genuine chill. Of course, Foggy liked to think he did a passable job of faking it, and Matt had said he did, so it was probably true at least some of the time.

But. He was pretty certain that he was kidding himself when it came to this most recent turn of events.

Although, in his defence: how was he supposed to have known that his entirely erroneous belief that things shouldn’t and couldn’t go anywhere with Matt would turn out to be the main thing that had been keeping his ridiculous crush in check? Which meant that, now that things were different between them… still slow and not particularly defined, but different… well, now, there was a whole new constellation of factors conspiring to drag Foggy to a humiliatingly undignified level of besottedness.

He was only human, after all, and Matt was the most impossibly appealing dork. He always had been, it was true. But! On top of all that, Matt had recently developed this way of focusing on Foggy as though he was taking in every possible detail, which might have been intimidating if Matt’s expression wasn’t so unflinchingly devoted every time he did it. And it wasn’t just when they were alone together. Nope. It was equally likely to happen at the dinner table or while they were out wandering the city. Which was nice, awesome, flattering, but also super embarrassing, because Foggy would blush and lose any minuscule scrap of chill he might otherwise have possessed.

Foggy Nelson, tripping over words and losing his train of thought! Preposterous!

It amused his parents beyond all reason.

And, had Matt lost any of his charming and unruffled persona in all of this? No, he had not. He bantered back and forth over meals, calmly helped with dishes, and gave no sign of noticing the effect he was having on Foggy, which he totally must know about, right down to the skitter-hop of Foggy’s traitorous heart.

Of course, not everything had changed. Matt was working now, but that only took up about five hours of the day. When they were alone, he still played along with any game Foggy created, and listened to the stories Foggy insisted were essential for his development as a well-rounded human being.

But, in the week or so since those first kisses, Matt had become more tactile, more likely to sit with some portion of their bodies pressed together, or to rest a hand on Foggy’s lower back if they were standing side by side. He’d pause, many times a day, to brush his fingers over Foggy’s hair and down his cheek. Sometimes there were kisses: soft and fleeting or, occasionally, more intense and lingering.

But the thing was… the utterly unjust thing was… that this whole whatever they had going on between them seemed to make Matt calmer, more settled. And so, Foggy was left to bear the burden of his mother’s delighted amusement and his father’s disbelieving… well… yes… also amusement.

All.

By.

Himself.

Matt wasn’t on the receiving end of any of it.

Nope. Matt could converse over dinner, or sit and play scrabble with Foggy’s dad, without any jibes or pokes coming his way.

All of which made Foggy justifiably nervous about Bess and Jan’s imminent arrival for dinner. Of course, all things considered, this flavour of angst was definitely the lesser evil. If he kept himself worried about the combined force of his mom and dad and Bess and Jan all good-naturedly laughing at his crushy, besotted self, then he might be able to avoid thinking about the fact that, very soon, he’d be sitting at the dinner table wearing his favourite white blouse with the huge water-colour-looking purple and blue flowers, his comfy white linen pants, with his hair hanging in the loose braid he’d just finished creating.

And it was awesome that he had no extra room to worry about that because, while his parents had probably clued their guests in, it was still a slightly gut churning fact that these women, who’d known Foggy since further back than he could remember, hadn’t seen him like this before.

Which was fine

It would be fine.

Matt was downstairs, helping Foggy’s folks with last-minute preparations. Foggy couldn’t quite make out the conversation flowing between the three of them, but it sounded relaxed and ordinary. Those sounded like good feelings to immerse himself in. Relaxed and Ordinary. Yep. He forced himself to stop fussing with his hair and go down to join them.

The doorbell rang soon after he arrived in the kitchen.

Dinner was under control, and Foggy’s parents went to facilitate the entry of his imminent tormentors.

Matt came to stand by Foggy’s side, his hand lending a gentle pressure against the small of Foggy’s back as he steered them towards the living room. Foggy allowed himself to go with the flow.

‘Is it too late to run?’ Matt asked,  his voice soft in Foggy’s ear.

‘Possibly. Unless you’re willing to trample my parents and the two middle-aged women who’re currently blocking the doorway. I’m not vetoing the idea, for the record, just detailing the obstacles.’

‘I’m not really wearing trample-appropriate footwear,’ Matt observed.

‘You could probably back flip over them.’

‘I could, but what about you?’

‘Pretty sure I can’t. Damn.’ Foggy smiled. ‘You gonna stick around and help me get through this, Murdock?’

‘I am. I plan to stay glued to your side.’

‘Alright. We can do this.’

‘We can.’ And Matt put a hand on Foggy’s cheek to turn his face for a kiss. It was comforting and lovely and did nothing to reduce the degree of flusteredness Foggy was feeling.

‘Well aren’t you two adorable!’ Bess said, and Foggy groaned.

‘You set me up, Murdock,’ he muttered, but then turned to smile at the four smug, gawking elder-folk standing just inside the living room doorway. ‘I’ve always been adorable, Bess,’ he said, and moved to give her a hug. ‘Don’t pretend you’re just now noticing.’

‘Course you have, sweet-cheeks. Though I have to say, this new look of yours is something else! You look like the best part of springtime: fresh air and sunshine and all those pretty colours. It suits you.’ She wrapped Foggy in her arms and, for a while, he clung on tighter than he’d meant to.

‘You must be Matt.’ The words travelled from across the room. There was polite conversation happening, Matt being introduced to Jan, but most of Foggy’s attention was held by the look on Bess’s face. Now that he’d relaxed his hold, she’d backed off enough to meet his eyes.

She studied him for a long moment, then brushed a thumb softly over his cheek. ‘Look at you,’ she said, much more quietly this time, and Foggy took a deep breath. The approval in her expression was too sincere to feel anything but good. ‘Now,’ she said, more loudly, ‘introduce me to this gorgeous young man of yours!’

It turned out that, in his possibly slightly overwrought anticipation of this meal, Foggy had overlooked a couple of important points. The first was that the people seated around the table were good folk who, with the exception of Matt, he’d known forever. The second, even more awesome point was that Mathew Michael Murdock was an incorrigible charmer.

From the moment he was introduced to their guests, Matt was attentive, pleasant, funny, and adept at responding to invasive interrogation with goodnatured poise. He sat by Foggy’s side at the table, a little closer than usual, and answered questions about where, exactly, he grew up; who his family were; what his future plans entailed; whether Columbia was doing right by him with making sure he had anything extra he needed for his studies; and, yes, about his relationship with Foggy: how they’d met, how long they’d been together, both of which Bess and Jan must have already known the answers to, due to parental gossip, and were most definitely asking just to make Matt squirm; and was he fully aware of the trouble he was getting himself into because, let me tell you, Foggy Nelson is all kinds of trouble!

Matt was also adept at turning the table, figuratively speaking, because literally would be dramatic but weird, and was able to get Jan and Bess reminiscing about how they’d met Foggy’s mom. It wasn’t a story Foggy had heard before, or not in any kind of detail. It involved racism, sexism, secretarial school, and more pot smoking and civil disobedience than he would have anticipated.

His reactions to the unfurling tapestry of a tale must have communicated some of this surprise.

‘I’m a child of the 60’s, Foggy. What did you expect?’ And yeah, it was cool that his mom sounded a teensy bit proud. Go Mom!

It didn’t prevent Jan from instantly refuting her claim though.

‘Don’t listen to that nonsense, you two,’ she said, addressing Matt and Foggy with an air of authority. ‘We might have been born in the 60’s, just barely, mind you, but it was the late 70’s by the time we were running amok. Our actions were our own, and I don’t see any need to go blaming a whole decade for them,’ she added, pointedly.

‘Janet Helmsley, you traitor!’ Bess chided, clearly unchastened.

‘Me? She was making us sound old, Bess. You might be alright with that but I won’t stand for it, not even from one of you.’

Foggy didn’t know Jan as well as he knew Bess. She didn’t have any children, which meant Foggy hadn’t spent much time at her place as a kid, like he had with the Mahoneys. He’d come to appreciate her as he got older though. She was more serious than his mom and Bess, and had a sensible-shoes kind of directness that Foggy privately thought of as very second-wave-feminist.

‘We are old,’ Bess insisted. ‘Look at those pretty young faces across the table, woman! Oh, to be that fresh faced and young again.’

‘Bess Mahoney. You and Anna are forty-five and I’m forty-four. I don’t see any old women here. Of course, when I am old, I plan to be just as sharp as I am today.’

‘You better be, Jan, because I’m counting on you to keep these two troublemakers in line. Lord knows I’m not up to the task,’ Foggy’s dad said.

The conversation continued as Foggy quietly commented to Matt: ‘Did you hear that, buddy? We’re not the troublemakers in this scenario. Definitely a red letter day!’

It turned out to be a stupid move. He’d leaned in close to speak softly to Matt, and for some reason that resulted in Matt leaning even closer and doing his thing, scanning Foggy or whatever, while everything else in the room apparently disappeared. After an eternity, Matt smiled that sunshine-bright smile that was made of all things pure and good in the world, and made a soft sound of acknowledgement? Approval? Satisfaction? Then he ghosted a hand over Foggy’s cheek before turning calmly back to the table.

Foggy returned his attention to the broader conversation as well, or tried to anyway. His face was hot and his brain was a bit flittery and he couldn’t help but notice that the conversation had paused a little, which felt awkward in the moment. ‘And what about you, Dad?’ he asked, possibly with more volume and a higher pitch than he’d intended. ‘Do you have a scandalous past to confess?’

This valiant effort at maintaining appropriate social discourse, was, of course, met with laughter.

Seriously?

Was he the only adult in the room?

Fortunately, his dad wasn’t a total sadist, so he answered the question instead of calling further attention to Foggy’s slight and momentary lack of suaveness.

‘Not really. I married young, did my part to create an impetuous imp, met an amazing woman, contributed to the creation of the wandering fury whose off terrorising Europe, had the incredible good fortune to inherit a store that lets me work at something I’m good at and enjoy. I’ve never really been one for scandal.’

‘And look how the heavens have blessed you for your temperance and restraint,’ Foggy’s mom said. She was poking his dad, but he just looked at Foggy and smiled.

Chapter Text

‘So, that wasn’t as horrifying as it could have been,’ Foggy said. They’d cleared the table and washed the dishes, then headed up to his bedroom, having politely declined invitations to join the fierce poker game that would follow.

There’d been way too much knowing laughter when they’d excused themselves, but Foggy could cope with that. Especially since it had, bizarrely, made Matt squirm. 

‘Foggy, I need you to learn to back flip over middle-aged women in doorways,’ Matt replied, all earnest and intense, as though their very lives were on the line or, alternatively, as though this might be the segue into a montage scene where Foggy learned to do such things as back flip and leap about. 

He laughed at the mental image the thought set in motion.

‘Well that would be a really cool skill to have,’ he said, ‘but… wait, really? That was so much tamer than I was expecting!’

‘That was tame? Did you hear what they were saying as we came up the stairs?’

‘I mean, no, but I can imagine.’

Matt looked concerned. ‘You didn’t? I thought they were being deliberately loud, but it can be hard to tell. They probably didn’t mean for us to hear it, then. Sorry.’

‘Relax, Matt. It’s fine. Or was it offensive and not just, you know, inappropriate-but-less-problematic speculation about what they imagine two twenty-somethings are likely to be doing every second they’re alone together? Because it seems to me that older people, on the whole, believe that younger people are way more sexually active than we actually are. And I’m not sure if they’re misremembering their own experiences of being in their twenties or if things really were different before. I mean, obviously HIV has had an impact but, even so, I can’t imagine being as obsessed with getting off as they seem to think we are.’

‘It wasn’t offensive, really. Bess said that it was probably best if we head upstairs now, because then we’re less likely to keep Anna and Ed awake all night.

‘And what did Mom say?’

‘She said it was fine, that we’re both way too considerate for that, and that we have most of the day while they’re at work to make a noise.’

‘Well, she’s not wrong there. We do get a bit rowdy during the day.’

‘Foggy.’

‘Well, we do! And so what if we do it by tearing through the apartment playing catch, and climbing over things?’

Matt looked more uncomfortable, which probably meant that Foggy needed to take a less flippant approach.

‘What’s the real problem here, Matt? You know you can talk to me about anything if you want to.’

Matt didn’t respond.

Foggy made a production of flopping down to sit on his bed, then held out a hand towards Matt, who was still standing awkwardly just inside the closed door.

Matt hesitated, then sighed and came to sit on the bed. He was more perched than comfortable though.

‘Matt,’ Foggy tried again. ‘Get over here. Talk.’

Matt relented. He shifted to lean against the wall, one knee resting against Foggy’s. After a while, he took Foggy’s hand and began moving his fingers over it as though all his focus was on getting to know it’s shape and size. Gradually, his expression became less tense.

‘I thought I was uninhibited about sex, you know? Not just the reckless stuff with Elektra, but overall. I was fifteen the first time I touched a girl, ah, intimately. She was fifteen, too, or sixteen. I’m not sure, really. It wasn’t anything meaningful, just curiosity I suppose. I had sex for the first time when I was sixteen. That wasn’t so much about experimentation as proving something to myself. I don’t know what it was about for her, but I know it wasn’t love, or even a crush. It was fine though. Actually, it lasted about five seconds before I… well, anyway, I touched her after and made sure she got to enjoy some part of it, too, so I don’t think it was a total disaster.

‘After that, sex always seemed easy. I mean, I can tell when someone’s attracted to me, or at least horny enough to decide that I’ll do. And then, when I’m with them I can… well, it’s easy to pay attention and be good at the mechanics of it all. Not that I don’t enjoy it. I do. It’s… amazing and intense, and everything else disappears beyond the physical reality of their body and mine, the energy and movement and sensation.’

Matt stopped talking and went back to exploring Foggy’s hand.

Foggy tried to wait, to see if Matt was going to say anything more, but he was kind of nervous about where this conversation was going. He’d thought they were both comfortable with the current pace of things. Now he was starting to wonder if he was wrong, and what Matt’s disclosure might be leading up to.

Then he thought he understood.

He turned his hand in Matt’s and gave a gentle squeeze.

‘Are you feeling insecure about sex with me because of the different mechanics involved?’

‘I have a dick, Foggy. I know how they work.’

The response was true, obviously, but maybe not honest. It wasn’t an answer to the question, and it definitely wasn’t the full story. Foggy had a firm commitment to speaking openly and honestly when it came to sex and sexual relationships. He wasn’t going to be so easily distracted.

‘You know, don’t you, that, despite the rampant speculation going on downstairs, we don’t actually have to do anything you’re not comfortable with. I mean, not even don’t have to. I actively don’t want to do anything you don’t enthusiastically want to do. I don’t have any expectations here.’

‘I know. It’s not that.’ Matt’s expression shifted for a few seconds as he turned an ear towards the door. ‘And they’ve moved on, anyway. I guess we’re not that interesting.’

‘We’re really not.’

They sat in silence, which was definitely a different thing than sitting quietly. When the tension became too stretched and pingy, Foggy leaned over and bumped Matt’s shoulder with his own. This started a gentle shove battle, which took approximately forty seconds to get out of control. It was so predictable. Matt was such a kinesthetic processor.

Much less predictable was the fact that, fewer than ten seconds later, Matt managed to wrestle Foggy onto his back and pin him to the bed.

That was new.

They were physical with each other all the time, but not like this.

Matt stilled, holding himself above Foggy and looking every bit as surprised as Foggy felt. But he also looked way too serious.

Foggy reached up and brushed Matt’s hair from in front of his glasses. It was a pointless gesture, both because the strands flopped straight back down again, and because they hadn’t really been in Matt’s way to begin with.

‘Come here,’ he said, and Matt let himself collapse along Foggy’s side. He put his glasses on the bedside table and then rested his head on Foggy’s shoulder. It wasn’t long before he began running his fingers over the buttons and seams of Foggy’s blouse, not in a suggestive way but just exploring.

‘You going tell me what’s going on?’ Foggy hoped he sounded open to the possibility of Matt choosing not to talk about it, but he probably couldn’t disguise the fact that he had a strong preference for the answer to be yes.

There was another long pause.

More fiddling with buttons.

‘I’m…. I haven’t been in a situation like this before. I don’t know if….’

‘Hey, I told you. No pressure. If this isn’t right for you, then it’s not. It won’t destroy our friendship.’

‘No. That’s not what I meant.’ Matt started to pull his hand back from Foggy’s chest, but Foggy reached for it and held it close.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, and he was. He wanted Matt to feel safe. He wanted to understand. ‘I’ll stop trying to guess, and just listen, alright? What are you afraid of?’

‘This,’ Matt said. ‘The way we shift back and forth between friends and, well, whatever. Or not even shift. Maybe that’s the difficult part. When I touch you, or hold you, or even kiss you, you’re still Foggy. And it’s nice. It feels good. But it also feels weird and... kind of terrifying. I know how to be sexual. I know how it feels to be caught up in the moment, to be entirely aware of someone as a physical presence. But none of my previous partners really knew me and, looking back, I didn’t know them either. I thought it was different with Elektra, she came closer than anyone else, but, really, she only knew the parts of me that she wanted to see. And, in the end, I found that I hadn’t understood her at all. It’s different with you.’

‘And that’s scary?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Because?’

Matt was quiet for a while. ‘I don’t really know how to explain it better than that.’

‘That’s alright.’ Foggy ran his fingers through Matt’s hair while he thought. As soon as he’d let go of Matt’s hand, Matt had returned to fiddling with the buttons.

‘You know, people project fantasies onto each other all the time, but the more you get to know someone, the more complicated that becomes. The truth gets in the way, so that even if I think you’re hot and decide that I wanna suck your dick, I still know that you’re an enormous dork who struggles to find words when he’s out of his depth. And even in the middle of anything sexual that might happen between us, I’d still be someone who might make a joke or some weird reference to something I’ve read, because I’m a dork too, and I don’t feel the need to hide that from you.’

‘It... yeah, it might be that, but it’s more than that, too. When I kiss you it’s not… it’s nice, really nice, and sometimes I want more, but it’s different than feeling turned on. I… sometimes, Fogs… sometimes I just want to hold you and protect you and keep the whole world away, and it’s overwhelming and probably patronising or wrong but it feels so… and I….’

‘You what?’

‘I love you.’ It sounded so hard for Matt to say those words, like they were a confession from deep in his soul.

They’d never felt that way for Foggy.

‘And that scares you?’

‘No. It makes me scared of taking things further between us.’

‘Because… you’re worried it won’t work out?’

‘No.’

‘Because you can’t lose yourself in sensation if you’re caught up in complicated emotions?’

‘I’m not sure I’d know what to do if I wasn’t lost in the intensity of the moment, and when I kiss you it doesn’t feel like that would happen. Not that I don’t want more. It’s just that the wanting doesn’t stop me from being aware of all of you and all of me.’

‘Well, that sounds like a good thing, because I love you too, Matt. You know, there are lots of places people can go to seek out fun but impersonal sex, but that’s not what this is. You’re allowed to be clumsy or tentative. You’re allowed to get distracted by a sound or a feeling. You’re allowed to slow things down if you feel vulnerable or exposed. I promise you that I’ll do the same if I want to.’

‘Can we, ah, can we stop talking about it now?’

It was pretty clear that Foggy’s attempt at reassurance had, in fact, not been particularly calming for Matt. Still, they were words that Foggy needed to say, and he was willing to return to the conversation if and when Matt chose. They were different people with different histories, and that was alright.

‘Sure. Are you heading to your room or do you want to hang out some more?’

‘Can I stay? Just, nothing, um…. Can I sleep here?’

‘Of course. Will we get ready for bed, then?’

‘Not yet. I just want to stay where we are for a while.’

‘No problem.’ Foggy wriggled a bit to get them both more settled. ‘I’m good with that.’

Chapter Text

Strangely, Foggy felt less giddy about Matt after that. Or maybe it wasn’t strange. It probably made sense, really, that Matt’s admission of his fears had dragged Foggy to a more rational place as well. In fact, even though Matt had been uncertain how to talk about his feelings, some of them had been familiar to Foggy. They were things he’d been working on with Siobhan, after all. He knew it took effort to connect deeply with someone but retain a sense of self, of being real and separate. It shouldn’t be surprising to find that Matt struggled with the same thing, in his own way. It was likely that most people did.

It was all pretty normal, and there was something calming about that.

As the weeks passed, Foggy spent his days hanging out with Matt, but also going to Nelson’s hardware to help his dad, or doing random odd jobs for neighbours and family members here and there. He met up with old friends for coffee a couple of times. He even ran into Brett on a trip to the grocery store and ended up joining him for lunch, which was odd but also entertaining. Nothing would ever force Foggy to admit it out loud, but Brett was a funny guy when he got his straight-faced-cynical-grump on.

Matt fell into a regular routine of meditation and working out. He spent time with Foggy’s dad, helping him with cooking or dishes, or going for a walk. The two of them continued to play a stupid number of games of Scrabble, though they’d become more poignant than the wholesome, adorable things they’d seemed to be at the start. Foggy knew this because he spent most of his evenings in the living room, and the walls between there and the dining room were thin, which meant there’d been times when he couldn’t help overhearing snatches of conversation.

He didn’t feel guilty about it. His mom, even though she’d lightly chastised him about it earlier and would most certainly give him a look and try to pretend that she, personally, was above being forced into ethically dubious situations because of structural design flaws, would absolutely agree that it was an inevitability of circumstance which was entirely outside his control.

But, anyway, that was how he knew that in between plays, click of tiles being rearranged on the little rack thingies, different click as they were locked into placed on the board, his dad would tell Matt dramatic stories about when Foggy and Candy were younger. At first, Foggy had mistaken it for standard parental chatter, but then he’d begun to wonder.

The stories usually involved him or Candy messing up… which, alright, they’d done a lot of that, but definitely no more than one standard deviation above the statistical average. Nevertheless, his dad would sound fond but entirely unrepentant as he dished the dirt on the worst times they’d dropped things (Candy: grandma Nelson’s cherished tea pot); lost things (Foggy: car keys at the beach); or forgot things (Foggy: yikes, forgot to replenish the toilet rolls in the staff restroom at the store that one critical time… still sorry about that Dad). Then, his dad would casually tack on a couple of sentences along the lines that it was only to be expected since the anecdotal protagonist of the hour had been a child at the time, and children aren’t adults.

Or, if it wasn’t that, he’d talk in embarrassing detail about Foggy’s childhood fears and the elaborate lengths required to comfort him, or tell stories about the spectacularly bad decisions children sometimes make because they’re children. Foggy was always the star of those ones too.

After his dad was done talking, he’d just continue with the game, leaving Matt to digest the ad hoc Nelson parable about appropriate adult behaviour towards children. Of course, if Foggy could see the intent, so could Matt. But then, Foggy realised, his dad wasn’t trying to be subtle. He was holding out examples for Matt to do with as he would. Sometimes, Matt would respond with a story about when he was young, before the accident, or, less often, he’d share a small incident from his time at St Agnes’s. Other times, there’d just be a protracted silence as the game continued. Irrespective of Matt’s response though, he continued to choose to spend time with Foggy’s dad, which had to mean something.

Maybe Foggy could ask Matt about it, because, in retrospect, it seemed unlikely that Matt didn’t know Foggy was listening at least some of the time.

Or, wild idea, perhaps he should adopt Matt’s ethical stance and stop listening in to people’s private conversations. That kind of self-restraint had never been one of Foggy’s strengths, but it was probably something he could work on.

Chapter Text

Matt and Foggy had been out drinking. It was a lot like any other time they’d been to a bar together, Matt thought, and yet it had felt different in some way: more significant. And that was odd. Spending time with Foggy was nothing new, so how could tonight have felt like a first date?

Not that it was like any date Matt had ever been on before, and certainly not a first one. It was just drinking in a dive bar with Foggy. They’d talked, they’d joked, they’d laughed. Foggy had sung loudly and terribly as they’d stumbled home holding each other up. The whole evening had been relaxed and entertaining, mostly because Foggy was hilarious when he was drunk. He was also more tactile and affectionate, but that had been comfortable too. They’d even kissed goodnight at Foggy’s bedroom door.

As Matt stumbled through the routine motions of getting ready for bed, he wondered: could a date really be that easy? Could a relationship be like that? Was hanging out with your best friend who you also happened to feel drawn to in ways that were difficult to define… was that all it took?

Maybe it just seemed complicated because the whole thing was so much less structured than Matt was used to, less delineated. Even the language was unclear. Foggy was a he but he wasn’t a man and, although Matt still wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, he knew it meant something. It was something important that he could feel but not define.

Which meant it was the English language that was to blame, he decided.

Using he to talk about Foggy was beginning to feel uncomfortable. It felt disrespectful and contradictory, even though Foggy preferred it over the other options that were available. And pronouns weren’t the only way that the language was insufficient. Foggy wasn’t Matt’s boyfriend and he certainly wasn’t Matt’s girlfriend. So how was Matt supposed to refer to him? Partner, maybe? Was Foggy his partner? It sounded excessively formal, and far more established than they actually were, but he could probably get used to it.

The larger, and arguably more terrible, problem was that it wasn’t predominantly the gendered nature of the English language that Matt was becoming unbalanced by. Because, apparently, the words friend or buddy being attached to someone he kissed or, maybe, possibly, was significantly more physical with at some point, was even more disjunctive.

He’d been in love with Elektra, but he’d never thought of her as a friend. The very idea of putting that label on her was uncomfortable somehow. And it wasn’t just Elektra. None of his previous girlfriends or hook-ups had been people he’d thought of as friends.

Matt climbed into bed and tracked the slight tilt and spin that his brain insisted was happening for real at the edges of the room. It wasn’t a bad feeling, just a little off kilter. It wasn’t enough to derail his thoughts, because this was important. Matt knew it was.

Foggy was the best friend he’d ever had, but their night out had been a date.

In the past few weeks they’d kissed many, many times, and Matt had even slept in Foggy’s bed, and those parts were comfortable and good. More than good. It felt easy and right, but also entrancing, more like meditation than intoxication but that didn’t quite capture it.

And Foggy was still his best friend.

And they were dating.

The ambiguity was equal parts unfamiliar and enticing, but maybe, like their date, it could be simple too: Matt liked it when they were together.

He thought of getting out of bed to go and tell Foggy that, but he didn’t need enhanced senses to know that Foggy was sleeping, because drunk Foggy snored, and, anyway, Matt was pretty sure he already knew how Matt felt.

Foggy was good at that kind of thing.

With Matt working, and Foggy taking on all kinds of family responsibilities, they had less free time. Having nested and rested for a few weeks, as Foggy put it, they were more inclined to spend that free time getting out and exploring. It was fun and surprisingly satisfying. They walked close, sharing a running commentary about their surroundings and charting the city in ways that Matt had never considered before.

Their time out also provided opportunities for Matt to practice holding a conversation while adopting a sighted persona and relying on his senses to navigate. That wasn’t something Stick had ever encouraged him to learn. Obviously the old man wouldn’t have seen any value in it for its own sake, but it would have helped Matt sharpen his focus and improve his performance in other ways, he was sure. And, like most things, it probably would have been easier to master while he was young.

Still, it was an interesting challenge, and the process helped him find openings to tell Foggy how his perception of the world worked.

The way Foggy responded to that effort both confused and delighted Matt. It was different to Foggy’s general enthusiasm for the silly stuff, the acrobatics and whatever. It was softer, a quiet surge of warmth and gratitude, as though Matt had given him some precious gift.

Even though the appreciation was undeserved, it still left Matt feeling ridiculously pleased. It was nice. An insipid word, Sister Frances had insisted, but in this instance Matt thought it was a good one. He’d rarely known anyone who was as easy to be with as Foggy.

Matt’s feelings about this new territory might be a little complicated, but Foggy wasn’t. He was direct and transparent and endlessly willing to be uncool if it meant being honest. It was an attractive combination, partly because Matt knew now how hard Foggy worked to be that way. Dedication and effort had always been attractive to Matt.

And this changing perspective, this newfound admiration for Foggy’s relentless sincerity, had definitely had an impact on Matt’s own behaviour.

He was trying to understand the pact they’d made, trying to recognise the times when he unnecessarily held himself back in interactions with Foggy or Ed or Anna, whether it was out of habit or fear of revealing too much.

It was slow going. There weren’t clear criteria for deciding what level of self-censoring was just standard everyday human behaviour, and what was to do with his reluctance to demonstrate the many ways in which his unique abilities set him apart from anyone else in the room. But he’d chosen to share the truth with these people, so it made sense that he learn to express that truth in his everyday interactions with them.

It felt good, if daunting at times, to make the effort.

Even so, Matt hadn’t been aware how much he’d actually managed to drop his usual facade until visitors started appearing at the apartment on a regular basis.

That first dinner with Jan and Bess had apparently foreshadowed a new agenda in which Ed and Anna intended for Matt to be introduced to everyone they knew. It became commonplace for visitors to drop in for meals or coffee, and the change in routine left Matt uncomfortably aware how much they must have been putting their social life on hold for the first few weeks of his visit.

He’d raised the subject with Ed, mostly to acknowledge what they’d done for him, but Ed had brushed it off as no big deal. In retrospect, it was the response Matt should have expected. He was just glad that Ed and Anna felt able to resume their normal routines now that he’d agreed to an extended stay… even if they seemed to possess the ulterior motive of introducing him to every resident of Queens, and possibly the whole of New York.

And yet, it was during these many visits that Matt experienced a growing level of frustration at pretending not to notice most of what was going on around him.

Apparently, in a relatively short period of time, he’d developed new habits and new ways of interacting. He’d embraced new freedoms, and had even come to take some of them for granted. Now, it was proving surprisingly difficult to return to form. It made him irritable when visitors came to the apartment, and excessively eager to spend time alone with Foggy, out in the anonymous world.

It was something he needed to work on. The resentment was not a good thing. He wouldn’t be within the shelter of the Nelsons’ home indefinitely.

He needed to be ready to step back into his normal life at Columbia without a hitch.

He should consider the steady flow of visitors as preparation for submerging himself back into that necessary world.

didn’t need to be a source of annoyance. It was a resource.

And it wasn’t as though the experience was entirely negative, anyway. It was actually pretty interesting to meet various members of Foggy’s extended family and the wider network the Nelsons were a part of. It explained a lot about Foggy’s easy-going, sociable nature.

Matt supposed that he and his own dad had been part of a community to some extent. He’d pretty much lived at Fogwell’s when he wasn’t at school or with his grandmother, and all the guys his dad had trained with were familiar with him. Some of them would come around to the apartment occasionally to drink and watch baseball.

Thinking back, that was probably because of Matt. The other guys probably had wives they could leave their kids at home with, since there were never any other kids at Fogwell’s. Whatever the reason, it certainly wasn’t because he and his dad had a decent television in their apartment, but his dad had seemed to enjoy the company anyway.

Before the accident, Matt would sit on the floor and watch the game with them, even though he didn’t see what the fuss was about. Baseball was slow and graceless compared to boxing. He’d feigned excitement though. It had seemed the thing to do, or maybe he’d been trying to enjoy it just as much as the men did. In any case, he’d happily gone back and forth to the kitchen, fetching beers and snacks and just hanging out.

After the accident, he’d stayed in his room when anyone came by to watch the game. He’d claim that he had homework, or that he wanted to read whatever book he had to hand. In reality, he’d been acutely aware that his presence made people uncomfortable when everyone else was watching TV.

Maybe things would have changed if his dad had been around long enough for everyone to adjust to Matt’s blindness. Frequent opportunities to observe Foggy’s extended family had allowed Matt to notice how much everyone managed to anticipate each other’s preferences and reactions, how they navigated their differences relatively smoothly. Maybe that capacity had developed through years of knowing each other, or perhaps they’d always been that way.

Ed would probably be happy to talk about it, but there was nothing to be gained. Matt would never know how his relationship with his dad and their various connections might have eventually played out.

And, anyway, would Stick have come into Matt’s life if Matt hadn’t been at St Agnes’s? And, if not, would the sensory overload have driven Matt mad and destroyed his dad’s life in ways that were slower and more painful than being shot? It was a sickening and traitorous thought, but it wasn’t the first time Matt had wondered.

There were reasons why the past was best left untouched.

Lately though, that had been harder to do. Foggy and his family had a shared history that expressed itself in myriad ways. There was a continuity between and within them that Matt didn’t recognise in relation to his own life. It was a casual assimilation of anecdotes and shared knowledge, where current interactions and choices were understood in light of previous experience. None of them seemed to feel the need to draw a line between the past and the present, nor to direct all their energy into focusing on the future.

It was one of the ways in which their world was very different from Matt’s own. And it meant that, even beyond Ed’s subtle and unsubtle explorations of Matt’s past, the past was always present.

Matt didn’t resent it, not really, but it probably explained the nightmares and insomnia he’d been experiencing. All too often he’d wake up gasping for breath, then lie there piecing together fragments of dreams filled with his dad’s voice or Stick’s; vague echoes of place and time; smells that pulled him back to a particular age or season: random things. None of the pieces he could recall were disturbing enough to account for his reaction, and yet he’d be left troubled by thoughts of the past, questioning whether any of it had affected him in the way Ed seemed to believe.

Unfortunately, Matt was still wrestling with residual resentment about hiding his abilities in company, along with ongoing dream-fuelled insomnia, when his patience was put to the test.

Perhaps if he wasn’t so tired he would have handled the situation differently.

Instead, he failed to contain his discomfort when Ed’s brother-in-law, Greg, grabbed Matt’s arm on the journey from the living room to the dining table and informed Matt, loudly, that he would see him safely to a seat. Having achieved this goal, he then took Matt’s hand and placed it on the dinnerware in front of him to make sure he could feel where everything was.

Matt struggled to respond.

It was the first time he’d met Greg, or any of the guests, and he wanted to be diplomatic, but the most he could manage was to force a neutral expression.

He was so focused on burying his true feelings that he didn’t notice Foggy coming up behind them, until Foggy intervened.

‘What the hell, Uncle Greg! Did Matt ask for your help?’

Greg turned towards Foggy, but put a proprietorial hand on Matt’s shoulder as he did so.

‘Simmer down, kiddo,’ he said. ‘You were busy. I was just helping your buddy out.’ He sounded incongruously affable and unconcerned, as though he didn’t register the fury in Foggy’s voice.

‘It’s alright,’ Matt managed to say.

It didn’t shift Foggy’s or Greg’s attention to him.

He wanted to move, to dislodge the hand on his shoulder, but he didn’t want to escalate anything.

‘It absolutely isn’t alright,’ Foggy said, which at least meant that he’d heard Matt’s words. ‘Look, Uncle Greg, I understand that you thought you were helping, and that you might not have interacted directly with someone who’s blind before, but you should at least have known to ask Matt if he wanted your assistance. That’s just common courtesy.’

‘What, so I should have just let the poor guy stumble through the hall until he bumped into the table, should I?’ Greg said. ‘Maybe turned it into a neat little game of Marco Polo?’ He sounded annoyed now, but everyone’s attention had been drawn to the conversation, so he was probably feeling cornered and defensive.

‘Greg,’ Ed said. He sounded a little stern, but calm.

‘I’ve got this, Dad,’ Foggy replied, considerably less calmly

‘It’s fine,’ Matt tried again. ‘Foggy, let it go. There was no harm done.’

‘OK, bullshit, Matt. This just flew right past patronising and slammed into outright offensive. Are you suggesting, Uncle Greg, that the only options were to grab Matt and shove him around like a mindless object, or to twist things into some sick game? Like I said, did it occur to you to ask Matt if he wanted any help? Given that he’s one of the smartest people in my year at Columbia Law, I don’t think the question would be beyond his reach.’

‘Foggy, please stop,’ Ed said.

‘What? I’m the one who’s out of line here?’

‘Did you ask Matt if he wants your help right now?’ Ed said, still in the calm tone he’d kept throughout.

Foggy took a noisy breath and blew it out through tight lips. ‘Fuck!’ he said.

Things might have deescalated from there, except that Greg gave a quiet but judgemental huff of laughter.

‘Fine, I was wrong too,’ Foggy said. ‘But you don’t know anything about what Matt can or can’t do, Uncle Greg. Jesus! It wouldn’t even occur to you that he could totally kick your arse! You just see what you expect to see. You know, it’s only because he’s such a generous person that he’s willing to let it go.’

‘Matt does have quite a talent with words, that’s true. I don’t think there are many people he couldn’t take down in a debate,’ Anna said. ‘So lets all assume he can speak for himself, shall we? If everyone would sit down, I’d like to eat.’

There was a general shuffle and clatter as people took their places around the table.

‘I didn’t mean any god-damn harm,’ Greg muttered to his wife, Fran, under cover of the noise.

‘I know,’ she said, ‘Foggy’s just being protective. He’s in love. Let it go.’

Greg sighed. ‘Yeah, I suppose I remember what that’s like. When we started dating I’d have fought anyone who even looked at you funny.’

‘I remember. It was sweet, so long as you never do it again,’ Fran said.

Matt tried to relax, or at least to appear relaxed. Foggy slumped down beside him and put a hand on Matt’s thigh, but Matt didn’t feel able to acknowledge it right away.

Foggy moved it so he could begin to eat.

The meal progressed without incident. At first it was peppered with strained conversation and false cheer, but Anna’s sister, Rita, and her husband, Ricco, seemed as light-hearted as Anna tended to be. Between them, they defused the tension and created enough goodwill that it didn’t seem like the evening was a total disaster.

Matt was distantly grateful for that, even though he was struggling to move on.

Foggy seemed less engaged than usual, except for a brief conversation with Ricco about his daughter, Celeste, and what she was up to now. At least, for that part, Foggy seemed genuinely interested. It was more than Matt was capable of.

Finally, the meal ended.

Matt was selfishly relieved when there was no invitation for anyone to stay for coffee or cards. He said a polite goodbye to the guests, thankful that Sister Katherine had made it something he did by rote, good manners should be a habit, not a choice, but he and Foggy stayed at the table while Ed and Anna saw everybody out.

He knew he should start clearing up, but he couldn’t bring himself to move.

His shoulders were tense with the effort of not speaking.

It wasn’t enough.

The sound of the outer door closing had barely registered when he turned to Foggy, the anger he’d been holding throughout the meal finally free to break through.

‘What the hell, Foggy!’

‘Matt, I-’

‘What were you thinking? Why would you tell them I could kick his arse?’

‘He was being a dick, Matt!’

‘Yeah, he was. And you know how often that happens? All the time! But the fact that someone’s being a dick doesn’t give you the right to tell them anything about me or what I’m capable of.’

‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken for you. I was angry.’

‘That’s not the point! You’re right, you shouldn’t have spoken for me. It was humiliating sitting there being discussed like that, but I get it. I feel protective of you, too. But this is different. Nobody can know about that stuff! You know that! We’ve talked about it!’

‘I don’t know that, Matt! I know you believe it! I know Stick fucked with your head until you bought into the idea that you need to live your life through some endless, futile secret that stops you from being yourself and makes you put up with all kinds of patronising shit from people you could totally run rings around!’

‘Oh, what? And I’m the only one who ever hides, am I? And what are you wearing right now, Foggy? How did you choose to present yourself tonight, and what did you choose to hide? Or am I the only one who’s supposed to put myself on display irrespective of the consequences? Because, what? You might get jeered at? I’d end up kicked out of the dorms, kicked out of school, no one would trust me or want me around. Hell, I’d probably end up in a fucking lab or a cell!’

Matt jumped up from his seat.

He crossed the room, needing to be as far away from Foggy as possible, and just stood there, breathing hard.

The anger he’d been feeling all night, at Greg, at Foggy, even at Ed’s attempt to intervene, was sharp and bitter.

There was movement behind him, but he ignored it.

‘That was pretty spiteful, Matt,’ Ed said. ‘I understand why you’re angry, but I don’t think hurting Foggy is going to make you feel better.’

Matt hadn’t even been fully aware that Ed and Anna had returned, but Ed was standing with an arm around Foggy, Anna still hovering in the doorway. Matt forced himself to take a slow breath. He turned towards where Foggy and Ed were standing, but couldn’t bring himself to move closer.

‘You’re right. I’m sorry, Foggy. I shouldn’t have said that.’ He meant it, even if he couldn’t feel it yet. He understood, theoretically, that he’d been out of line.

‘No. It’s fine. Matt’s right, Dad,’ Foggy said. He sounded dejected, but that turned to anger again as he continued. ‘Or, well, no, not exactly. Do you really think that’s what’s at stake for people like me, Matt? Getting jeered at. Because you couldn’t be more wrong. Mom and Dad are great, but that doesn’t mean the whole extended clan won’t reject me, keep their kids away from me. People like me end up bashed to death, sexually assaulted, wrongfully arrested, have higher rates of mental health issues, suicide, poverty, drug addiction, being exposed to forced conversion therapies. But you’re right. The stakes probably weren’t that high tonight. Honestly, it was just that the whole family knows Uncle Greg can be a bit of a dick and I wasn’t feeling that resilient. So, yeah, great timing for all this, by the way. But I am sorry. I shouldn’t have presumed you’d want me to step in. I felt responsible for you being in that position, because he’s my family, not yours. I felt vicariously liable.’

‘And that’s why I didn’t challenge what he was doing,’ Matt insisted. ‘He’s your family and he was a guest in your home. I’m allowed to decide when to let things go. I learned a long time ago that choosing to let someone think I’m helpless doesn’t mean I’m actually helpless.’

Foggy pulled away from Ed, and threw his arms up in the air as he began to pace.

‘Of course! Because it’s powerful to keep your strengths hidden! And where did that ever-so-healthy belief come from Matt? Who taught you that, and why? What was in it for them?’

Foggy had moved closer, but Matt stepped back. ‘You can’t have it both ways, Foggy! Don’t you get it? Stick’s the reason we can play the games we do. He’s the reason you can throw something at me and I’ll catch it. He’s the reason we can wander around the streets and no one suspects I’m blind! And you like all of those things. You benefit from the way he trained me!’

‘No! I benefit from the things you learned, not the way he taught them! And I have zero investment in you passing as not blind. I want you to be you! The person I know! The person I love!’

‘You know, it’s really offensive that you refuse to accept that I’m the one who knows whether Stick’s methods were appropriate or not. And I’m talking to all of you, right now. How could you possibly know better than I do? Have you ever lost your sight? Have you ever experienced anything like the level of over-stimulation I live with every minute of every day? Do you know what it takes to learn to do the things I can do?’

‘You’re right, Matt,’ Anna said. ‘I don’t know anything about any of that. All I know is that I care about you, and that I want to understand.’

Stepping away from Foggy had brought Matt closer to her.

She moved into his space and put a hand on his arm. It was more calming than Matt would have anticipated.

‘Look, Matt, you don’t owe us any explanations, but Anna’s right. We want to understand because we care. Maybe we can sit down with a pot of tea and you can tell us more about it,’ Ed said.

‘Oh, my god, Dad! Why do you always insist on tea when things get difficult? You do realise that it doesn’t actually stop people from feeling angry or upset, right? Not unless you plan to lace it with something.’

‘I’m aware, sunshine. So do you think it might be because the time it takes to make tea, and the shift to sitting down with it, gives everyone a moment to collect their thoughts and take a breath?’

‘I mean, I plan to take more than one breath in the next five minutes, but sure, fine. Let’s make tea,’ Foggy said.

His tone was so uncharacteristically petulant that, even through Matt’s anger, he wanted to laugh. He wondered, distantly, if he’d just caught a glimpse of Foggy at fifteen.

Chapter Text

Matt tried to put his perplexity about the Nelsons aside as they settled in the living room with their tea. Other than subtly punitive mediations at St Agnes’s he wasn’t sure he’d ever been party to such an intentionally communication-oriented response to conflict.

He was good with words, but he was more inclined to think things through than talk them out, or that was true when he was calm, anyway. His temper had a way of dragging things out of him that he wouldn’t have spoken otherwise, as his outburst in the dining room had amply demonstrated.

He’d created the situation in which he found himself, and the only reasonable way forward was to commit to a calm and frank discussion that would hopefully put them all on the same page.

The Nelsons wanted to understand.

Matt would do his best to explain.

It was different from telling them about his senses. That had been sharing information because they had a right to know. This was explaining his past because it mattered to him.

He hadn’t realised until now how much he wanted them to understand.

He began talking while Ed poured the tea. It felt less awkward than waiting and, anyway, speaking was easier than sitting and wondering what to say. He’d just start from the beginning.

‘People think they can get a sense of what it’s like being blind by walking around for a bit with their eyes closed or blindfolded,’ he said, and was surprised when his voice came out quieter than he’d intended. ‘It’s nothing like that.’ Still too quiet, too vulnerable sounding. He pushed for a more self assured tone. Reconnecting with the anger that had landed him in this position helped. ‘They know they can stop and look around if something goes wrong, or even if they decide they want to. They have no idea of the constant bewilderment and fear that comes from having the whole world disappear. It’s not something that happens and you get used to it and move on. Acceptance comes and goes, depending on the circumstance. But you adjust. You lose the bizarre sensation of trying to open your eyes when they’re already open, trying to open them wider in case it helps.

‘Once you begin to understand that nothing is going to pull you out of the dark, you have two choices. You can freeze up and put all your energy into risk avoidance and fear, or you can let go and refuse to flinch away from all the things that might happen.

‘I was lucky. Before I became blind, my dad had already taught me that giving up wasn’t an option. He never gave the slightest sign that he felt differently about that after I lost my sight. So, with his help, I’d already got the hang of the everyday stuff by the time Stick came along. I thought I knew all about refusing to flinch.’

Matt laughed bitterly at the thought. ‘I didn’t know anything. I was like a dog who’d been housebroken and knew how to walk at heel. I could perform all the necessary tasks to play my part as a competent but passive disabled person. That was before the sensory overload became too much.

‘Anyway, Stick….’ Matt’s throat tightened at the knowledge of what he was about to do. His time with Stick had been something he’d kept separate from the rest of his world for longer than he could clearly remember. ‘He had this way of pushing past the layers of risk aversion. He’d set me tasks, challenges really, that stretched my understanding of what I was capable of. Told me that I was only getting overwhelmed because I was trying to block out the gifts I’d been given: all the sounds, smells, tastes, vibrations. He told me it was pointless and self-defeating to try and hide from them.

‘After such a long time of being forced to be sedentary, I loved it. I loved the physicality but, more than that, I loved the challenge. He’d constantly up the stakes and then stand back and leave me to get past my fear. You probably think that sounds bad, but it wasn’t. It was difficult, exhausting, and yeah, sometimes it was frightening, but it was also exactly what I needed.’

‘Like free-fall,’ Foggy said. ‘You said that if people resisted, they’d experience trauma. The only way to avoid trauma is to not fight the risk.’

Matt smiled at the reminder of that conversation, that day by the ocean, even though Foggy didn’t sound like he was reminiscing. He was sitting stiffly beside Matt on the lounge, still stressed but maybe less so than before. The upset over Matt’s thoughtless words from earlier seemed to have passed, for now. Matt would apologise again later, but they needed to get through this first.

‘It’s how I learned martial arts and everything else Stick taught me. I mean, sure, a big part of it was learning to hone my senses but, even then, I wouldn’t be able to do the things I do if I let myself resist. He made me understand that, which is something gentle encouragement couldn’t have done.’

‘Tell me more about that,’ Ed said. ‘How did he make you understand, and how ungentle was his encouragement?’ He was sitting in the armchair nearest Matt, leaning forward, forearms across his knees.

Matt thought about what to say. He thought about the things he wanted the Nelsons to understand. But before the words could come, they were derailed by fragments of memory: being knocked to the ground over and over, the shock of being hit with a stick, not knowing how to protect himself, Stick’s disdain, insults about how Matt’s dad kept getting up only to be knocked down again and again.

Matt hadn’t fought back because he loved the challenge. Not at first. He’d fought back out of fury and fear, out of desperation at not knowing how to protect himself, at not knowing how to prove that he was worth the effort.

He’d fought back because of an overwhelming need to defend the memory of his father, who was the best man Matt had ever known.

The fierce joy of the challenge hadn’t come until much later.

‘At first, it was difficult,’ he said. ‘My dad was strict but he was never harsh. Not with me. I knew things were tough for him, being on his own, so I did what I could to make it easier. I was obedient, or tried to be. I pulled my weight. But I didn’t have much self-discipline. I was used to being sheltered, protected. Then he was gone, and everything changed. Stick wasn’t my parent and he wasn’t there to protect me. He was there to train me. I didn’t understand the difference, and I didn’t know how to deal with it. So, yeah, it was a harsh transition. But the first time I managed to block his strike and get in a hit of my own, I knew it was worth it. Stick could be difficult, but I was learning to hold my own against someone twice my size and way more experienced.’

‘Block his strike,’ Foggy said. There wasn’t anything in his tone that Matt could easily identify. It sounded hollow but not neutral.

Matt waited. He wasn’t sure how to respond.

‘You said the first time you managed to block his strike, Matt. That means there were times before when you didn’t manage it,’ Ed prompted.

‘Of course. We’ve talked about this. It’s not possible to learn to fight without taking a few blows. In fact, learning to take a hit and still keep fighting is part of the process. Can’t make an omelette without breaking some eggs,’ Matt quipped, keeping his voice light. He smiled, but it felt wrong. He wasn’t sure why he was trying to joke about this.

Foggy made a frustrated sound and moved as though he might stand up. Instead he ran his hands through his hair and breathed deeply. ‘Tea,’ he said. ‘I’m pouring the tea. Anyone for an over-brewed and less than hot beverage? I know I’m excited for one.’

He knelt by the coffee table and paused.

‘Oh. It’s already done.’

He didn’t move from his position on the floor, but he didn’t pick up a cup.

‘And that was something you felt you should be able to do, Matt? As a child?’ Ed asked. There was definite tension in his voice and his body. ‘Should any child be holding their own in a fight against an adult? Should they be fighting anyone?’

Matt could hear Anna speaking softly to Foggy, but he tried to focus on Ed’s question.

He felt frustrated by the direction the conversation was taking.

‘This is the problem, Ed. You’re angry at Stick for teaching me to fight at all, just as much as you’re angry at his methods. It’s making you conflate the two and continually shift the focus of your disapproval. I can’t explain anything to you because the ground shifts whenever I start to pull my thoughts together!’

Matt paused to gather his thoughts, but Ed started to speak.

‘Wait!’ Matt said. ‘Please, just wait.’ It was rude, he knew, but he needed a moment to think about what he’d just said.

Part of Ed’s anger was because Matt had learned to fight.

Matt had known that, of course, but he hadn’t thought about it separate from Ed’s concern about Stick’s methods.

He wondered if Ed had ever thrown a punch in his life. He knew that Foggy hadn’t, and the realisation was a blow, in it’s own way. Despite the obvious differences between Foggy’s family and his own upbringing, somehow Matt had failed to recognise how alien he was in this setting. It hadn’t occurred to him that who he was, in himself, might be just as much of a problem to Ed as Stick seemed to be.

‘I never learned boxing directly from my dad, but I spent most of my free time watching him train and fight. I knew his form, could predict his moves, knew which hits he’d shake off and which ones might be a problem. His mates were the guys he trained with, so they were guys he’d exchange blows with on a daily basis. Fighting was never a big deal to me. I know it is to you, and I don’t know how to bridge that gap, or if it’s even possible. I am who I am. I have an uncommon aptitude for martial arts. I’m very good at fighting, and most of the time I enjoy it. I’m sorry that it bothers you, but I’d be lying if I said I wanted any of it to change.’

‘It doesn’t bother me that you can fight, Matt. I’m glad you can defend yourself, even though I hope you’ll never need to,’ Ed said.

‘Never again,’ Foggy said, in the same petulant tone he’d used when Ed had decided to make tea. He was still sitting on the floor, knees drawn up to his chest, and Anna was close beside him. It was ridiculous, both of them crowding between the coffee table and the couch, but no one else seemed perturbed, so Matt forced himself to ignore the weirdness.

‘Sweetheart,’ Anna said, much more gently than she usually would when Foggy was poking at things.

‘Fine! Matt, I don’t hate that you can fight,’ Foggy said, like a compliant but unrepentant child. Something in his mood must have shifted though, because he sounded far more like his usual self when he continued. ‘I don’t hate that you’re crazy skilled at all kinds of things. You know that. I just… I have cousins who are nine and ten, and they’re terrifying in their own ways, but their just little kids, Matt! If they learned a martial art you can bet that their instructors wouldn’t be laying a hand on them. The munchkins would be shadow boxing and doing drills with kids their own size, not learning to keep fighting even though they’d been hit, not trying to hold their own against an adult. Hearing you talk about your training makes me want to wrap my little cousins in candy floss and sunshine.’

‘Sounds unpleasantly sticky,’ Matt said. ‘And there’d be so many ants, Fogs. So many. You know, you really shouldn’t be left in charge of children.’ He smiled as he said it, and the warmth he felt was genuine.

Foggy laughed quietly. ‘You’re an arsehole. God, I love you.’

Matt felt an intense rush of heat to his face and knew that everyone could see it. ‘Yeah, me too,’ he said, far more quietly. It may have been mumbled a little but he meant it, and Foggy would know that.

Matt cleared his throat and forced himself to refocus. ‘But there’s a difference, Foggy. There really is. If your cousins learned to fight it would be a recreational activity, and that’s great. But I was literally going mad when Stick took me on. I don’t think you understand that. I was lying on my bed, screaming, covering my ears, trying to block out the whole world. There were times when I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t tell if a sound was coming from the room I was in or the next building over. Every sound and sensation was too much. And it wasn’t always like that, but it was getting worse. I didn’t know it at the time, but the kindness of everyone who tried to help was preventing them from actually helping me. They wanted to protect me, to calm me down, to distract me from whatever they thought was going on. Stick knew that I needed to learn to protect myself. No one else could moderate the sensory overload for me. No one else could make sense of my world.’

‘And what was in it for him?’ The tension still present in Ed’s voice was jarring after Foggy’s unexpected softness. ‘What was his goal in putting you through this training? He doesn’t sound like the good Samaritan sort. So maybe he taught you things you needed to know, but why? And what does it have to do with the things you told Foggy at the end of term? I know you were drunk, Matt, but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t any truth to your words.’

‘Yeah, that’s what makes me question the way you talk about all this, buddy. Because, I want to believe that he was just some arsehole martial arts instructor, although, honestly, I’d still have a lot of feelings about that, but you told me he would have been disgusted that you didn’t kill someone, Matt. You said that Elektra would have done it, and that killing this person would have made Stick approve of her. And you sounded like you felt guilty, like you’d failed by not murdering someone. You can hear how disturbing that sounds, right?’

Matt wanted to laugh. He also wanted to cry. He knew he was smiling and that he shouldn’t be, and that it wasn’t a real smile anyway. ‘If you want to know about all that I’ll tell you, but it’s pretty messed up,’ he warned, his voice far more cheerful than it should be.’

‘I want to know what happened,’ Anna said, alongside Ed’s, ‘you can tell us anything, sweetheart’.

‘Hang on a second. By messed up, do you mean upsetting, disturbing, or, I don’t know, involving the moral dilemma of hearing about a serious crime that’s been committed and having to decide what to do with that knowledge? Just to be clear.’ Foggy wasn’t joking. He sounded genuinely conflicted.

It was an important question. It just wasn’t one Matt could easily answer without telling the story. ‘It probably depends on your definition of serious crime, and your level of comfort with moral grey areas. You know the kind of thing: is a thief a thief if they’re starving and steal food from the rich? Is it murder if you kill a killer? Grey areas.’

‘That’s not funny, Matt. Those are not the same kind of thing,’ Foggy said.

Matt laughed a little. ‘You’re right. They’re not. But the killer is still alive, so I think we’re good to continue.’

‘Only if you want to, Matt, honey,’ Anna said. Then more softly, ‘Foggy, if you’re uneasy about this then you should go and make yourself a coffee or something. I have no problem with whatever Matt might tell me, but you should do what’s right for you.’

‘No,’ Foggy said. ‘It’s fine. I need to know. And, anyway, I’m not leaving when he’s like this.’

Matt pondered the meaning of like this: unhinged, he suspected.

There must have been a break in time, because Anna suddenly materialised close beside him on the lounge, one hand resting on his knee, her thumb rubbing firmly back and forth in a smooth arc.

Somehow, it created the momentum within him to speak.

‘That night, or afternoon… whatever…. When I was drunk. I was talking about a man called Sweeney. He organised fights for my dad and the other guys, fixed the matches when it suited him. He was around the gym pretty regularly. He’s the one who killed my dad, or, I don’t know, he organised it at the very least. Ordered the hit. I’m fairly sure he pulled the trigger though. I told Elektra, and she took it upon herself to arrange for me to come face to face with him. He gloated about killing my dad. Threatened me, even though she had him tied to a chair by the time I knew who he was.

‘Elektra handed me a knife. She wanted me to kill him, tried to goad me into it, but I didn’t do it. There were outstanding warrants on him. I did beat the hell out of him even though he couldn’t defend himself, so there’s that. Then I called the cops. Elektra left. Eventually, I left too. But I’m not sorry that I didn’t kill him. I’m capable of making my own decisions, no matter what Elektra or Stick might think of them. So, yeah, it messed with my head for a while. I got drunk, said stupid things. It took some time, but I’ve moved on.’

‘That’s… holy fuck, Matt! That happened this year? Shit! I’m….’ Foggy seemed to run out of words. He moved closer to the lounge and rested a hand on Matt’s thigh.

Matt appreciated the gesture, even though it felt distant.

‘It’s, ah, it’s why she left. Elektra. I guess she thought I didn’t appreciate the trouble she’d gone to, tracking him down and springing her trap. She thought she was giving me a gift, I suppose: closure, revenge. Or maybe she just wanted me to prove myself. I don’t know. But I couldn’t do it, not even for her. And at first, yeah, I thought I’d been weak, that I’d somehow failed my dad, dishonoured him by not killing the man who’d ended his life, the man who’d casually joked about it. But I know that killing Sweeney would be the last thing my dad would’ve wanted me to do. He always wanted my life to be something more than he thought he’d achieved. Vengeance wasn’t his style. Hard work, decency, excellence: those were the things that mattered to him.’

Foggy was still on the floor, but he shuffled close enough to take Matt’s hand.

Matt squeezed and held on.

Everyone was quiet, but the rustles and creaks of their slight movement brought his attention to the room in a way that voices wouldn’t have.

It was a nice room.

It smelled good, and all the chairs were comfortable and well placed.

The coffee table was heavy and solid.

Matt knew that because he’d moved it or scrambled over it so many times.

Talking about Sweeney in this space felt outrageous, but also not. Matt hadn’t imagined he would ever tell anyone what had happened that night, but back then he hadn’t really had anyone to tell.

He pressed his thumb softly against the back of Foggy’s hand.

‘I don’t know what to say,’ Ed said. ‘I can’t imagine being put in that position, and I don’t think anyone else has the right to say how you should have handled it. It’s impossible for anyone else to know what they would have done. I’m glad you told us though. It can’t be easy to talk about.’

Matt still felt vacant.

He made some effort to acknowledge Ed’s comment, but suspected that it didn’t amount to much. An incoherent sound. A nod.

‘Wow, Dad, that was a lot of words for someone who doesn’t know what to say.’

Matt was pretty sure Foggy was trying to be playful, to lighten the mood. Or maybe he was saving Matt from having to speak. That was something Foggy would do. He was thoughtful like that.

‘Bold move, sunshine, calling anyone else out for using lots of words. It’s a good thing you’re entertaining to listen to, ninety percent of the time.’

‘Ninety?’ Matt challenged, almost on autopilot, but still glad for the chance to make Foggy smile. ‘I would caution you to think twice before disparaging my… ah… Foggy,’ he finished, far less grandly than he’d begun. It made Foggy laugh, which counted as success.

‘You hear that, you villain?’ Foggy said, sounding delighted. ‘Show proper respect or my… ah… Matt, will challenge you to a duel.’

‘More likely a defamation suit,’ Ed replied, a slight smile in his voice.

Matt felt less distant.

It was deeply strange to be sitting in this room, talking about difficult times and difficult people, while also acknowledging his own awkwardness and uncertainty and these new relationships he was building, not just with Foggy but with Ed and Anna as well.

Foggy pulled himself up to sit on the lounge, pressing their sides together and leaving Matt surrounded. As soon as he was settled, Matt reclaimed the hold he’d had on Foggy’s hand.

‘You’re doing good, Matt,’ Foggy said, quietly. ‘Thank you for explaining about all that. I had no idea what to think, and I was so worried.’

‘You mean you couldn’t work all of that out from the drunken ramblings of someone who’d imbibed far too much of the worst alcohol ever concocted?’

‘No, I could not. Clearly a failure on my part. In my defence though, you did distract me at one point by literally standing on your hands. You should barely have been able to stand on your feet.’

Matt didn’t remember.

Or maybe he did. Maybe he was choosing to leave that debacle in the past.

‘I bet it was a good handstand,’ he insisted, anyway.

‘It actually was. I mean, not by your standard of casual grace, but still way better than the average person could pull off while sober.’

Matt grinned.

‘So, can I ask some more questions?’ Foggy said. ‘Real ones, I mean. Or is that enough for the night? It’s fine if you’ve had enough for now.’

Right. Foggy was great with diversions but he rarely lost track of where he wanted the conversation to go.

‘No. It’s fine,’ Matt said. ‘I want you to understand, and I know you won’t unless I explain.’

‘Thanks, buddy. So… Elektra. Is she somehow connected to Stick?’

‘No. Why?’

‘You seemed to be linking them together: what they’d expect of you, what they’d think of your choices.’

‘Oh. No. They’re just... not alike really, but Stick would definitely approve of her. I guess she’s more like the person he wanted me to be.’

‘So, if all this happened this year,’ Ed said, ‘the situation with Elektra and that man, then what made you feel that Stick would disapprove of you not killing someone? How was that something you thought he’d expect of you?’

Because he was training me for a war, and soldiers don’t hesitate to kill. Because he told me it was something I’d have to do some day.

Was there any way to say these things without sounding mad or rekindling the tension all over again?

‘It’s a bit…. I’ll try to explain,’ he said, ‘but it’s going to sound strange and kind of improbable. Even after all these years, I haven’t managed to make much sense out of some of it.’

‘It’s alright, Matt.’ Foggy said, intimate and reassuring. ‘There’s been a lot of weird stuff shared in the Nelson household. Trust me, we’re up for it.’

Matt smiled briefly at the feeling of Foggy and Anna on either side of him. He wasn’t sure the Nelsons knew weirdness of the sort that Matt’s life was made of, but he trusted that they wanted to hear what he had to say.

‘The sisters at St Agnes’s believed that they found Stick and arranged for him to help me. I’m pretty sure they thought of it as a last ditch effort before having me committed. Like I said, I’d been doing alright, but the amount of time I was getting overwhelmed was increasing to the point where all I could do was curl up and cry or scream. I don’t know how Stick orchestrated the situation, how he presented himself to them. Maybe by that point they weren’t concerned with credentials. They needed someone to get me under control. They had a lot of kids to look after.

‘He never told me how he knew about me, how he found me, but it was clear that he’d sought me out. He told me right from the start that he had no time for anyone who wasn’t a fighter. By itself, that could just be motivational rhetoric, but it wasn’t. He spent some time testing me, seeing how hard I was willing to push myself, whether I was good enough, working out the range of my abilities: gifts, he called them. And then there was a shift. More and more, he’d make vague comments about a war that was coming. He talked about a secret organisation he belonged to. My training was focused on strategies for taking on multiple opponents as much as one-on-one combat.’

Matt paused and rubbed a hand over his face. ‘It sounds ridiculous, saying it out loud. When I’ve thought about it over the years, I’ve wanted to believe that he was delusional. I could tell, even back then, that he wasn’t lying, but people experiencing delusions aren’t lying. Their logic is internally consistent, and they believe what they’re saying. Even so, I don’t think that’s what it was. Sometimes I overheard phone calls, sometimes Stick would show up with injuries that were nothing like my dad ever got from fights. He was hard in ways I’ve never encountered in anyone else.

‘Anyway, hand-to-hand training reached a certain point, and he told me that maybe one day I’d be ready for actual missions. He never answered questions about what those missions would involve, but any time I failed in training, any time I hesitated to take advantage of having the upper hand, he’d tell me that I’d proved yet again that I was too soft for the real thing. He’d curse my father for instilling pathetic notions of sportsmanship. Warriors took advantage of any opening, soldiers didn’t hesitate to kill.

‘And I wanted to succeed. I was so excited when he thought I was ready to move on to knives. But in that moment I was scared, too, because he was right. I did back down on the rare occasions when I truly managed to get the upper hand. I didn’t seriously want to hurt him. Once we started with knives, what was I supposed to do? But I trusted him, cared about him, and in the end it didn’t matter. I showed that I was too soft, and he left. He needed a soldier.

‘So, yeah. I have no doubt that Stick would be just as disappointed as Elektra was that I didn’t kill Sweeney.’

‘And this secret organisation of his, this war, was that where the secrecy came in?’

Matt had imagined, if he ever talked about this, that whoever he told would think he was insane, but Ed clearly didn’t think so. He was tense, but he was just trying to put the pieces together.

‘I imagine Stick wouldn’t have wanted you telling the nuns what was really going on.’

‘Yeah, they had no idea,’ Matt said, smiling as he remembered. ‘They were just relieved because Stick had managed to calm me down, made me more independent. I don’t think they wanted to know anything beyond that. He told me that sighted people see exactly what they expect to see, joked about how oblivious they were, but he also pointed out the dangers of them finding out. And he was right: they wouldn’t have let me go with him if they’d known what we were doing. They’d have called in different specialists entirely if they had any idea what I’m capable of.’

‘And what do you think they’d have objected to, given that they could see you were coping better than before?’ Ed asked. It was a leading question and Matt instantly wanted to rebel against it. His flicker of irritation must have shown, because Ed continued before Matt had a chance to respond. ‘I’m sorry to press, sweetheart. I did hear what you’ve said. I understand that your situation was really bad, and that you feel that he helped you. Maybe I should have been more direct. What do you think of Stick telling a child they’d be expected to fight in a war, and to kill?’

‘That was never going to happen. I proved that, this year, with Sweeney. I’d have failed the recruitment process somewhere along the line even if I hadn’t failed back then.’

‘Failed?’ Anna prompted. ‘That sounds like you think it’s a bad thing.’

‘Of course not. Whatever it was that he was involved in, it has nothing to do with me. I don’t want any part of it.’

‘You didn’t answer my question though,’ Ed said. ‘Do you think it was an appropriate expectation to put on a child.’

Matt sighed. ‘I didn’t answer because I don’t know what to tell you, Ed. You say a child, but you’re talking about me. It would be meaningless for me to answer the question out of context, because the context is everything. I’m not avoiding answering, it’s just complicated. Should children be trained as soldiers? Absolutely not. Was the time I spent with Stick a better option than anything else that was available to me? Unequivocally yes.’

‘Alright, but the choice to keep your abilities to yourself, isn’t that a result of his training? Or do you really think the negative consequences would be more significant than the freedom of being open about who you are?’ Foggy asked.

‘Of course they would be! It’s my choice and I don’t want that kind of attention, Foggy. I want to finish my course and become a lawyer and do something worthwhile with my life. I don’t need my efforts derailed by whatever would come from people finding out about me.’

‘You really think you’d end up in a lab, or thrown out of school?’

Matt wasn’t sure why Foggy just wasn’t getting this.

‘I do. I’d never get work. I’d never be welcome anywhere. No one would want me living anywhere near them.’

‘I don’t think you can know that for sure, sweetheart,’ Anna said, ‘but it’s a valid fear, so I’m going to tell you some things that I need you to remember. We’ll always be here for you, no matter what happens. We’ll always be on your side and you’ll always be welcome here, irrespective of your relationship with Foggy.’

‘Of course,’ Foggy said. ‘There’s no escaping us now, Murdock, no matter what. And as for the rest of it….’ Foggy clenched Matt’s hand, a sign of stress not reassurance. ‘Look, you remember that drama teacher I told you about, the one who wouldn’t let me audition for leading roles because of my weight? Well, I learned things from her, but it wasn’t anything I couldn’t have learned from someone else without the abuse. You’re saying that you don’t think you could have learned the things you needed from anyone else, or at least not from anyone else who was around at the time, so… alright. That may be true. There’s not a lot of data on learning to use superpowers, so what do I know?

‘And I’m definitely glad that someone helped you learn to filter out the world, and to be able to do the awesome things you can do. I’ve never seen you happier than when you’re jumping over things and doing all kinds of crazy stunts. It’s awesome. But… you know you can still be angry about the worst of it, right? The emotional manipulation, the hidden agendas, the brutality. Hell, you could even be angry that you needed his help in the first place. Be angry that there wasn’t some other adult around to temper the violence and conditional regard, someone to support you because they love you, no matter what you do.’

‘That wasn’t what I needed. It would have made me soft,’ Matt said, the words lacking any real conviction even to his own ears. He wasn’t sure what he thought about anything Foggy had just said. He had never allowed himself to dwell on wanting things to be different than they were.

‘No. It wouldn’t have. It would have made you loved, buddy. Everyone deserves that.’

Matt was quiet for a while, thinking about those early training sessions, the desperation of trying to work out how to respond to Stick’s attacks. ‘I do know that some of what he said and did was messed up, you know? In my head, I know that. But these last couple of weeks I feel like... I don’t know... like the more you question his actions, the more I need to defend them. Because I’m not overstating this: Stick saved my life and my sanity. It just… it never seems like you fully understand that. Maybe it’s not possible for you to imagine what my world would be like if I hadn’t learned to manage the constant bombardment I experience every hour of the day. My overactive senses would be more of a disability than my absent one, if not for Stick’s training, and nothing else he said or did can erase that fact. I’ll never not be grateful to him, and it’s painful when none of you seem to get that.’

Foggy didn’t say anything in response, but he nudged Matt gently with his head. It was a strange gesture, but comforting too.

‘I’m sorry, Matt,’ Anna said. ‘I know we haven’t spoken directly about this, you and I, but you’re right. I’ve made lots of assumptions about how you should feel about these things, and what I believe would be best for you, based on the small amount of information I’ve had. Even if I’ve kept my thoughts to myself, I’m sure they’ve come through in other ways.’

Matt honestly hadn’t thought much about how Anna was reacting to any of this, not because she didn’t matter, but because she’d seemed mostly content to sit and listen. She was often like that, even though she was far from quiet or shy.

‘It’s alright, Anna,’ he said. ‘You’ve been really welcoming and generous. I’m sorry to have brought so much drama into your home.’

‘Seriously, sweetheart, you don’t need to be so polite. And, trust me, there’s always drama in my home. You can’t know either of my children without knowing that’s the truth. But since yours is the particular drama we’re talking about right now, there is something I’m wondering about.’ She paused, making the statement a request.

‘Sure,’ Matt said. He was curious, and also a little bit chastened. He liked Anna, but he hadn’t quite figured out how to talk to her yet. Maybe his uncertainty was making him overly formal or distant.

‘Look, your situation is obviously unusual, so I hope you’ll forgive this comparison. I know it’s not a perfect one. But research suggests that it can be damaging to assume that kids who’ve been abused by a parent should hate everything about that parent, as though the abusive behaviour magically erases all the other things the child experienced and learned from them. And some people do, of course, hate a parent who abused them, which is also understandable and completely fine if it’s their experience and their choice. But that’s the thing. It’s their choice to make. No one else can decide that for them.

‘And I know Stick wasn’t your parent, and I know you’re not a child anymore, but I wonder: maybe if we backed off and stopped making you feel like you need to defend him, then you’d have more space to consider the impact of his influence, without feeling pressured to deny the important ways he helped you get your life back under control, and without having to deny the respect or affection or whatever else you feel for him. I want you to be able to talk openly about your childhood, and you won’t be able to do that if you feel like we’re evaluating every word and have an agenda for every conversation.’

Matt couldn’t have spoken in that moment even if he found the words. His throat was tight with overwhelming relief and gratitude, his eyes hot with emotion.

He nodded and hoped it was enough that Anna would see how much he appreciated her presence.

Chapter Text

Foggy and Matt had gone upstairs soon after The Conversation. It was after midnight, Foggy was wrung out, and Matt looked… vulnerable. And not the kind of vulnerable that leaked around the edges of a polished facade. This was the type that didn’t leave any room for strategic dissembling.

Matt had gone straight to the bathroom to get ready for bed, and Foggy was expecting a perfunctory goodnight once he was done, because there was no doubt that Matt would need processing time. Foggy would need quite a bit of it himself, after some of the things Matt had revealed.

So he was surprised, minutes later, to see Matt standing in the doorway, looking shy and uncertain.

‘It’s alright if you need space but, well, I’d like to sleep in here if I won’t be in the way.’

‘Oh, ah, sure,’ Foggy said. He was a little thrown, because staying the night was definitely another level of unexpected given the evening they’d had.

They’d shared his bed a few times in the last couple of weeks and it had been nice: crowded and cramped, but they’d found a way to fit together that seemed to work. It just wasn’t a routine or anything.

‘Settle in,’ Foggy invited, patting the bed and hoping his initial reaction didn’t read as reluctance. ‘I’ll just go use the bathroom.’

By the time he returned, Matt was sitting on the bed, apparently deep in meditation.

Foggy tried to enter quietly. He thought he’d sit at his desk to give Matt some space, but Matt turned towards him before he was more than a couple of steps into the room.

‘It’s fine, I was just taking a minute to clear my head,’ he said.

‘Yeah, that sounds good. Tonight’s been kind of rough, yeah?’

‘For all of us, I think,’ Matt agreed. He looked troubled. ‘Foggy, I don’t want to start anything difficult, but I also don’t want to go to bed without telling you that I’m really sorry for what I said about how you were dressed tonight. I don’t even feel that way about it. I was just angry and I lashed out and I’m sorry.’

Foggy came to a stop a couple of steps from the bed, because suddenly he needed some distance.

He took some time to think about what he wanted to say.

The instinct to be gentle with Matt right now was strong, but it wasn’t the only thing he was feeling.

‘I don’t want to start anything either,’ he said, cautiously, because he could feel the possibility of conflict in the air and he really didn’t want that for either of them.

‘I think we’ve both been through enough for now. But I guess, since you brought it up, that I’ll just say this: I know you have a temper, Matt, and I know what it feels like to want to lash out. We’re going to get angry at each other sometimes. And I definitely don’t have a problem with you being angry at me when I do something that affects you, like my clumsy, messed up, inappropriate reaction to Uncle Greg. But I’m not alright with anyone being unkind to me just to make themselves feel better. Not even when things are really tough. Now for the easier bit. I know you and I trust you. I believe you’re sorry, and I also believe that you’ll work on it. I wouldn’t love you if I didn’t know that about you. Now, can we snuggle up and dream of pixie dust and rainbows?’

‘I don’t actually remember what rainbows look like,’ Matt said. He was smiling, so it didn’t seem to be something that bothered him.

‘Alright.’ Foggy sat on the bed, beside where Matt was beginning to stretch out. ‘What’s your equivalently queer-friendly notion of pleasant dreams?’

Matt didn’t answer right away, which Foggy put down to him needing to think about it. It wasn’t until they’d both settled fully into place that he noticed Matt was blushing.

‘Waiting,’ Foggy prompted.

Matt literally squirmed, like he could twist away from Foggy’s curiosity, which actually only piqued it further.

‘Murdock,’ Foggy added, in an impressively no-nonsense tone that gave no indication of how delighted he was actually feeling.

‘The smell of your hair product,’ Matt said, so softly that it was almost a whisper. ‘I… sometimes it finds its way into my dreams.’

Foggy, heroically, did not laugh. He wanted Matt to feel safe sharing intimate things as well as personal ones.

He tamped down his initial amusement at Matt’s ridiculously coy confession, and payed attention to the warmer feeling that followed in its wake.

‘You really like the smell?’ he asked. ‘I’ve worried a few times that it might be too much for you.’

‘No, it’s nice. It’s strong and it’s, ah, synthetic smelling, but most things are,’ Matt said. He was obviously on more even footing talking about the quality of the smell.

‘And you sometimes smell it in your dreams?’ Foggy asked, half expecting Matt to take the easy out and talk about smells and dreaming in general.

To his great surprise and delight, Matt didn’t.

‘Yeah. More often recently, but even back at Columbia,’ he said. ‘It’s like, I don’t know, smells can be entwined with lots of subtle things. That smell, it doesn’t just mean you’re nearby. It’s more than that. It smells strong and bold and soft and confident and intricate and rich. But it’s weird, because sometimes you smell that way even when you haven’t used it for days. It’s like… there’s something about you that catches my attention and suddenly I can smell that smell. And it’s definitely the spray, it’s pretty powerful stuff, but the way I notice it is more about you. It wouldn’t mean any of those things if it wasn’t connected to you.

‘Is that enough of a rainbow for you?’ Matt asked. He looked kind of proud of himself, and Foggy definitely wanted to reward that.

‘I think you threw in the pixie dust as well,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’

He leaned in and kissed Matt’s cheek. It was a soft, quiet moment, and Foggy was grateful for it, especially after the conflict that had gone before.

Chapter Text

The next day, once Matt had got his Tedious Typing over with, they headed to Brooklyn. Foggy’s mom’s birthday was coming up and he was on a mission to add something unique but enjoyable to her collection of vinyls. Also, the weather was glorious, and it would be nice to get out and just goof around and have fun.

Foggy had always hated the way difficult conversations kind of hung in the air long after they were done. He was a big fan of consciously changing pace and space to shake the lingering vibe and exorcise the ghosts.

They hadn’t had any luck with their shopping as yet, but they would for sure. Matt had surprisingly broad exposure to all kinds of music that Foggy had never heard of or considered.

They’d stopped for coffee, a necessary fortification in readiness for the next stage of their quest, and Matt was pondering the probability of finding Icelandic folk music on vinyl anywhere in Brooklyn. He didn’t seem to be ranking their chances at zero, which was pretty much a guarantee of success, in Foggy’s opinion.

Matt had just finished laughing at Foggy’s totally reasonable optimism when something changed.

At first there was just a slight furrow between Matt’s brows, then some erratic-looking head movements, as if something was literally jerking his awareness away from the poky coffee shop they’d holed up in.

It wasn’t long before Matt seemed barely aware of his immediate surroundings. He was listening intently to something that Foggy couldn’t hear, and he looked afraid. Deeply and disturbingly afraid. His face was stricken and turning pale, hands clenched on the table top.

‘Matt?’ Foggy put a hand on Matt’s arm, which made him flinch and then grab Foggy’s hand far more tightly than was comforting.<

‘Foggy,’ he said, but didn’t add anything that might have explained what was going on. He looked too lost for that to be an option, just a few shallow breaths away from a panic attack.

All Foggy could think was that he wanted to take him home. Unfortunately, they’d come out on his bike, and Matt didn’t seem to be in any state to deal with that.

‘What’s going on, buddy?’

‘I don’t know. We need to… something’s wrong. It’s big. There are sounds that don’t make sense. Vibrations I’ve never felt.’

‘Shit,’ Foggy said. Earthquake, maybe? He didn’t doubt that something was going on, but there wasn’t enough detail in Matt’s words to clue him in.

Before he could ask for clarification, phones all around them started to ping with alerts and messages. Panicked voices and movement surrounded them. A couple of people started to cry.

The words attack and aliens and Manhattan were repeated over and over. Foggy didn’t want to believe that could be true.

The devastation on Matt’s face told him otherwise.

‘We need to get home and check on your family,’ Matt said. He jumped up and reached towards Foggy like he was going to drag him away.

‘Shit! What’s happening, Matt? People are talking about aliens, but that can’t be right, can it?’

‘I think… yeah, I think that’s what’s happening. It makes no sense, but something big has shifted. There’s so much distortion. But, Foggy, we can worry about the details later. We need to get to your family and work out what to do.’

By then, someone was playing a news report over a tinny speaker. Aliens. Manhattan. The National Guard had been called in and were on their way. A battle was taking place. Roads were jammed. People were dying. Buildings were on the brink of collapse. A hole in the sky. Aliens.

There were actual aliens.

They were attacking New York.

Right.

Foggy pulled a bunch of notes out of his wallet and weighed them down with a salt shaker. He wondered if it was an odd thing to do, given the circumstances, but he wasn’t going to skip out on the bill.

‘Let’s go,’ he said. ‘We’ll skirt the main roads and try to avoid the crush. You’re on alien-listening duty.’

It should have been a joke.

had they ended up in a world where it wasn’t?

Matt looked super pale and distracted, but he gave the briefest of nods and took Foggy’s arm, not in a comforting way, but asking for help with navigation. Well. Looks like Stick neglected to train young Matt for an alien invasion, Foggy thought, immediately followed by the realisation that he was maybe on the edge of hysteria. Fortunately, his bike was parked just a few blocks away. They needed to move.

Once they were on the road, Foggy spent quite a bit of the journey feeling like a prey animal fleeing from a pack of... well... aliens.

He couldn’t decide if it was better or worse to have no idea what was happening. The people in the cars around them would be listening to news reports though, and they seemed pretty desperate to flee. That was good enough for Foggy. Also, Matt was clutching him tightly enough that Foggy had no doubt he was still hearing terrible things, even over the sound of the bike and all the idling and revving engines around them.

It should have taken about forty minutes to make the ten mile ride between Brooklyn and Queens. Instead, they arrived back at the apartment after almost two hours of crawling through backstreets, sometimes traversing whole blocks by easing between traffic that had come to a standstill. They’d even covered some distance riding slowly on the sidewalk… well, contextually slowly. Slowly for people who didn’t want to squish anyone but who knew there was a literal alien invasion going on somewhere behind them. As Foggy had predicted, all the main routes had been impossible. It was to be expected given that pretty much the entire daytime population of Manhattan island was on the move, or those who were still alive, anyway.

Matt had resumed his stranglehold on Foggy’s elbow as soon as they’d gotten off the bike.

He froze briefly and then reported that the news was saying the battle was over. Inconceivably, the aliens were dead. He didn’t seem as relieved as Foggy felt. He wasn’t steady on his feet, and his attention was still jerking all over the place.

Foggy steered him through the building far more physically than he would at any other time, even when Matt was very drunk. It didn’t feel like the right thing to worry about.

He called out to his folks as he shepherded Matt through the door and into the apartment. Within seconds of closing the door and dumping their helmets in the corner, his mom and dad appeared and pulled them both into bone-crushing hugs.

‘Oh, my god, you’re alright,’ his mom said. ‘The networks are jammed. I couldn’t call you. I wasn’t sure where you were shopping. I didn’t know if you’d gone into….’ She made a choked off, sobbing sound.

‘We’re fine,’ Foggy told her. He met his dad’s eyes over her shoulder, and could see the tension and fear he was holding back.

It was an awkward moment, with all of them clinging to each other, but it felt like the right thing to do.

‘What’s happening?’ Matt asked. ‘The news is saying it’s over, that the sky closed up and the aliens died.’

‘Matt, honey, you’re shaking,’ Foggy’s dad said, and now that Foggy knew his folks were alright his attention snapped back to Matt.

Matt was not alright. Not even alright while allowing for the monumental not-alrightness of the situation as a whole. He was pale and sweaty and twitchy.

‘Come and sit down, sweetheart.’ Foggy’s dad used the arm he’d wrapped around Matt’s shoulders to start turning him towards the hall. ‘Anna and Foggy will get you some tea. Put extra sugar in it, yeah, Annie?’

Matt was led away, and Foggy found himself in the kitchen with his mom. The room seemed unnaturally bright and echoey, which was strange since Foggy was quite sure that it was the exact room he’d made breakfast in.

‘As soon as we’re done here, I’ll send a message to Candy and let her know you’re alright. I’ve been sending her emails, can you believe? It’s impossible to get a call out with everything that’s going on.’

‘Don’t keep her waiting, Mom. She’ll be worried. I can make the tea,’ Foggy said.

‘No! You stay close. I’ll make the tea.’

‘I’m alright, Mom, really.’

‘Of course you are,’ she said. ‘And you can keep being alright while staying exactly where I can see you.’

Foggy smiled, which definitely felt wrong. Was he allowed to smile when aliens had just invaded the city? Were there rules about that sort of thing?

‘That’s going to be uncomfortable when either of us have to use the bathroom,’ he pointed out.

For some reason, that was the signal for his mom to really start to cry. She put down the tea canister and scoop, and grabbed Foggy in a fierce hold. Foggy held her as tightly as he could. He knew, rationally, that he didn’t want her to be upset, but the reality of her tears felt distant. He buried his face against her shoulder and waited until she was done.

When they arrived in the living room, he discovered that the extra voices he’d heard from the kitchen belonged to some neighbours he’d met but didn’t really know.

The TV was on with it’s volume muted.

That didn’t seem very blind accessible, but Matt could probably hear dozens of others if he wanted to. Or maybe he didn’t need to hear the recap, since he’d kind of been privy to the live show?

Huh. That was something Foggy hadn’t considered before. Matt would never need to buy concert tickets for anything. He could just sit somewhere uncrowded and pleasant and take in whatever orchestra or band took his fancy. That was probably why he had such diverse musical knowledge!

‘Foggy,’ his dad said.

It sounded imploring.

Foggy had always liked that word. Imploring. It was solemn and intense and somehow intimate.

Oh, right.

His dad was imploring him to do something.

Foggy crossed the room and sat down next to Matt, who was being prompted to sip his tea. Foggy was told to have some as well. His dad held a cup out to him for a while, but he didn’t take it. They’d just had coffee. Foggy was pretty sure that he’d finished his. It hadn’t been as hot as he preferred, but it had been rich and strong. Thinking back, he was almost certain he’d paid sixty dollars for it. Or, for his and Matt’s anyway.

For sixty dollars, it could have been hotter.

‘You’re alright, sunshine,’ his dad said.

‘You know, I don’t think I am,’ Foggy told him.

That seemed to catch Matt’s attention.

He turned his intense focus on Foggy and considered him for a while. ‘You will be,’ he said, like there was no room for any doubt.

Foggy was kind of glad to hear it.

Chapter Text

Matt wasn’t able to discern much of anything from the ocean of input surrounding him. He knew that some of what he was feeling was his own emotional response to what had happened, but that was easily lost in the press of everyone else’s desperation and fear. The air was rank with anxiety, while surges of rapid breathing and heart rates filtered in and out of his awareness. It was difficult to judge the boundaries of rooms and apartments.

People were everywhere, radiating distress.

Dogs were barking and whining.

Televisions and radios blared.

He knew he was sitting in the Nelson’s living room with Ed, but it registered, out of all the other details, as though it was something that had just happened. Maybe it was because Foggy had come to sit beside him.

Foggy was tightly strung and skittish in every way Matt’s senses could detect.

Everyone was.

There was someone crying but Matt couldn’t quite make out where they were.

There had been so many people crying.

Anna had been crying.

This person he was focused on was alone.

There were other people talking all around Matt. Anna and three older people: a man and two women. One of the women offered to leave, but Anna told her she was welcome to stay. She didn’t want anyone to be alone right now.

The person who was crying was alone.

Ed was talking to Foggy, but Foggy was quiet.

Anna was talking to the other people in the room: neighbours, Matt supposed. She seemed to know them well enough. She was asking about contacting their families. She was talking about Candy being overseas. They all talked about leaving New York, but nobody sounded like they meant it.

Where would anyone be safe from aliens?

The conversation seemed to come back to that question fairly regularly.

‘Sunshine.’ Matt heard the word and knew it meant Foggy. Ed was trying to get Foggy’s attention.

Matt shut out everything he could and payed attention to Foggy. Foggy’s muscles were tense but not rigid. He smelled of fear sweat, sharp and sour. His heart rate was faster than usual while sitting down. His breathing was shallow… anxious but not panicked. He wasn’t alright, but he would be.

Focusing on Foggy seemed to help Matt regain some control.

Everything was still chaos, but it was intruding less than before. He realised he was clutching tightly to a mug. He held it out and Ed took it from him.

Ed was tensed as though ready to jump up at any second. He was staying still though, sitting close to Matt, with a hand on the outer edge of Matt’s thigh. Every now and then he made a patting motion or rubbed his thumb back and forth.

Matt shifted his attention to the other people around him.

Anna had been crying but she was talking now, her voice over-bright and crisp.

The man in the armchair, Ivan, Anna called him, was wheezy and frail sounding. His voice trembled when he spoke, but Matt thought that might be normal for him. His respiratory system sounded diseased.

The woman in the other armchair seemed quite old. Her accent was Indian, though Matt had never learned to recognise regional variances beyond that generalisation. Maybe Foggy would know. Her heartbeat had the secondary whoosh of a heart murmur, and she smelled slightly of vinegar, an indication of menopause or perhaps diabetes, but nothing about her condition sounded critical.

There was another woman sitting on a chair that wasn’t usually in this room… one from the dining room. This woman didn’t seem as old as the other two guests. She wasn’t talking much, and was obviously shaken. She was sniffing and wiping at her face every now and then. Anna was sitting close to her on another of the chairs that had been brought in.

The person downstairs… a woman, Matt was pretty sure… was not alright.

‘Fog, I need you to come with me.’

‘Sweetheart, I think Anna needs all of us to stay right here for now,’  Ed said.

‘There’s someone downstairs,’ Matt said. ‘Two floors down, I think, or maybe three. She’s alone. She sounds afraid.’ The sound she was making was more keening than crying, and it didn’t seem to be subsiding.

‘I imagine you’ve both heard a lot of scared people today,’ Ed said, and squeezed Matt’s leg hard. There was something off in his tone.

‘It will be Mrs Cortes, I believe,’ the woman in the armchair said. ‘I used to speak to her husband, Alejandro, sometimes. He worked at the library, but he died several years ago. Her apartment is 3F. That’s directly below you, yes? Two floors down.’

‘We need to go to her,’ Matt said. ‘Foggy, can you come with me? I can’t… there’s too much of everything.’

‘Of course,’ Foggy said, like helping Matt was something he didn’t need to consider for a second, no matter how awful the circumstance.

Ed tried to insist that he would go, that Matt and Foggy should stay in the apartment, but Matt needed to do this. He wasn’t sure why, but he just did.

Mrs Cortes, they found, spoke little English or, more likely, was too distressed to be able to communicate in anything other than her first language at the moment.

It had taken some time, with Matt calling to her through her locked apartment door in Spanish, reassuring her that they just wanted to help, before she let them in. She seemed to study them for a while when they entered, but then something non-verbal must have transpired because Foggy stepped forward to give her a hug and she started sobbing in his arms.

Matt interpreted for them as Foggy explained who they were, who his family was, and that they’d really like her to come upstairs with them where some people were gathering to look after each other. It was no time to be alone, Foggy asked Matt to tell her, and once he’d picked up the words from Matt he repeated them over and over. It turned out Mrs Cortes was familiar with Nelson’s Hardware, and that had been enough for her to decide they weren’t total strangers.

Matt discovered, upon their return to the Nelsons’ apartment, that both Ed and Anna spoke decent basic Spanish. It made sense, given their jobs, and it was a relief to not have to focus on interpreting. Two more neighbours had stopped in while they were gone, and the room was getting crowded.

Matt felt a little guilty about it, but what he most wanted was to go up to Foggy’s room so they could have some time alone together. His ability to pay attention to his surroundings while filtering out the chaos was wavering.

Dogs were still barking, sirens were still blaring, people everywhere were talking and crying, televisions and radios were broadcasting endless iterations of the days events. And about ten miles away, the national guard was clearing away dead aliens, dead civilians, and tons of crumbling buildings, bridges, and all the other detritus that was left lying about. Matt couldn’t sense that part directly, of course. It was too far away. All he knew was that the strange tearing, buzzing feeling and the rumble of large-scale destruction that had caught his attention earlier in the day were more difficult to shake off than he would like.

In the week that followed the attack, an impossible number of people passed through the Nelsons’ home for visits and meals. Ed and Anna still went to work, but Matt and Foggy barely left the apartment. It wasn’t a good time to go out wandering, even though the weather was warm and clear. Matt had no desire to get closer to the wreckage, and was dismayed by reports of a steady flow of disaster tourists heading to the city.

He did find himself at St Leo’s, that first Sunday, for Mass, and St Paul’s the following week. The services were packed, not exactly surprising under the circumstances, but Matt didn’t find any answers there. He’d found more peace through meditation in the time since the attack. Of course, peace didn’t help him understand how to incorporate hostile aliens into his world view, but it did allow him to rebuild the sensory boundaries he needed in order to cope with the onslaught of other people’s loss, fear, and confusion, which now surrounded him every day.

It wasn’t till midway through the second week that Matt felt his sensory equilibrium had mostly returned. He woke up in Foggy’s bed, which he’d done every morning since the attack, and found that he didn’t need to grit his teeth and work at putting all the sounds and smells and sensations into place to get his bearings.

Everything felt normal.

The combination of morning breath and musky, slightly over-warm bodies filled his immediate awareness.

Foggy was awake: close and solid and sleep-soft. He had his back to Matt’s chest, because they’d quickly discovered that was the position in which they both got the most sleep.

Matt’s arm was draped across him. He tightened his hold and wriggled closer. ‘Good morning,’ he said.

Foggy made an oof sound, as if the air had been squeezed out of him, then squirmed and rolled to face Matt. ‘Good morning, you giant octopus.’

Matt smiled. ‘I’ll accept that label. Octopuses have nine brains, you know.’

‘Sure, octopuses with eight limbs do, technically speaking. You’re an aberration among your kind.’

‘I think that’s well established,’ Matt said. It was nice to be talking nonsense with Foggy again. It had been a while.

‘You seem happy.’

Matt thought about it. ‘I guess I am,’ he said. ‘That seems wrong somehow, doesn’t it?’

‘Up until a few days ago I probably would have said yes, but I’ve been thinking about it. Lots of unspeakably vial and horrifying things happen in the world all the time: disasters, wars, everyday violence. I’m not sure we should give up being happy just because we’re living through one of the more bizarre ones. And, anyway, if aliens could wipe us out at any time, we might as well be happy while we can, right?’

Matt kissed him. He’d been aiming in the general direction of Foggy’s nose, but his cheek was just as good. It had the desired effect of making Foggy’s face heat up.

‘Aliens, Fog,’ Matt said, with more bewilderment than heaviness.

‘Don’t forget superheroes.’

‘Of course. Aliens and enhanced humans,’ Matt said. It was a lot to think about, but he wasn’t in the mood to be serious. He brushed a hand through Foggy’s hair. It was a little tangled from sleep, but soft and wispy. It was nice.

Foggy made a pleased sound. ‘I know I’ve been off in some weird places since The Twilight Zone came to town, but how about you? Where is it that you’ve just come back from, because, let me tell you, buddy, you’ve been far, far away.’

Matt considered avoiding the question. It wasn’t where he’d wanted this interaction to go, but it wasn’t an unreasonable thing to ask. He ran his hand up and down Foggy’s back while he took a moment to pull his thoughts together.

‘Well, partly, I’ve been weighing up the spiritual implications of Asgardians being misunderstood as gods, because, although it doesn’t sound like Thor could create a universe, who knows what else is out there that might explain away at least some aspects of Christian doctrine in the same vein.

‘Then there’s the Avengers and the consequent public reaction to enhanced humans. Not that I’m comparing myself to Captain America, obviously, toxic waste isn’t super-soldier serum, but it’s been weird to have that public debate going on.

‘Mostly though, I’ve just been trying to get my bearings. Things are settling down, but pretty much everyone is still broadcasting strong signs of fear, anxiety, and grief more often than I’m used to.

‘Also, I’ve met about a thousand Nelsons and O’Connors, including a multitude of small, noisy offspring, in a very short span of time. Your family is unfathomably large. I’m not sure you’re aware of that.’

‘I am,’ Foggy said. ‘And a surprising number of them aren’t ginormous dicks, which is awesome.’

‘That is a plus.’

‘You may be pleased to know that I’ve been reliably informed that the family gossip about you is overwhelmingly positive. You’ve charmed them, Murdock.’

‘I have that effect on people.’

‘Don’t I know it.’

‘And yet the one Nelson I’m trying to charm at the moment seems to want to talk about current events and family gatherings,’ Matt said, pointedly.

‘Oh, is that what you’re doing?’ Foggy said. ‘Because you’re really tactile lately, and I don’t like to assume. You’re going to have to up your game, buddy.’

Again, the word made Matt pause. Buddy. He’d never really been one for affectionate nicknames in his intimate relationships, but Elektra was prone to them. Matthew, darling, in her velvety tone had come to sound natural and sometimes intoxicating.

Buddy though…. The expectations embedded in darling were more limited and defined. Buddy was something broader. It asked something of him that he’d never anticipated in this context. There was a thrill of nerves behind his reaction, but also a powerful sense of wanting.

‘I don’t want to up my game,’ he realised. ‘I just want to ask. Fog, I’d like to kiss you and, well, actually what I want, if you do too, is to feel what it’s like to have you naked against me and to just…. I don’t know what that might involve, but I want it. A lot. If you do.’

It was unlike anything Matt had experienced before, and not for the obvious reason. It was different because it wasn’t a dance with established choreography, or a quest mapped out from beginning to end. It was Foggy, naked and more vulnerable than Matt had ever known him to be, but also fully himself, funny, ridiculous, brilliant, honest, effortlessly generous, and so, so beautiful.

Lying together afterwards, lazy and relaxed, the thought idly crossed Matt’s mind that the lingering smell of sex was different than he was used to. It wasn’t a good difference or a bad one. It didn’t mean anything, and that realisation felt profound to Matt. Maybe anatomy was a roll of the dice, like Foggy had said. How much could it really matter?

He was half draped over Foggy, and he smoothed his hand from Foggy’s shoulder, down his chest to his hip. He didn’t want to pull them out of this relaxed state, but he was curious. He wanted Foggy’s perspective.

‘I think I thought it was about the clothes,’ he said. ‘I mean, obviously I knew there were reasons behind the way you sometimes dress, but now…. If this is offensive, I hope… well… I hope you know that I’m just slow sometimes at working things out.’

‘It’s fine. I trust you, Matt. Just say what’s on your mind.’

Foggy still sounded relaxed and happy, and so fond that it instantly put Matt at ease.

‘Alright. Well, on some level, I think I’d divided things up in my mind. If you dressed a certain way, or styled your hair a certain way, then at those times you were being not-male. Not that I thought it wasn’t real, but maybe it seemed a little bit like something you stepped in and out of.’

‘And now?’

Foggy was playing with Matt’s hair. It felt intimate and ordinary at the same time. It was comforting, and that was good because Matt was feeling increasingly uncertain about where his thoughts were taking him. He just knew that he didn’t want to dismiss them. What they’d just done had felt honest and real. He wanted that to continue.

Unfortunately, wanting didn’t make it easy.

‘You remember the conversation we had when we were cooking that time? About… well... about how I find something about the ambiguity of the way you sometimes dress really attractive. Which seems bizarre, I know, because obviously I can’t see it. But I thought it changed something about you… and it does, in a way. It changes how you move and smell and talk. It changes a lot of things. So I think maybe, yeah, it seemed like something you stepped into at certain times.’

‘Alright. I can see how that could be a conclusion you could draw. So what is it that you’re trying to say?’

There was definitely nothing but acceptance and curiosity coming from Foggy.

It was a relief, because Matt had always been uncomfortable with trying to express thoughts that he didn’t fully understand. He preferred to have his thesis clarified and his thoughts in order before he opened his mouth.

‘It probably sounds weird, and I can’t justify the thought with any specific explanation, but just now, being with you like that, you seem more like the you who I thought only existed when you dressed a certain way. I don’t know... it’s like maybe you sometimes use clothes to amplify what’s already always underneath, and sometimes you don’t bother. Like... I can’t imagine that I would feel like myself if my anatomy changed, but it seems to me that you would be you, whatever body you had.’

Foggy was quiet for a moment, taking in what Matt had said. Then he laughed, quietly and so softly that it sounded warm.

‘Just to be clear, are you saying that you wouldn’t be you without a dick, but I’d be me with any of the various genital configurations humans might end up with?’

Matt’s face heated with embarrassment. ‘Yes?’

That made Foggy laugh harder. ‘That is absolutely the strangest sweet thing anyone has ever said to me! For the record, I quite like my dick. But, yeah, I don’t think you’re wrong. I mean, I’d have had different life experiences if I had different bits and had been labelled differently at birth, but I feel like I’d still be me. And I’ve certainly wondered what sex and orgasms are like for people with clitorises and vaginas and such, but having those parts wouldn’t make me a woman any more than having a dick makes me a man.’

Matt relaxed. There had been times when he’d found Foggy’s frankness difficult to deal with, but now, among other things, he valued the safety that came with it. He rarely needed to wonder what Foggy was really thinking or feeling.

‘So, coming back to this attraction to ambiguity…’ Foggy said. He was playing, but Matt still groaned and buried his face against Foggy’s chest.

‘Demon unicorn,’ he mumbled, and Foggy must have caught it, because he laughed.

‘People are allowed to have things that do it for them, buddy. And, honestly, as long as they don’t involve eroticising exploitation and harm, most things are alright with me.’

‘Not that long ago you were concerned about fetishising my blindness,’ Matt said, not quite sure why he was pushing, but needing to anyway.

‘I was worried about it for a while, though I think we both know I didn’t mean it in a sexual way. But, yeah, your skill and confidence and grace are really attractive to me. Some of that has to do with you having skills that function differently than I’m used to, because, yes, you’re not using sight, but that’s not the main factor. I just like watching you: the way you move, your poise, your strength. And, yeah, it was interesting just now, I guess, experiencing the way you orient yourself and physically interact when it’s so immediate and direct, but that really wasn’t where my mind was focused at the time. You’re just you. I love you.’

‘I love you, too.’

Matt wasn’t sure he’d ever spoken those words so freely before. With Elektra, they’d felt like a desperate promise and a prayer. With Foggy, they were nothing and everything: uncomplicated and true.

Chapter Text

Things were mostly settling down, but the Nelson household continued to overflow with guests in the weeks that followed.

Matt was theoretically familiar with the notion that disaster brought people together, but he’d never experienced it directly before. Not like this.

The disasters he’d experienced had been desperately personal, and the support he’d received had often held the potential to spill over into pity.

Now, he found himself surrounded by people who seemed intent on repeatedly confirming the presence and safety of everyone they cared about.

There were differences in how people were processing the attack, of course. In the few weeks since Matt had met them, Foggy’s younger cousins had gone from anxious and watchful to excitable and bold. They were full of stories about Captain America and Hulk, who’s green, Matt, and Iron Man, who’s so cool because he can fly! There’d been aliens, but the superheroes had kicked their butts! And one of the superheroes was an alien too!

This time, Liam, who was ten and a keen artist, wanted everyone to see his pictures of the various Avengers. He worked out for himself that he’d have to describe them to Matt, instead of showing him, but then proceeded to do so almost entirely in terms of colour and visual comparison to things Matt hadn’t seen in many years. Matt was going to let it slide, but Foggy casually explained that there were other descriptive characteristics that would mean more to Matt.

‘Like, Iron Man’s suit is smooth and streamlined. It looks like it’s made up of lots of articulated pieces that fit close to his real body… though honestly, I think there was a bit of wishful thinking or exaggeration going on when he designed the thing, because its shape suggests way more muscle than Tony Stark actually has… but I digress. Red and gold define different areas, so it looks like he has heavy red boots that come all the way up to his knees: totally kick-ass. His helmet’s the only bit that doesn’t follow the contours of a normal person, or a very built person, anyway. The face plate doesn’t have any features except for glowing lenses where his eyes would be, and a weird horizontal opening that seems too low for his actual mouth but is still kind of mouth-like. The whole aesthetic is an intense combination of dangerously impersonal and grrr.’

The intervention didn’t feel the same as someone stepping in to defend Matt. It was nice. Foggy enjoyed coming up with interesting and meaningful descriptions, and he obviously liked Liam and wanted to share what he’d figured out.

They were in the living room, which had become a much more crowded space because two more armchairs and a large ottoman had been added to accommodate the increased flow of visitors.

What had started as a small side conversation had caught the attention of Liam’s sister, Prue, and another cousin, Jemima. Foggy’s tone, while giving his description of Iron Man, had been rather exuberant and they wanted in on the game. They started out describing the other Avengers to Matt, but then shifted to Jemima’s dog and then various people in the room. The girls were a couple of years older than Liam, and all three of them had fun pulling each other up and debating what was a useful description and what wasn’t.

‘But Foggy used colours when he described Iron Man!’ Prue insisted. ‘You know what red is, don’t you Matt?’

‘I do know colours,’ Matt said. ‘I haven’t always been blind. But it’s been a long time since I saw them, so I’m not sure my memory is right. It’s like if you know what roses smell like but you haven’t smelled one for a long time. You might kind of remember, but it’s not really the same. Sometimes I want to know what colour something is because it means something, but a lot of the time it doesn’t.’

‘Oh.’ The kids were quiet for a while, but Matt could hear them shuffling around where they were seated on the floor. The shift from talking about Matt’s blindness to talking to him about it had changed the mood. That was a phenomenon Matt was familiar with. He understood why it was like that and, when it came to children, he didn’t mind.

‘Is it scary being in the dark all the time?’ Prue asked.

‘No. I’m not really in the dark. That’s not how brains work. We don’t notice what’s not there as much as we notice the things that are. I don’t see blackness, because I don’t see anything. I hear sounds, and smell things, and feel movement. Plus, none of you seem scared, so I’m sure there’s nothing here to worry about,’ he said, and smiled at her.

‘How would you know if we were scared?’ Liam asked.

‘Well, your voice would sound higher pitched and tight, you’d be breathing faster, you wouldn’t be relaxing against the ottoman, things like that. People who are really scared smell different after a while. Anxious sweat is more sour and sharp than sweat from a hot day or from exercise.’

‘Gross,’ Jemima said, but she sounded amused.

Matt scrunched up his nose as if to agree, and they all laughed.

‘How do you know he’s leaning against the ottoman?’ Liam’s mom, Becca, asked.

Matt had been aware that several adults in the room had been listening, so the question wasn’t a surprise. ‘I know where the furniture is, so I know that Liam is sitting near the ottoman. His voice is coming from too low for him to be sitting on it. His legs are stretched out in front of him, I can tell by the sound they make against the carpet when he moves. The fabric of the ottoman makes a different sound. It kind of catches against his t-shirt and hair. But mostly it’s just extrapolation. If I was sitting there, I’d be leaning against the ottoman too,’ Matt added, along with a smile and a shrug, because it was always good to give people something they could relate to.

‘Can you tell that much about everyone in the room?’ Becca said. ‘Where they’re sitting? What they’re doing?’

‘Sure,’ Matt said. It didn’t seem like something he should deny. He wouldn’t mention how much more than that he could discern.

‘How about we get lunch happening,’ Ed said. ‘Foggy, Matt, will you give me a hand?’

‘What was that about, Dad?’ Foggy insisted, as soon as they’d entered the kitchen. ‘Why did you shut that down? You just made it seem like it’s not alright to talk openly about Matt being blind.’

Matt wasn’t as annoyed as Foggy sounded, but he was curious about Ed’s motivation as well. He’d thought it was clear that he’d been comfortable with the conversation. And Foggy had a point. Ed’s timing wasn’t subtle.

Ed didn’t respond right away because he’d turned to close the door. Matt was aware that the kitchen had a door, but it had never been closed in the time he’d been staying with the Nelsons. Just as Ed turned back to speak, Anna opened it again from the other side. She came in and closed it behind her.

‘Oh, my god,’ Foggy said. ‘And that just made it a thousand times worse.’

‘Matt, honey,’ Ed said, ignoring him. ‘I’m not sure you know how much you’ve been revealing about yourself in the last couple of weeks. You’ve been pretty erratic about all kinds of things, and I think the family are starting to get suspicious.’

‘So, what? Are you seriously telling him to hide better?’ Foggy said.

‘No. I’m asking if he’s aware that he’s been inconsistent and that he might be revealing more than he’s said he wants to in the past.’

‘Well, isn’t that his choice?’ Foggy demanded.

‘Your dad is asking if he’s making a choice, hon. Though I agree that his timing was lousy. Becca thinks she offended him, Ed.’

‘Well, we’ll have to make sure she knows that she didn’t, but I didn’t want Matt to say something he might regret later.’

Matt listened to the conversation as it carried on around him.

‘If he’s been letting things slip for weeks, why are you making a big deal of it now?’ Foggy said.

‘Because everyone seemed too uptight and focused on other things before. I didn’t think they’d notice much, and Matt’s been pretty out of it as well. I didn’t want to put more pressure on him. But if they’re going to be talking about it openly, then Matt needs to decide what he’s willing to share.’

‘Does he though? Why can’t it just be a changeable thing? Sometimes he reaches directly for things he shouldn’t know are there, other times he feels around for them. Big deal. Everyone’s erratic in their own special way.’

‘He’s told us clearly that he doesn’t want people to know. Only a few weeks ago he was very certain that it was a bad idea.’

Ed was always calm and measured, Matt noted, even when he was obviously invested in what he had to say.

Foggy was not calm or measured.

‘Yeah, well, then there were aliens! Not to mention a large chunk of death and destruction. Priorities change.’

Anna’s hand came to rest on Matt’s shoulder, and he almost flinched. He’d known she was there, but hadn’t noticed that she was moving. She was quite close, and she spoke with the purposeful humour Matt was becoming familiar with. ‘In case you need an interpreter, what they’re both saying right now is that they love you. Everything beyond that is just them disagreeing on what that means. The last couple of weeks have been hard on everyone, and Ed and Foggy default to over-protective when they’re unnerved.’

‘And you don’t? I’ve noticed you stepping in just as often as they do,’ Matt said. It was true, but he’d also noticed that Anna was far more likely to be subtle about it.

‘You caught me,’ Anna said. ‘I’m very protective. In fact, I see some of myself in you, Matt. You don’t just want to protect the people you love. You want to defend the whole world.’

Matt didn’t know what to say to that. It was a notion so full of hubris, and yet something in him surged at the thought.

‘Could you take me back to Becca, please,’ he said, in place of acknowledging her words. ‘I want to make sure that she and the kids know they didn’t do anything wrong.’

‘Sure, sweetheart,’ Anna said. Matt could hear the smile in her voice. ‘Do you want me to stay while you talk to her?’

‘Yeah, thanks, Anna. She might be more comfortable with you there.’

When Matt and Anna entered the living room, it was clear that their earlier departure had caused concern. Not hugely so, but enough that all the adults in the room payed attention to the conversation that followed.

It was fine.

Matt explained that he hadn’t been bothered at all by Becca or the kids asking questions. He gave his regular spiel about genuine curiosity not being offensive because how could people understand if they weren’t allowed to ask? He assured them that he was always willing to answer questions. He made some lighthearted comments about Ed being obsessed with not allowing him to step in dog poop when they first went walking together, in hopes of keeping the kids entertained and relaxed about the situation.

And the whole time, he wondered if Ed was right. Was he being less cautious than usual? In the last couple of weeks, he’d spent a lot of time entertaining and distracting anxious children, and sitting with worried neighbours.

His focus had been more on helping out where he could than on filtering his awareness and behaviour.

Had it been obvious? Would he regret it later, or did Foggy have a point? Maybe the extended clan would just accept whatever version of Matt’s abilities they encountered.

Up to a point. That was the part Matt needed to remember.

Acceptance was likely, up to a point.

Chapter Text

‘Foggy Percival Nelson, I believe it was I who was sworn to protect you. I clearly remember being manipulated into taking a pledge. It involved an improbable number of Tolkien characters, if I recall?’

Matt didn’t sound bothered, which was great. He did sound like a smart arse, which was hardly unusual. They’d broken free of the masses to take a walk after lunch, more for the peace of it than anything else.

‘As liege lord, I have an obligation to ensure the wellbeing of my subjects,’ Foggy said, giving it an Ian McKellen-esque interpretation for the sake of thematic resonance.

‘Is that what you were doing? Ensuring my wellbeing? I was beginning to wonder if you and Ed were going to duel over my honour, right there in the kitchen.’

‘Eh, I could take him.’

‘He’s pretty tough.’

‘Yeah, but I’m creative.’

Matt gave a fleeting smile, but then sobered. ‘I’m not sure which of you was right,’ he said.

It was where this ridiculousness had been leading, of course. Foggy sighed.

‘Neither am I. Or, actually, he was right I suppose, if it’s true that you haven’t been aware how obvious you’ve been. I thought you were just letting things slide. I guess I wanted to believe that.’

‘Ah… no. I didn’t realise.’

‘Really?’ Foggy asked, genuinely surprised. ‘Like, when Gemma started crying that time when she saw the news footage of that alien? You called over to her, by name, when there were five kids sitting together and she hadn’t said a word. No one else had even noticed that she was crying.’

‘Oh. Yeah. I guess. But she sounded so scared, Fogs. I’m not sure it’s good for them to be exposed to all this stuff over and over.’

‘I know. It’s a difficult call. Some of them, like the three terrors today, seem to have moved on from being afraid. But some of the others are more sensitive. They need a different approach. And you were good with her, Matt. But that’s not what we were talking about.’

‘Yeah, I know.’

Matt stayed quiet for a little while.

Foggy could tell that he was thinking, so he let the moment stretch.

They’d reached the park. It wasn’t a particularly spectacular one, but there were trees and grass, a couple of flower beds further off. Matt was holding Foggy’s elbow, and Foggy had no idea how much it was a performance and how much an aid. In the last couple of months he’d seen Matt run and climb and jump over things, but he’d also seen him disoriented and overwhelmed and genuinely in need of assistance. The difference was more difficult to reconcile than it probably should be, but maybe nothing about Matt’s situation was uncomplicated.

Foggy led them into an anticlockwise loop along the path.

‘I don’t want to ignore people’s distress just because I shouldn’t know about it,’ Matt said. ‘I don’t want to limit the ways I can help, so that I conform to what people expect of me. But....’ Matt trailed off there, and Foggy assumed that he was willing to let the well worn argument insert itself into the silence. Or maybe Matt truly didn’t know how the sentence ended anymore.

‘I know, buddy. It must feel like an impossible choice to make.’ It was true, no matter how much Foggy wished it wasn’t. He went on more cautiously, hoping it wasn’t a mistake, that it wasn’t just adding to Matt’s burden. ‘But that’s part of the human dilemma, isn’t it? A lot of the time, helping people has a cost. And I’m not minimising your situation, I swear. I know that our world doesn’t distribute burdens equally or fairly. But being involved in people’s lives, helping them in whatever way we can, that brings a lot of rewards, as well. And maybe those rewards are a big part of what makes life meaningful, you know? Maybe that’s what makes the cost worthwhile. I know looking out for your own needs is important, but I’m not sure self-protection as a goal unto itself is the path to a happy life.

Matt looked like he was listening, contemplating, but he didn’t pick up the conversational thread.

Foggy tried again.

‘That’s why you chose law, isn’t it? So you could fight the good fight out in the open? Nothing to hold back, nothing to hide.’

It was interesting, Foggy thought, to examine the multitudinous motivations among his peers at Columbia. He knew he didn’t quite come to the field from the same place Matt did, but that was cool. Foggy was more closely aligned with him than with many of the other students he interacted with.

‘Your mom thinks I want to save the whole world.’ It wasn’t quite an answer to Foggy’s question, except maybe at a tangent and a stretch. A stretchy tangent. But Foggy suspected it was more of a complicated thought, trying to coalesce.

‘Does she? Well, she is kind of an expert there. You know, she’s thinking of taking some training in counselling? Not as a career path, I don’t think, but just so she can be more supportive and helpful when, well, you know, aliens and things happen.’

Matt nodded and gave a ‘yeah’ that indicated approval of the idea, and also that his thoughts were elsewhere.

Foggy redirected.

‘There are lots of ways to contribute to saving the world though, aren’t there? I mean, law is an adversarial model, mostly. Even if there are some small pockets of good things happening with restorative justice and the like, overall it’s a system that measures success and failure in terms of victories and losses. It’s maybe not even that dissimilar to boxing or any of the other arse-kicking skills you’ve mastered.

‘What you did with Gemma wasn’t about that. Sometimes helping people comes down to being who you are, using what you have, and doing what you can. Not everything has to be a fight.’

Matt made a non-committal sound. ‘A fight can be using what you have and doing what you can. If no one had fought the aliens, Gemma wouldn’t have been sad or afraid. She would have been dead or enslaved or whatever the agenda was.’

‘Yeah,’ Foggy said. He’d thought about it often since that day. Adults were supposed to be able to reassure kids that monsters weren’t real. It had always been a lie, but the monsters they’d pretended didn’t exist used to be human. Actually, now that he thought about it, he wasn’t sure which was more disturbing. At least with aliens you weren’t being attacked by your own kind. There was something especially chilling about intra-species cruelty and predation.

‘I couldn’t hear people screaming on the day,’ Matt said. ‘I couldn’t really identify what was going on, just that it was bad. But I know now that what I was hearing was space being torn open to create a gateway for the attack; the reverberations of buildings being smashed to pieces with people inside them; vehicles being thrown through the air and slammed into everything, their drivers and passengers crushed and burned in the wreckage; alien war machines crashing to the ground.’

‘I can’t imagine,’ Foggy said. ‘Even seeing the footage, it somehow doesn’t seem real.’

Matt let go of Foggy’s arm and took his hand. ‘It wasn’t just a battle that happened and then ended. The world has changed,’ he said.

It was a sober truth.

‘Yeah. It has,’ Foggy said. ‘But couldn’t it have been dragons though?’ he prodded. ‘Because, if we had to go sci-fi or fantasy, I’d choose fantasy every time.’

Matt stopped their slow stroll and pulled Foggy around to face him. ‘You’re absurd,’ he said, and kissed him in that slow, lingering way he had that felt like it was the only thing happening in the world.

Chapter Text

‘So, what do you boys think? Do we need a new kind of law to cover these enhanced people?’ Uncle George was picking up on something the media had just begun to speculate about.

Foggy had decided against asking his extended family not to use boy to refer to him, but that didn’t stop it from being jarring when they did. It also felt like a strange choice of word given his current appearance, although it was probably a good thing that his uncle didn’t baulk at pairing the word with someone wearing a loose floral smock and tights.

In any case, at this particular moment, Foggy was more aware of the other undeclared identity in the room. It was a bit surreal, not to mention incredibly uncomfortable, to be talking to well-meaning but oblivious family members about the implications of enhancements with Matt sitting by his side.

And the thing that made it worse was that Foggy knew Matt was asking himself the same questions, and not in a small-talk-over-dinner kind of way. How would the law respond to the realities that had come with the return of Captain America, with Bruce Banner, or with Thor’s presence on Earth? And were the others who’d participated in the battle also enhanced? Not much was known about them so far, other than Tony Stark, whose superpower seemed to be money… and, alright, outstanding courage and incredible technological genius, but whatever. The point was, it seemed unlikely that entirely normal humans with very little protective gear had survived that kind of engagement with an alien army. The footage Foggy had seen, showing what looked like tiny, squishy humans… or humanoids… facing up to enormous flying whatever they were, was astonishing.

‘I’m not sure I’d call turning into an angry green giant an enhancement,’ Auntie June said.

They were still sitting around the dinner table, although everyone was finished eating. The conversation had hovered around the heroes of New York throughout the meal, but mostly in tones of gratitude and amazement.

This had the potential to become something different.

‘Eh. I wouldn’t wanna get into a disagreement with the guy, and it’s not like it’d be easy to lock him up,’ Uncle George said, ‘so I guess we’ll have to let him decide if he’s enhanced.’

‘Good thing they’re on our side,’ Foggy’s dad said.

‘Sure is. I’m not sure the National Guard would’ve been able to do what needed to be done,’ Auntie June said.

‘So. Laws?’ Uncle George asked again. He was Foggy’s dad’s eldest sibling, and he had a habit of directing the conversation more often than not. 

Foggy had hoped things had been steered back to contemplation of the individual heroes and their particular talents, but no such luck. He gave himself a moment to consider the possibility of actually changing the subject, but he knew any effort he made would be in vain. So, what the hell.

‘Well, we do have a disturbing history of singling some people out for harsher regulation and punishment based on arbitrary genetic differences,’ he said. ‘And we also tend to believe that the power of defence rightly belongs in the hands of governments while, at the same time, having no problem with an obscene degree of financial power being wielded by individuals and private corporations. As a consequence, governments have used the threat of terrorism to pass laws of indefinite detention and limited right to trial, if any, whereas corporate terrorism like, say, withholding access to vital medications and other basic requirements for survival from those who can’t afford them, get a free pass… so, overall, I would be wary if I was in Bruce Banner’s position right now, except for one very important point. We were just invaded by an alien army and it’s likely that the only reason we aren’t bowing to the alien overlord right now is because of enhanced people and their willingness to do what needed to be done.

‘With that in mind, and the fact that we can’t know if the aliens will return, I think it might be a good idea to take a careful look at our tendency to be suspicious of power being used altruistically, and to recognise that there’s no clear or simple path forward. I think, rather than legislation, what we need right now is communication, respect, gratitude, and a willingness to accept uncertainty and change.’

It wasn’t a surprise to Foggy when Auntie June laughed. It wasn’t a particularly cruel sound, just indicative of a different mindset. ‘Did you truly expect a different response, George?’ she asked.

‘Well, I can’t say I expected exactly that, but no, I suppose not. Nice to see your fancy school hasn’t changed you, kiddo.’

Foggy’s mom pointedly made eye contact with him across the table and smiled in solidarity. They both knew it wasn’t worth being exasperated with his aunt and uncle. They were good people. They just didn’t have the same passion as Foggy’s immediate family did.

‘And what do you think, Matt?’ Foggy’s dad asked.

It was probably a reasonable question.

Maybe.

Except for the part where it could be considered a bit insensitive and provocative given that Foggy’s dad was well aware Matt thought he’d probably be locked up if anyone knew about his abilities. Which didn’t mean Foggy wasn’t curious to hear what Matt’s answer would be.

Actually, Matt seemed unfazed by the question, which reminded Foggy that his dad was getting to know Matt quite well. He wouldn’t have asked if he thought it was a difficult question, not when there were guests involved.

‘I think we’re at an important juncture,’ Matt said. ‘I agree with you, Fog, that there’s a lot of history leaning in one direction, and previously unimagined circumstances pointing in another. It poses the question of whether we’ve really learned from our past. Are we willing to stop letting our fear tell us that different equates to enemy? Can we recognise that it’s our own exploitative tendencies that lead us to expect others to use their advantages against us? And you’re right, of course, that financial power runs unchecked. Far greater numbers of people suffer directly and indirectly at the hands of multi-billion dollar corporations than could ever possibly be harmed by Bruce Banner, in whatever form.’

‘Well, aren’t you two perfect for each other!’ Auntie June declared.

Matt looked nonplussed. That was clearly not the response he’d been expecting.

After a few seconds of speechlessness he blushed spectacularly, which was a wonderful and beautiful thing.

Chapter Text

‘I know I’ve said it already, but my family adores you,’ Foggy said. They were getting ready for bed after another people-filled day. It was a Saturday, and they’d ventured over to the Mahoney household for lunch. ‘Bess would totally marry you off to one of her own, if we weren’t a thing.’

‘A thing? Is that what we are?’ Matt asked.

‘Yep. That’s the official terminology I’ve heard various and sundry family members apply to our situation. It’s linguistically interesting because it takes a plural pronoun and connects it to a singular noun in a way that other similar terms don’t. We’re a couple doesn’t quite do that because the designation implies more than one part to the final product. We’re partners is even more plural, yes, more plural, I’ll defend the notion if you try to fight me on it, in that it allows for more than two participants, which is useful for some people. Even we’re married focuses on the legal interrelationship between parties rather than redefining them as a single entity.’

‘So, what you’re saying is that your family doesn’t share your predilection for verbal precision?’

Foggy laughed. ‘No, they do not! But that’s cool. We can be a thing as long as we get to define it.’

Matt stepped closer and focused his attention more fully on Foggy. ‘Well, whatever we are, I’m glad Bess understands that I’m very much not available,’ he said.

There was a flirtatious intensity to his tone, which was probably intended to make Foggy squirm. It worked, but Foggy wasn’t going to acknowledge that fact. Matt was becoming way too fond of his power to make Foggy blush and lose focus.

Instead of indulging that self-satisfied tendency, Foggy ruffled Matt’s hair and then stepped away to close the window. ‘Me too,’ he said. ‘I’m honestly relieved that she likes me so much, or I’d be looking over my shoulder right now. That woman can be ruthless when she has a goal.’

Matt had gone back to getting ready for bed, crossing the room to remove his watch and glasses. He was grinning though, because they both knew Foggy couldn’t really hide his reaction. ‘I’d defend you,’ he said, like it was both a playful oath and an everyday truth.

‘I’m pretty sure Bess has some moves.’

‘Noted.’

Foggy smiled. Sometimes the smallest thing could remind him how much he just really liked Matt. It was a large part of the reason he’d never want them to be a singular thing. He liked having enough distance to see Matt as the wonderful other that he was. It was far more exciting to be separate people together than to be some conglomerate thing.

‘But really,’ he said. ‘I guess I just wanted to say thanks. I know this whole extended family thing must be huge for you. Obviously none of us had any idea that everything was going to get so intense, but I really appreciate the way you’ve just rolled with it.’

‘They’re your family. They’re important to you.’

‘Yeah, they are. And I love seeing you become a part of that, but that’s my preference. It doesn’t have to be yours. Our thing doesn’t have to include induction into the clan if you don’t want it to.’

‘No. It’s fine. I like them, Fog. I mean, you’re right. It’s obviously pretty strange to me, and I feel like an anthropologist at times, but not in a bad way, I hope.

‘No way. They like you,’ Foggy said, and he couldn’t keep the smile out of his voice.

‘They don’t really know me,’ Matt said, and suddenly he wasn’t smiling at all.

‘Maybe not. But there are things they know about you. They know you’re kind and caring towards their kids. They know you’re happy to sit and chat with elderly neighbours whose own children are far away. They know you’re super polite and interesting to talk to.’

‘Yeah,’ Matt said, like they both knew it all meant nothing.

And, in a way, he was right.

Foggy thought for a moment as he watched Matt needlessly rearrange the clothes he’d hung over the back of a chair.

‘The more it snows, tiddely-pom, the more it goes, tiddely-pom, the more it goes on snowing,’ he recited.

Matt looked perplexed.

‘Winnie the Pooh,’ Foggy added. ‘It means the more something happens, the more likely it is to keep happening. The more you do something, the more likely you’ll keep doing it. Or, in this context: the more real you are, the more real you want to keep being.’

Matt thought about that for a while. ‘That might be true, but the more it snows, the more likely it becomes that an avalanche will follow.’

‘Nope. Not true. No chance of an avalanche on level ground. There’s just a great big buildup of snow.’

‘Tiddley-pom,’ Matt said, and shook his head. He looked bemused but indulgent. ‘And your family are level ground in this scenario, I suppose?’

‘Some, more than others. But, yeah. I wouldn’t want you to take a chance on them if I had any doubt.’

Unexpectedly, Matt smiled. ‘It would almost be worth it just to confound Greg.’

‘Wouldn’t it! Oh, buddy, that would be so awesome.’

Uncle Greg had managed to be less outright offensive since that initial encounter, but he still struggled to understand the difference between providing useful, invited assistance versus well-intentioned but unhelpful and patronising interference. Foggy was pretty sure his uncle thought Foggy’s own family was being callous in their lack of proper accommodation of Matt’s needs. Which at least meant the guy cared, Foggy supposed, even if he went about it all wrong.

‘But, putting that delightful possibility aside for a second,’ Foggy said, ‘I don’t think Bess, for example, would be the least bit perturbed if she knew. In fact, she probably suspects something already. She’s pretty sharp.’

‘She is. And apparently I haven’t been subtle.’

‘You’re never subtle, Murdock. You’re smooth and a charmer, but you’re not subtle.’

‘I think you’d find that assertion difficult to prove. I have over a decade’s worth of evidence that suggests otherwise,’ Matt argued, and it was playful but also a little sharp.

‘Eh, no problem,’ Foggy said, because he’d never mastered the art of backing down. ‘When it comes to disability, people see what they expect to see. Also, they’re too embarrassed to admit that they’re curious, which means they don’t ever really check things out. They’re so busy trying not to show any sort of reaction that their focus is almost entirely on themselves. So, my argument is that people deceive themselves into believing that you’re just an average blind guy, because they can’t imagine a more individual and complicated truth. That has nothing to do with you being subtle.’

‘And now that the reality of enhanced individuals is out there, it’s less of a stretch for people to connect the dots when I slip up.’ Matt was sitting on the side of the bed, looking fidgety and a little distant. All the self-assured charm Foggy had playfully tried to vanquish had disappeared under the very real burden of vulnerability.

‘Uh, yeah, I think so,’ Foggy said, and it occurred to him that they were talking about the potential for Matt to be outed, for want of a better word, against his will. And not outed as queer in any of its many forms, which could be devastating and dangerous and isolating but was not, at least, almost entirely unprecedented. This was different. Matt was chemically enhanced, and living in a time and place where people like him were almost unheard of but had been thrust into the spotlight under the most compelling of circumstances. There was growing public debate about regulating people like him. Shit.

‘Look, I shouldn’t have made light of this, Matt. I can’t imagine how difficult it is to constantly filter and redirect your behaviour to the extent that you do. It’s not a failing for you to slip up. It’s a wonder you don’t do it more often. It must take up so much of your energy, no matter how ingrained the performance is. And now that there’s all this hype and curiosity about uncanny abilities… I just wonder how tenable it is to maintain the pretence. You might not be shielded by people’s assumptions to the same extent as you were before.’ Foggy sighed. ‘I hate that I’m having this thought, but maybe bigotry will work in your favour and people will assume your disability rules out the possibility of super powers.’

‘The world is forever changed but bigotry is a constant,’ Matt said.

‘The enemy with a thousand faces,’ Foggy added, because, in that moment, the only response that felt real was to recognise the truth.

Chapter Text

With only a month left before the start of classes, things had finally returned to relative normalcy, or what Matt assumed passed for it in the Nelsons’ world.

Over the weeks, visits had become less frequent and less fraught. Tension had dissipated to a consistent low level prickle in the people Matt came into contact with. He still sometimes woke in the night to the sound of someone having a nightmare, but that was to be expected. He wondered whether the people in his dorm building were similarly affected by what had happened. Would it have seemed less real, somehow, to the ones who’d returned home for break and didn’t feel as connected to New York?

After all, Matt had an inconsistent understanding of the reality of the situation himself. In some ways it felt like the impact of the attack was a constant presence, lingering in every conversation and every silence. But he and Foggy hadn’t been into the city since the attack, and he was a little apprehensive about what it might be like. The landscape of New York was constantly changing, the atmosphere always frenetic and loud, but this would be different. It wasn’t the result of gradual accretion and disintegration, a perpetual restructuring of form. Matt suspected it might feel like devastation and void.

And then there was campus life. He had an unfamiliar mix of feelings about returning to Columbia, to the artificially structured world of dorms and classrooms and lawns and libraries, to being surrounded almost exclusively by people of similar age and with similar goals. It was part of the institutional world of casual acquaintances and short-term friends that had been the norm for him for such a long time, but the thought of it felt different now. Or maybe he was different.

It was a little embarrassing to note how excited he was at the thought of returning to Columbia with Foggy. It shouldn’t matter. They shared Foggy’s room almost every night, and had shared a dorm room since the day they met. But this felt like something more. Returning to a cramped and familiar room wasn’t quite moving in together, but it would be the closest Matt had ever come to living with someone by choice rather than circumstance.

Although, that wasn’t quite accurate. He’d come to the Nelsons’ as Foggy’s friend… a circumstance. But it didn’t feel like that anymore. It had become a choice the day that Matt risked telling them the truth rather than leave. It became a choice for them when they let him stay even though they understood what that really entailed. Now their connection was a pattern of deliberate repetition.

The more it goes on snowing, Matt thought, and smiled.

‘You ready, Matt?’ Ed called. He was at the bottom of the stairs, waiting, because Matt had been waylaid trying to find his glasses. They should have been on the bedside table but things had become somewhat disorganised in the shared space of Foggy’s small room.

He was about to ask Ed to help him find them, when he remembered Foggy clearing everything away to put his laptop on the bedside table the night before. Foggy had been sitting on the bed to watch a movie while Matt used the desk to get some work done. That explained why the glasses weren’t where they should be, but didn’t tell him where they actually were. Matt scanned the flat surfaces in the room. He knew they weren’t on the desk. Less than a minute later, he’d grabbed them from the windowsill and was out the door.

It was only the second time Matt had gone to Nelson’s Hardware.

The first felt like a long time ago. Matt had been wary back then about Ed’s reason for inviting him after the difficult conversation they’d had the night before. He’d agreed because his gut instinct told him that Ed was a decent person and Matt had wanted to know more about him.

Except it had been more than that, really. Thinking back, Matt knew that he’d been driven by an uncomfortable desire to give Ed a chance to keep poking at the past. That was what so many of their interactions amounted to, after all: an undeclared invitation for Ed to attempt to undermine the beliefs Matt held on to as if by rote, along with a respectful acceptance from Ed that Matt would pull up his guard if anything came too close to a place where he wasn’t willing to take a hit.

He wondered what part of Ed’s life had given him the grace to find balance on such ill-defined ground.

This time, Matt had come to the store mostly to keep Ed company while he checked inventory and put through some orders. There wasn’t any way that Matt could help out around the place, because nothing was set up to allow for that kind of accessibility, but it was the weekend and Foggy was off doing odd jobs at Rita’s apartment and then having lunch with Carmen and June from undergrad. It seemed like a good opportunity to spend time with Ed, and it was interesting to get an inside perspective on how a business like this was run. It wasn’t something Matt had considered in any detail before.

It had also never occurred to Matt, before that last visit, that hardware stores would have such a range of strong smells and sharp reverberations. It was an interesting space, and it made him acutely aware that most of the time his world smelled like academia, and the unfortunate concomitance of so many students living away from home for the first time.

‘Did you swap Foggy for this one?’ a man asked. He was the clerk who’d been busy with customers when Matt and Ed had first arrived at the store. There must have been a lull, because he’d popped into the back room to make himself a cup of coffee.

‘No, the little demon is off doing some repairs for Anna’s sister. This is Matt, the demon’s… what are we saying here, Matt?’ Ed said, but then didn’t wait for a response. ‘The demon’s significant other, I suppose. Boyfriend sounds like you’re sixteen,’ he added, directing the last part to Matt.

‘Cool. Nice to meet you, Matt. Oh, I’m Nasir, by the way.’

The three of them chatted briefly, and then Nasir was back out front and Matt was left disproportionately affected by a casual introduction.

That must have been apparent to Ed, because he laughed softly and patted Matt on the shoulder. ‘I’m sorry if that wasn’t the right thing to do,’ he said. ‘I figured all the family knows, so it wasn’t a big deal.’

‘No, of course,’ Matt said. ‘It was fine. Significant other. I think Foggy would like that one.’

‘Nah. He’d say it implied that everyone else was insignificant and be offended on their behalf.’

‘Possibly. I’ll run it by him later and report back.’

‘So why did it throw you?’ Ed asked.

Matt took a moment to reflect. He wasn’t uncomfortable about anyone knowing he was in a relationship with Foggy. He knew people might react poorly at times, but he had a lot of experience at not being upset by what other people thought of him. Not that there’d been any hint of negativity from Nasir. He seemed like a nice guy.

Matt’s reaction to the introduction, he realised, had been something more awkward. It was true that all the extended family and visitors to the Nelsons’ home knew about him and Foggy being together. But this was the first time outside the home that Ed had introduced Matt as if he was part of the family, or connected to it in some more meaningful way than Foggy’s roommate from college whose staying with us for the summer because he has nowhere else to go. Not that Ed would ever say, or even think, that last part.

The thing was, the introduction had been nice.

It was less clear why that had made it weird.

‘Not sure,’ he said. ‘It’s just new, I suppose.’

‘Mmm.’

Matt might have thought it a distracted response if he didn’t know Ed better. He seemed willing to let it drop though, because he continued with what he’d been doing. They chatted about business-related things for another half hour while Ed worked, and then began the walk home.

They were a few blocks from the apartment when Matt gave in to a growing urge to let go of Ed’s arm and just walk beside him.

Ed didn’t comment.

Matt didn’t know if he’d wanted him to.

‘You know, when Foggy and I go out like this, when I get around on my own like this, it still doesn’t mean that I know where there’s faeces,’ Matt said, as though lamenting a great tragedy.

‘That must be tough. Is it something you’re thinking about?’

‘I’ve told you, I’m always thinking about where there might be faeces, Ed. It’s impossible to get rid of the smell.’

Ed let out an amused breath but kept walking.

After half a block, Matt let the thoughts he’d been denying take form. ‘I don’t know. Yes. I think so. Until I imagine the next step and the next, the consequences that are outside my control, and then it all seems impossible.’

‘Because you don’t know where the shit might be. I mean that figuratively, of course. And, yes, Matthew, literally as well, I know.’

Matt laughed, appreciative of being called out, and they covered another block in companionable, contemplative silence. 

‘You know, my marriage to Rosalind was probably the most difficult time of my life,’ Ed said. ‘Our relationship had started out fun and exciting, but we were poorly suited to each other. I’m not as intelligent or ambitious as she is and it began to bother her. That played out between us in ways that undermined my confidence and self-esteem. I was deeply unhappy, and I could see that things were only getting worse. I let her take control of all the major decisions, deferred to her preferences in all sorts of ways. And I stayed. Foggy was a tiny thing and I couldn’t imagine what the future would look like if I ended my marriage. Would I lose him? Would I damage him by tearing his family apart? I didn’t know what to do. In the end, Rosalind left. She didn’t do it for us, but I’m so grateful anyway. I don’t like to think what our lives would be like if she hadn’t forced the change that brought me to where I am now.

‘Which isn’t to say that I think you should push yourself to take such a big risk, and I know it is one. There’s been a lot of upheaval in your life lately, and maybe now’s not the time for such a big change. I’m just pointing out that sometimes unknowable consequences turn out for the best.’

‘Thanks, Ed. For telling me about all that, I mean, as well as… well.’

Matt took Ed’s elbow again as they approached the apartment building.

‘Is there anyone you could talk to at Columbia, one of your professors maybe, who you’d trust to give you some advice on the potential administrative or institutional aspects of these unknowable risks?’

Two responses presented themselves simultaneously in Matt’s mind: that sounds terrifying, and Alvarez.

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘There’s a professor I respect. I think she’d give sound advice. I’m not sure I’m at that point though.’

‘Can I ask what’s got you even considering it?’

‘Of course.’

Matt used the ride up in the lift to pull his thoughts together. Even though they were alone, Ed would understand that he wasn’t going to talk about it in that space.

Once they entered the apartment, they went to the kitchen to prepare lunch.

Matt was glad to have a task to focus on while he spoke.

‘I know I’m no kind of superhero. I don’t have Captain America’s strength or, from what I’ve gleaned from Foggy’s description, his build. But I do have abilities and training that could be useful in an emergency. Those people, the Heroes of New York or whatever, they stepped in because somebody had to do it and they had the skills that gave them a chance of success. They did what they could, even though they couldn’t possibly have known what they’d be up against. That’s the way I want the world to be. I want to believe that people will use the skills they have to protect each other. But I can’t do that, even in small ways, if my first thought is to avoid being seen.’

‘That’s very altruistic, sweetheart, and I don’t mean that in any negative sense. I’d like to think the world could work that way as well. But I wonder if the desire to be able to help in those rare instances where the situation arises would be enough to carry you through the everyday implications you’ve talked about before?’

Matt began taking slices of bread out of the bag while he quelled the reluctance to share the rest of his reasoning.

It was just Ed.

He could say this to Ed.

‘It’s not just altruistic,’ he began. ‘I-’ He put the bread down and took a steadying breath. ‘I really want it. For me. I want the freedom to move. I want to be able to do the things I can do, anywhere and any time. I want to turn off the constant filter that keeps me from doing things I shouldn’t be able to do. And… and I know it’s prideful, but I want people to stop underestimating me! Or, when they do, I want the freedom to prove them wrong.’

‘Well, that’s the best thing I’ve heard in quite a while,’ Ed said, and he sounded so deeply pleased that it was almost disorienting to Matt. ‘Why does that surprise you, sweetheart? It’s admirable that you care so much about other people, and want to do the best you can for everybody, but Annie and I, we want you to want things for yourself. We want you to understand that your needs are just as important, and we’ll back you up in every way we can to help make that happen.’

Matt nodded, then made himself busy with buttering the bread, giving the task far more care and attention than it required.

At some point, Ed came and stood beside him. ‘Can I hug you?’ he asked.

Matt had spent a lot of time holding Foggy or being curled up in bed with him lately, but this, of course, was different. The few times Ed had hugged Matt, it had been when Matt was off balance and overcome. It was the same now. His body felt stiff and remote in Ed’s arms and yet part of him appreciated the closeness.

‘You’re doing great, Matt,’ Ed said, and Matt nodded against his shoulder. He had the ridiculous thought that Ed was talking about the hug, then realised he meant something broader, something Matt still wasn’t entirely sure he understood.

He pressed his face into Ed’s shoulder and stayed put.

Chapter Text

Foggy arrived home to find his dad and Matt in the middle of clearing up after their lunch. It was still pleasantly surreal to happen upon Matt just existing as an everyday part of life in Foggy’s family home.

It was even more delightful to be greeted the way he was, with Matt wordlessly crowding into his space and exercising his more tactile tendencies.

‘Should I leave you two alone?’ Foggy’s dad asked, definitely for the smart arse value because there was nothing inappropriate for public viewing going on. It was just Matt being Matt. Touching like this was the same as sharing a significant look and a smile. It had none of the come hither overtone he was quite capable of displaying when they were alone together.

‘Ed, if we want to do anything like that in the kitchen we’ll wait till you’re both at work,’ Matt sassed back, even though he hadn’t let off smoothing one hand over Foggy’s back and shoulder while ghosting the other over his hair.

‘We haven’t and we won’t!’ Foggy said, in a slightly higher register than he would have preferred.

‘Sorry.’ Matt dropped his hands and stepped away, leaving room for Jesus, Foggy supposed.

‘It’s fine, Matt,’ he reassured. ‘You’re allowed to poke back when he gives you a hard time. In fact, I encourage you to do so.’

‘It’s not that. I just… I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable with what I said or with the touching.’

‘Eh, you’re tactile, and also a bit of a smart arse. You should totally own it.’

‘Alright,’ Matt said, so unexpectedly earnest and unguarded that it reached right in and touched Foggy’s heart.

Something about the whole situation made Foggy stupidly joyful. Maybe it was the knowledge that his relationship with Matt was embedded in something bigger than the two of them and the peculiar rarefied environment of Columbia. Even when they returned to classes, they’d still have a place in the world beyond.

And, as of a few hours ago, that place involved child-minding! Auntie Susan had dropped in on Auntie Rita while Foggy had been there earlier in the day, and events had transpired which led to Foggy unilaterally volunteering Matt and himself to spend the evening watching over five small cousins who were having a sleepover! Their ages ranged from nine to thirteen. The big event was happening at Auntie Susan’s place, which was home to an awesome dog, and Foggy had been assured that pizza would be provided. It definitely was a good plan.

There was just one small detail to attend to.

Matt had, of course, been onboard as soon as Foggy made the proposal… or presented the fait accompli… whatever.

The outcome was the same either way: they showed up at Auntie Susan’s, were ushered in, given a hurried rundown of rules, contingencies, timelines, and so on, and then they were alone, in the sense that they were the only adults in the room.

Foggy had seen his younger cousins frequently in the last month or so, but it had been a while since he’d spent time alone with them.

He wondered if they found it difficult to decide upon the right slot for a cousin who was grown up but also kind of not. He hadn’t had that experience himself. His dad was second eldest and his mom the eldest in their families, and he’d been gifted the honour of being the first born of this generation on both sides. Not that he was technically born into his mum’s family, but none of them seemed inclined to make a thing of it, which was awesome.

It meant that he had cousins who were close to his age, but he’d been babysat by uncles and aunts when he was growing up.

Possibly, when you were a kid, it was a distinction without a difference, but maybe not. Hopefully, sitting around a table full of pizza, enjoying the possibly unauthorised dinnertime company of Benny the Irish wolfhound, would give everyone the chance to get comfortable.

It was certainly working for Foggy. He’d forgotten how much fun kids could be when their various adults weren’t around. It had been the same when he was a kid. There was something about the absence of authority figures that allowed for expanded possibilities.

Within five minutes, there was an impressive level of experimentation and trade going on in the pizza topping department. Foggy strongly suspected that the table manners of the kids Matt grew up around wouldn’t have been any better, at least when there wasn’t a good sister hovering nearby, so there was absolutely no excuse for the faces he was pulling over it. Foggy banded with the kids in finding Matt’s reactions hilarious, and they upped their game for the sake of grossing him out.

Benny, it turned out, was the more compassionate soul in their merry crew. He sat at Matt’s side and rested a sympathetic muzzle on his knee. Matt clearly appreciated the support, because he used the hand he wasn’t eating with to stroke the dog’s head.

They’d pretty much finished eating when Foggy noticed significant whispering and elbowing going on between Jemima and Celeste. Both girls had been at Rita’s that morning and had petitioned for tonight’s arrangement. Celeste was older by a few months, the kind of thing that mattered at that age, having recently turned thirteen. Perhaps she was embracing the marvellous audacity of her freshly minted teenage status when she eventually spoke up.

‘Why do you dress like that sometimes?’

‘Celeste!’ Prue whispered, in a censuring tone that belonged to someone much older than twelve.

‘It’s alright, Prue,’ Foggy said. ‘I’m happy to answer the question.’

‘It’s rude to ask things like that,’ Liam said. Prue and Liam were siblings, and it was beginning to sound like they’d been given a talk before being dropped off. Auntie Becca was their mom, and it was possible that her last interaction with Matt, or, well, Foggy’s dad’s apparent reaction to it, had left her feeling cautious about offending. That would be a shame, because she was a genuinely nice person.

‘Look,’ Foggy said, ‘sometimes it is rude to ask people to explain something that’s different about them. It’s not rude to want to know, it’s just that people who look different get asked about it a lot and, sometimes, they don’t want to have to be the one to help everybody understand. It’s good if you can try to find out more without making it their job to tell you. But sometimes the only way, or the best way, to find out about someone is to just ask them.’

‘Like with Matt,’ Jemima said. She was twelve, like Prue, but, as the only child of a sole parent, she often seemed more mature than the other cousins around her age. Or maybe it wasn’t the sole parent thing. Maybe Benny was the guiding hand. After all, what would Foggy know about it? The growing of young humans was an uncharted land from where he stood.

‘Yeah,’ Matt said, at ease and smiling. ‘Unless you’re trying to be mean, I don’t care what you ask. I’ll answer it the best I can.’

‘So why are you wearing a dress now, when you were dressed like a boy this morning at our place?’ Celeste asked, more sincere in her curiosity now that the need for boldness had passed.

‘Well, I knew I’d be wriggling under the sink and getting dirty this morning, so I thought jeans and a t-shirt were the best idea. But I don’t really think of them as boys’ clothes or this as girls’ clothes.’ Foggy was happy to talk more specifically about gender if they wanted, but right now they’d asked about what he was wearing.

‘But they are!’ Prue insisted, having apparently abandoned her earlier restraint. ‘It’s a dress!’

‘It’s all lacy!’ Bryce added. At nine, he was the youngest of tonight’s gathering. Foggy hadn’t spent as much time with him but he seemed like a sweet kid, despite being Uncle Greg’s offspring.

Foggy’s garment was crocheted, actually, and not quite a dress, although it was probably close. It was a thrift store bargain he’d picked up back when he’d gone on a new-look quest during spring recess, and he adored it.

There were, however, few forces in the universe able to embody exasperated self-certainty quite like children and young teens, and he didn’t want to debate them anyway.

‘That’s cool,’ he said. ‘You can think of it as girls’ clothes and I can think of it as people clothes. We’re allowed to think about things differently.’

‘What do you think, Matt?’ Celeste asked.

‘I think people should wear whatever makes them happy,’ Matt said, with a soft smile that told Foggy more than his words.

‘Well, how did you get your hair curly?’ Jemima asked.

‘Oh, I have this wand thingy. It’s really awesome! You just wrap your hair around it and it heats the hair and makes it all twisty.’

‘Can you do mine?’ Jemima said.

‘And mine,’ Celeste added.

Plans for future styling were made.

Prue, who was clearly disappointed that her short hair wouldn’t allow for such things, would be joining them to paint fingernails. Apparently she owned a whole lot of very intense-sounding colours. The face Matt failed to conceal at that idea, presumably in anticipation of the smell, was even more hilarious than the anchovy and pineapple pizza combo had provoked.

This whole child minding gig was a delight!

After dinner was cleared away, the kids had plans to watch a movie. Foggy considered pointing out that screens weren’t a particularly inclusive option for Matt, but he was there to supervise, not direct, so he let it slide. And, anyway, Matt could say something about it if he wanted to.

It was disturbing how much Foggy tended to forget that fact in his home environment. He almost never wanted to intercede on Matt’s behalf at Columbia. Or, even if he wanted to, he knew not to. He had no doubt that Matt was entirely capable of advocating for himself. And yet, among family, Foggy couldn’t quite shake the desire to make sure everyone was fully on board and inclusive of Matt’s different reality.

Of course, it wasn’t as though Foggy fully understood Matt’s very Matt-like reality all that well either. It wasn’t, for example, unusual for him to be startled by Matt’s sudden shifts in mood and thinking. And Matt was an action oriented type: entirely solid in his intent while managing to be utterly flummoxing in his follow through, or at least that was how Foggy sometimes experienced him. Matt got things done and then pieced together his reasoning retrospectively.

But even knowing all this, and with full awareness of the conversations they’d had since the attack, Foggy still had not expected to turn away from Percy Jackson to see Matt entertaining Bryce with some impromptu juggling.

Soon after the movie had started, Matt had picked up a cushion and found a corner to meditate in. Foggy had looked over a while later and been amused to see Benny sitting by Matt’s side, with every appearance of seeking doggy enlightenment. It confirmed Foggy’s theory that dogs, generally speaking, were up for anything. They had none of that feline judgement going on. Nope. Dogs were the embodiment of the spirit of improv, the furry articulation of yes, and….

Apparently, Foggy had gotten caught up in the movie after that, because he hadn’t noticed Bryce moving away or the interaction that had led to this new and equally amazing sight.

Matt definitely noticed Foggy watching, because he smiled in Foggy’s direction and did a showy trick that involved sending one of the things he was juggling higher and flipping the other two back and forth before bringing the third one back into the flow.

‘So cool!’ Bryce said, at a volume that definitely matched his enthusiasm.

‘Bryce!’ Jemima began, like she was going to tell him to be quiet.

It was the burden of being the youngest, Foggy supposed: everyone feeling entitled to police your freedom.

But then Jemima noticed what Matt was doing, and forgot all about the movie.

‘Oh, wow!’ She joined Bryce on the other side of the room to watch Matt’s performance.

The others followed, and Foggy paused the movie before joining them, not quite sure what to expect.

‘That’s so cool! Can you do tricks?’ Liam asked.

‘Some,’ Matt said. ‘It’s difficult with these though.’ He nodded towards the objects flying through the air, and Foggy saw that they were the matchbox cars Bryce had been playing with earlier.

‘I could get some balls,’ Jemima offered. She disappeared and then returned with a bunch of tennis balls in varying states of wear. They were clearly Benny’s.

Matt’s face barely showed any distaste, which probably qualified him for sainthood, really, because even Foggy was a little grossed out by the worst of them. Matt did, however, unerringly reach for the least disgusting balls. He thanked Bryce for the use of his cars as he handed them back, then took up a standing position that would give him more room.

Foggy had seen Matt slip into his performance zone before, but this was different. Matt wasn’t demonstrating his abilities like he had for Foggy. He was putting on a show, shifting from one trick to the next, playfully pretending to fumble the balls and then catching them again, speculating with the kids about what would be the hardest thing to juggle.

Benny was obviously impressed, but managed to contain his enthusiasm even though his toys were being tossed around in his presence. Benny was a wonder dog.

‘How did you learn to do that?’ Liam asked, once Matt caught the balls and stopped.

‘A lot of practice,’ Matt said.

‘That’s so cool!’ Liam reiterated, which, Foggy had to concede, was worth repeating.

‘Thanks,’ Matt said. ‘I’ve been working on it since I was not much older than you. You’re ten, right?’

‘Yeah,’ Liam said.

‘Can you do any other tricks?’ Celeste asked.

‘Sure.’ Matt moved his head in the way Foggy knew meant he was taking in the space around him. He must have been satisfied with what he observed, because he shifted to the side a little and turned a tight cartwheel. As soon as he’d landed on his feet, he pushed off into a handstand, stayed steadily upside down for about ten seconds, and then bent his arms and rolled into a tumble that brought him back to his feet.

He stepped back towards them looking so damn happy that it made Foggy want to grab him and spin him in circles.

Also, to kiss him.

He did neither of those things.

‘That’s so cool!’ Bryce said. It was, Foggy was beginning to understand, the highest form of praise in the local dialect.

‘I can do cartwheels, too,’ Jemima said. ‘Watch.’ And she turned an impressive, if wider and less controlled, cartwheel across the floor. When she was done she turned to Matt for a response.

‘They’re fun, aren’t they,’ Matt said.

‘Oh,’ Jemima was disappointed at the absence of feedback on her performance, Foggy supposed. ‘Yeah, I like them. I did gym class for a while when I was little.’

‘I had someone who taught me some of that kind of stuff as well,’ Matt said. ‘He was the same person who taught me to juggle.’

‘Can you teach me to do cartwheels?’ Bryce asked.

‘Sorry, are you asking me or Jemima?’ Matt said.

‘Oh, um, you, Matt. Can you teach me?’

‘Well, it takes a lot of practice, and I go back to school soon. Also, I don’t think we should try it in here because it’s easy to knock things over when you’re learning. But maybe if your parents bring you over to Foggy’s place we could make some room and give it a try.’

‘I’ll come,’ Liam said.

‘Me too,’ Prue added.

And, so, Matthew Murdock continued to confound Foggy with his apparently impulsive willingness to turn his own world inside out and reverse his tides. The response from the aunts and uncles to whatever new level of sharing this implied was going to be a beautiful thing to behold.

‘I didn’t know you’d be good with kids,’ Foggy said. They’d arrived home late after hanging with the small ones, so they were whispering and moving quietly through their preparations for bed. His mom had to be up early for work.

‘I spent a lot of time surrounded by younger kids at St Agnes’s,’ Matt said. Which: of course.

‘That doesn’t mean you’d necessarily be good with them though. I mean, I know you’re good at comforting them, I’ve seen that, but you’re good at treating them like people too.’

‘They are people, Fogs,’ Matt said, like he was imparting a truth of significant import.

‘I suspect you’re right,’ Foggy said. He’d always thought it was an under-acknowledged fact, so it was great to see Matt treat it as a given. 

They settled in bed, face to face, neither ready for sleep. Auntie Susan had insisted on putting them in a cab when she got home, so this was their first chance to talk privately.

Foggy had questions.

Matt had been warned.

‘So, does this mean you’re… wait. What does this mean? I’m referring to the juggling and acrobatics, by the way.’

‘It means I just stole your position as coolest babysitter,’ Matt said.

‘You need to set your sights higher, my friend.’

‘That might be difficult: literally and figuratively. They think you’re really cool, Fogs.’

‘I’m so cool,’ Foggy added, in the closest approximation of Liam’s intonation as he could manage in a whisper. ‘You, however, are a dork.’

‘But I’m still cooler than you,’ Matt said, looking way too pleased about it.

‘Alright. After tonight’s display I’ll accept that. You were, in fact, way cool,’ Foggy conceded. ‘But seriously, what are you thinking will come of it? Are you going to explain, if anyone asks how you can do those things? If they want to know how you can teach the kids to do them?’

‘I could just point out that there are blind gymnasts and trust that it will be enough to shut down any questions,’ Matt said.

‘So you’re saying you don’t have a plan,’ Foggy concluded. ‘You know the kids are going to be telling their parents all about your awesome little display in the morning.’

‘Of course I know that, Foggy.’ Matt sighed. Even in the dim light, Foggy could see he looked troubled. ‘I didn’t plan what happened tonight. I don’t regret it, but… I should have talked to you and Ed and Anna first and made sure you were alright with your family finding out in this way. Not that I want to sit everybody down and tell them everything, but I think they should know enough that I can be more open with them.’

‘And what does that include?’ Foggy asked. ‘What are they allowed to know?’

‘That the accident that blinded me changed some things about how my other senses work. That I can echo locate more distinctly than most people would believe.’

Foggy could feel Matt tensing up even as he spoke, his voice sharp with anxiety. He groped around until he found one of Matt’s hands under the covers and gave it a gentle squeeze.

‘Why are you doing this, Matt?’ he asked. He couldn’t help wondering if he’d pushed too hard or encouraged Matt to disregard his own needs.

‘Bryce came over to me tonight because something in the movie scared him. By juggling, I was able to distract him, maybe enough that he won’t dwell on what he saw on the screen. And… well, I didn’t say anything about Jemima’s cartwheel because she wasn’t asking for help, but I could have given her some pointers if she’d wanted them. I don’t want to keep being someone who can’t do those things.’

Matt wasn’t whispering anymore, but it didn’t matter. Foggy knew his mom would want Matt to be able to talk about this.

‘I’m glad you’re clear on that,’ Foggy said, ‘but you sound pretty stressed about my aunts and uncles finding out. Are you sure about this?’

‘No,’ Matt said, with a terrified kind of humour. ‘But I talked to Ed about it, and I think that’s alright. It’s scary, Fog. It’s really, really scary. I don’t know what to expect, but I still want it. I wasn’t just being friendly with Jemima when I said that flips and cartwheels are fun.’

‘That is something I know about you, buddy. You seriously never look happier than when you’re circussing around.’

‘Circussing?’ Matt could, it transpired, communicate an impressive degree of contempt in a whisper.

‘Whatever happens, I’m with you, Matt,’ Foggy said, serious despite the linguistic provocation he’d thrown down. ‘I mean it. I’m not going anywhere. I know nothing can change the fact that you’re the one who has to deal with the impact of any fallout, but I’ll do everything I can to help. And you can be sure my mom and dad will, too. And Candy. I can’t wait for you to meet her. She’ll love you so much.’

Matt smiled. ‘I’m not sure you know this, but you’re amazing,’ he said. He didn’t sound anxious anymore, which was good, though Foggy knew that the fear hadn’t disappeared entirely. It probably wouldn’t while all this was unfolding. But Foggy understood a thing or two about ongoing situational anxiety. He knew to embrace the pockets of calm.

He was about to suggest that they get some sleep, but his good sense was diverted by Matt pushing up onto one elbow and leaning over him for a kiss that had nothing to do with saying goodnight.

When it began to progress into something more, Foggy considered. Quiet sex while his parents occupied a room nearby was not his favourite kind. Didn’t, in fact, appear anywhere on his list of preferences. But, on the other hand, being naked and sweaty with Matt was definitely on the list, and orgasms were wonderful things.

‘Just tell me my parents are asleep,’ he whispered between kisses.

Matt froze for a moment, having clearly not considered any other possibility, and then smiled the least sexy, most goofy look of relief. 

Yep. No doubt about it.

Foggy was in love.

Chapter Text

If Foggy had been asked to rate the chances of Matt being particularly Zen the next morning he’d have come up with a number that was a single digit, possibly an oval one. It was, then, a source of great joy and perplexity to wake to the sight of Matt sitting in peaceful meditation on the minuscule patch of available floor between the dresser and desk.

Foggy lay in bed for a while just appreciating the view. He must have somehow given himself away though, because a sweet smile flashed across Matt’s face before resolving itself once more into something less animated but equally lovely.

Foggy was content to devote his energy to languid admiration.

After a while, Matt broke the easy silence. ‘I’m going to request a meeting with Alvarez to discuss the implications of my enhanced senses becoming public knowledge,’ he said. ‘I’d love it if you’d come along.’ He hadn’t shifted his posture in the slightest as far as Foggy could tell, and there was a noticeable reduction of inflection in his voice. It was unexpectedly resonant: placid rather than impassive.

It was a good sound. Kind of soothing. It tempered Foggy’s flare of excitement and fear at the reality of what Matt was proposing.

Who would have thought meditation could be vicariously beneficial?

‘Of course I’ll come,’ he said. ‘Like I told you, I’m here for you, Matt.’

Matt smiled again briefly, but showed no other sign of movement. ‘Thank you,’ he said.

‘You’re welcome.’

The subsequent silence stretched like… well, convention would suggest taffy, but it was more like that weird oozy slime stuff that came in little plastic tubs, full of exciting potential but also kind of difficult to hold onto. Apparently the spectatorial gains from meditation were not as long-lasting as Foggy might have hoped, or at least not in a situation of this magnitude.

‘Soooo…’ he said, when his capacity for self-restraint reached it’s admittedly unimpressive limit. ‘This is kind of a big deal and yet there you are, all calm and steady, which, let me tell you, is a powerful reminder that we’re very different people, and I don’t want to be a downer, I really don’t, but I can’t help wondering where the anxiety from last night has gone.’

‘I think I could hazard a guess,’ Matt said, which took a few seconds longer than it should have to register. Matt wasn’t being a smart arse though. He looked regretful and concerned.

‘Shit, sorry, no,’ Foggy said. ‘Hang on. I’m just catching up. I woke up, like, five minutes ago.’

‘Closer to ten,’ Matt said.

‘Whatever. Just go back to your happy place while I get my head together.’

‘I thought my happy place was circussing,’ Matt said, mildly, but then resumed his silence. It was fascinating to note the change that came over him without any physical shift to account for it.

One day, Foggy was definitely going to find out more about that.

Today, however, was not that day.

‘Alright,’ he said, after an extended period spent variously doggy-paddling through a wave of guilt and fear that insisted he’d pushed too hard for this; corralling his excitement about the possibilities; banishing his angst about meeting with Alvarez in any context; entertaining a few brief fantasies about people’s reactions in general, and some in particular; and sidelining a bazillion other scattered but connected thoughts. ‘I’m good. So, Alvarez? What’s the end goal with that? Because we’ll need to prepare accordingly.’

‘The goal is to have everything out in the open. I don’t want to do this in half-truths. If I did, I’d still have to be constantly aware of what I should and shouldn’t do, which would mean that I might as well stay hidden. Also, if I’m open about everything, I’ll find out the full extent of the implications. I won’t have to wonder what might change if this or that fact became known. If things are going to go to hell, I’d rather jump straight in.’

After he’d finished speaking, Matt stood and stretched for a minute then came to sit on the bed beside Foggy. He reached out, as he often did, and cupped Foggy’s face with one hand. ‘Listen, Fog, I know I just asked you to get involved, but I also know that you’ve got a lot going on already. Last term was really hard on you with all the unwanted attention. So, if this is too much, I understand. You don’t have to get caught up in it if you think it’ll drag you down.’

‘I’m already in,’ Foggy said, and kissed him as a show of faith. Also… well… because.

‘I’ve just put the coffee on,’ Foggy’s dad said, in greeting, when they entered the kitchen to forage for food. ‘And there’s pancake batter in the fridge. We can cook while we talk.’

‘Ah… good morning?’ Foggy suggested.

‘Good morning, Sunshine. Matthew. Want to tell me about the acrobatics?’

For the briefest moment, Matt looked like a repentant child, and Foggy knew the torment of wanting both to laugh at him and to hug him. It was a tough call and before he could decide, Matt visibly regained his earlier composure.

‘Sorry, Ed. In retrospect, it wasn’t the best order to go about things. I’m going to take your advice and speak to that professor.’

‘That’s good news, sweetheart. And if their advice is that things will be workable?’

‘Actually, irrespective of her advice, I’m going ahead. I’m just hoping she’ll be willing to guide me in how best to go about it, maybe point out any legal implications I haven’t considered, any institutional rules I’m not aware of, any tangential legislation or precedents that might help to keep me safe.’

That last part nearly knocked the air out of Foggy’s lungs, or maybe it was the matter-of-fact way Matt said it, but there was no disputing the truth of it. Foggy had no clue what to expect. The growing debate about enhanced individuals had tarnished any shiny belief he’d held that the risks were all in Matt’s head or in Stick’s rhetoric.

‘It won’t hurt to cultivate a supportive relationship with someone within the institution, either,’ he said, because he wanted something positive to contribute.

‘If, in fact, she’s going to be supportive,’ Matt said.

‘Of course she will. She loves you, buddy. You should see them, Dad. They have the academic equivalent of unresolved sexual tension. Now that I think about it, there should be a word for that. Anyway, they get super invested in discussing things like the limits to interpretation with regard to legislative intent, or arguing over whether a particular situation might be nuanced enough to warrant the use of an international precedent over one from another US jurisdiction, while we mere mortal students are, like, sheesh, just find an office and collaborate already.’

‘Really?’ Matt said, and, alright, maybe this wasn’t the time for it.

Point taken.

Still, it would be weird to back down entirely! ‘Fiiine,’ Foggy said, like the word was a sigh. ‘Professor Alvarez is an intelligent and dedicated professional who will no doubt be supportive of your unique circumstance, as would she be for any of her students.’

‘Now, was that so hard, sunshine?’

‘Dad, you have no idea,’ Foggy insisted.

‘I’m sure. But, for now, how about you put that dramatic flair of yours into creating some truly magnificent pancakes? I need to talk to Matt.’

‘That’s something I can definitely do.’

Foggy grabbed the batter from the fridge and headed toward the stove, stopping to run his fingers through Matt’s hair along the way. Once he had the heavy cast iron pan heating, he gathered utensils, plates and the like, then returned to drop the first, essentially sacrificial, blop of batter into place.

Meanwhile, his dad poured coffee for the three of them and directed Matt to sit at the weird breakfast nook they almost never ate at because it was cramped and less pleasant than the dining room.

‘Now, back to the acrobatics,’ he said. ‘What would you like me to tell everyone in response to the rampant curiosity about your antics last night, sweetheart? Because I know the bigger picture with Columbia is the priority, but I’ve had two calls already this morning and I don’t want to mess anything up.’

‘For now, can we just tell them what I told the kids: that I had someone who taught me gymnastics when I was young, and I’ve practised consistently ever since. Maybe throw in that it was introduced to help me regain my confidence after the accident?’

‘Good strategy,’ Foggy agreed. ‘That kind of thing makes people uncomfortable about asking further questions approximately ninety per cent of the time.’

It didn’t get the reaction he’d been hoping for. Matt clearly felt bad for creating a situation where Foggy’s folks would end up being questioned and then lying or misdirecting on his behalf.

The guilt was totally unnecessary. He should know by now that Foggy and Candy had both put them in more difficult situations on multiple occasions in the past.

‘It’s not a problem, Matt, honey,’ Foggy’s dad reassured. ‘I just needed to know what direction you wanted me to take. Honestly, I’m sorry I missed the show. Sounds like it was really something.’

‘Maybe you’ll get to see the encore,’ Foggy said. ‘I’m pretty sure we’ve signed up for a circus skills and makeover party to be held here at some point before we head back to Columbia.’

Foggy’s dad laughed. ‘Sounds like fun,’ he said, and obviously meant it.

When Matt still didn’t involve himself in the conversation, Foggy and his dad chatted for a while about the various cousins who’d been privy to last night’s performance, and the nature of Auntie Fran and Auntie Rita’s responses to the reports they’d received from their kids about Matt’s undeniable coolness.

It didn’t sound like there’d be any dramas if they took the approach Matt had suggested.

It was fine.

And yet, Matt still looked troubled. That wouldn’t do.

‘Here,’ Foggy said, bringing a plate over to put in front of him. ‘It’s the second pancake, buddy, just for you.’

‘Um. Thanks?’ Matt said.

‘No. It’s a good thing,’ Foggy explained, while his dad got busy gathering toppings and the like. ‘Everyone knows the first one never turns out quite right, so the second is really the first, if you know what I mean. Or the first good one, anyway.’

‘And you say that in full awareness that you and I are both, in fact, first pancakes… or in my case first and only, right?’ Matt said, with pleasing if unwarranted incredulity.

‘Are we pancakes though, buddy? No. We are not,’ Foggy countered.

‘Maple syrup’s at your two, Matt. Knife and fork are here.’ Foggy’s dad set everything down firmly enough that Matt would be able to hear where he’d put them. Matt would have found them easily anyway, but Foggy assumed it had become a habit and it wasn’t like it was unhelpful. ‘As for your theory, sunshine, I’m pretty sure I’ve pointed out more than once that the first pancake turns out just fine if you have the patience to give it time and let it do its thing. But, as a second-born pancake myself, I have to say that you’re theory’s a good one. Do share it with Candy and your uncle George some time, won’t you?’  

‘Why is this too nuanced for you people?’ Foggy despaired. ‘We are not pancakes. We eat pancakes. It’s not a difficult distinction.’

‘I’m pretty sure the next generation is starting to burn,’ Matt pointed out, smiling and kind of smug.

‘Damn!’ Foggy said, as though singed pancakes weren’t a price he’d happily pay to help Matt shake his guilt and stress, even for a little while.

Now that the pan was properly heated, Foggy got busy with churning out breakfast for the three of them. He listened to his dad and Matt chat about this and that while he worked, but didn’t feel the need to contribute. It was comforting just absorbing the easy warmth between the two of them and knowing he was part of it.

But, inevitably, the time came when they were all settled in the booth-nook-thingy, a diminished array of pancakes and toppings between them, and there was no avoiding the fact that a more serious conversation was to be had.

Because this was actually happening. Matt was very definitely going to do this… had already begun really, with random acts of exploration, accidental moments of transparency, and increasingly blatant disregard.

‘Have you thought about what your spiel is going to be?’ Foggy asked, just to get things started.

‘For Alvarez? I was hoping you’d help me work it out.’

‘No, yeah, of course I will. I’m imagining the meeting with Alvarez in terms of a high-stakes, very much for real, case presentation. But I meant the spiel you’ll give by rote whenever anyone expects you to explain your existence. You know: Hi, I’m Matt, I have superpowers. No, I don’t need any help to find an empty seat. No, that doesn’t mean I can see. Yes, I could back flip over you but I’m not going to do it unless you ask ever so nicely and, even then, only if I feel like it.… Although, really, you’ll want a few spiels depending on whether you’re dealing with genuine curiosity, ambivalence masquerading as curiosity, or outright hostility.’

‘I’m familiar with the range of motivations for invasive questioning, Fog,’ Matt said, with far more graciousness than Foggy deserved, because:

‘Shit. Of course you are. Sorry.’

‘It’s fine,’ Matt said. ‘I know you’ve needed to be prepared for that kind of thing a lot more than I have recently. Honestly, my experience in the past has been that most people stop listening once they establish that I have no light perception. All they actually wanted to know is if I’m what they think of as really blind or if I can see enough to know that they’re staring. Oh, that and whether I’ve always been blind. Although I suppose, with that one, they’re just working out if they can use visual referents.’

‘I think you’re being a bit charitable there, buddy.’

‘Maybe. I guess that’s something we have in common,’ Matt said, like there was a debate to be had if Foggy continued down that path.

‘So, what’s the new spiel going to be?’ Foggy opted for, instead.

‘Well, it certainly won’t include the word superpowers. I’m not sure. I suppose just a short explanation. Something like: I was involved in an accident. It destroyed my vision but significantly enhanced my other senses. The things I can do are possible because of those changes, but nothing I perceive approximates sight. I can sense things but I can’t see them.’

‘That’s going to be the tricky bit, isn’t it?’ Foggy said. ‘People usually go for the straightforward explanation. If you’re able to catch something or step around something without touching it you must have seen it. They’re going to assume you’re lying just because of the way you get around.’

‘It’ll be one of the tricky bits,’ Matt said… which… valid point. ‘But, yeah. They will. I’m not sure how to explain it any better though. It would be easy to let people think it’s something like sonar, but I don’t think my brain builds an image any more than my eyes see one. I know where things are; what they’re made of; whether they’re moving, and how fast, but I’m not sure it’s a constructed image, as such. I don’t know. There’s so much involved in how I piece things together, but I don’t really think about that. I just know things.’

‘You take it on faith,’ Foggy’s dad said, and Matt nodded.

‘Yeah. Most of the time. Obviously, I puzzle things out more precisely when small details matter, but I couldn’t do that constantly and I don’t need to anyway.’

‘I think all brains work like that in some ways,’ Foggy said. ‘It’s just that sighted people tend to attribute that multifaceted knowledge mostly to sight. Like when a witness to a crime insists they’ve seen some aspect of what happened, but on further questioning it turns out they only believe they saw it because they heard something or smelled something and extrapolated. It’s an unconscious process. There was a loud bang turns into I saw the man fire a gun. It’s a kind of sensory imperialism really. Vision colonises our awareness and appropriates the work of all the other territories of perception. It’s kind of outrageous when you think about it.’

‘Yeah. Well. Stick often said that sight was a distraction. If it’s so tyrannical, maybe he was right when he told me I was lucky to be rid of it.’

‘That’s not… forget what I just said. It was insensitive. I’m sorry. I was just…you know how my mind works.’

‘I don’t need you to apologise. I don’t need people to be sensitive around me, Foggy.’

‘Of course not. I get that.’ Foggy tried to give himself time to think about what he wanted to say, but it was hard when he didn’t fully understand what had just happened. He’d been clumsy and maybe insensitive, but this seemed like something more.

He was glad when his dad intervened with a reassuring look for Foggy and a hand resting steadily on Matt’s arm.

‘I don’t think it would be sensitivity or even pity that would stop someone from saying the kind of things Stick said to you, sweetheart. It would be more like insight or maybe compassion, don’t you think? Because there’s no right way to feel once the situation’s been put in his terms. Lucky or unlucky to be blind? It’s a false dichotomy and a cruel manipulation. There’s no peace to be found on either side. If you’re lucky to be blind then you’re not allowed to feel frustrated or sad or angry about any of the struggles you face or anything you feel you’ve lost, and if you’re unlucky to be blind then you’re somehow cursed and anything good and valuable in your experience is tainted by the idea that the overall experience is bad luck.’

Matt jerked his arm away like he wanted to get up and leave, but, to Foggy’s surprise, he stayed. His jaw clenched, and one hand was flexing in a tight fist on the tabletop, right up until the moment when it suddenly wasn’t. Then Matt reached unerringly for Foggy’s dad’s hand and curled just the tips of their fingers together. It was a vulnerable gesture for Matt to make, Foggy knew, despite the fact that he made it look comfortable and loose.

‘You’re right. It was a shit thing to say to me,’ Matt said, quietly. ‘Stick could be an asshole.’

‘Yeah, sweetheart, he really could.’

The silence that followed was pensive and not exactly comfortable, or at least that was how it felt to Foggy. Maybe his dad and Matt had shared moments like this before. There was obviously a lot of trust between them, as they sat in mutual stillness save for the small fidgeting movements of Matt’s fingers every now and then that Foggy’s dad seemed content to absorb.

Foggy didn’t want to interrupt whatever was going on, but he also didn’t want to intrude.

He figured it wouldn’t hurt to quietly start clearing up some dishes.

He gathered everything on the table into manageable heaps and got to work.

Sporadic, quiet conversation had started up between his dad and Matt while Foggy washed the dishes, but he was done and wiping the pan down with oil before Matt sounded more like his usual self. It was a good sound to hear.

‘You know, I don’t think I can wait until the… what did you call it, sunshine? The circus skills and makeover extravaganza? Any chance of a preview? There has to be perks for immediate family, right?’

Matt gave one of those soft almost-laughs that were more like a breath. ‘Are you trying to distract me from myself, Ed?’ It was a tiny bit tremulous maybe, but also kind of amused and indulgent.

‘Not at all. I’m trying to bring you back to yourself, and I genuinely want to see what I missed out on last night.’

Matt gave a put upon sigh, but there was something behind it that looked happy to be redirected. He got to his feet and scanned the room for a second, gestured for Foggy to stay put, and then flipped neatly from hands to feet to hands to feet.

It was a small space, and it was impressive to see how compact he could make the whole series of moves. The contortions involved were amazing.

From his landing position, he was perfectly placed to step forward and kiss Foggy on the cheek, which he did, looking insufferably smug about it. Then he stepped back and kind of launched himself into an aerial back flip that ended in a remarkably still and stable looking crouch. From down low, he pushed into a handstand that gave proper respect to the singular implication of the term, in that he was literally standing on one hand. From there, he lowered himself into the perfectly controlled tuck and roll that Foggy had seen before, and ended up standing pretty much where he’d started.

‘Ta-da!’ Foggy said, because somebody had to.

Matt raised both eyebrows in judgement, but he was smiling way too much for it to count. He came and stood beside Foggy, barely winded.

‘That was really something, Matt. No wonder the kids were excited. Hell, I’m tempted to join in for those lessons!’

‘Maybe you should stick to the nail painting part of the festivities, Dad. Not that I think you couldn’t learn to do some of that, but I’m pretty sure kids have the advantage when it comes to base level flexibility. You and I would need a bit of a run up to get to that point.’

‘Yeah, yeah. Let your old man dream, pumpkin.’ He tapped his fingers on the table for a few seconds. ‘But, alright. You might have a point. I could probably get involved in the nail painting safely though. What colour would you recommend?’

‘Hmm…. You’re like me. We don’t really have the skin tone for warm colours,’ Foggy mused. Then inspiration struck. ‘I seem to recall Prue saying she had a particularly vibrant blue. That could be good.’

‘Sounds fun.’ More finger tapping. ‘So, what’s your spiel and how often do you have to use the outright hostility option, little one?’

Foggy wanted to feign confusion, but he knew what his dad was getting at and why. Their return to Columbia was approaching, all kinds of diversity drama was in the air, and his Dad would always, on some level, think of Foggy as a soft squishy thing to be swaddled and held close.

In reality, Columbia was a world away from home and Foggy liked it that way, both because it gave him a separate space to explore and because it meant home was a safe place untouched by the stresses of that other world.

But his dad needed to know whether Foggy could deal with what was to come.

Foggy could respect that. Things were definitely about to become next level intense.

Which didn’t make what he was about to say easier, because there was no doubt it would make his dad more upset and wary.

He became aware of Matt nudging and generally shuffling them about until he was partly behind Foggy and could pull him close. ‘This alright?’ Matt asked, quietly, and Foggy gave an equally soft, ‘yeah’ in return. Matt was composed of too much muscle and bone for the embrace to be in any way enveloping, but the warmth and solidity of his presence was nice.

‘I know you’re worried, Dad, but usually the kinds of interactions I have about this stuff are nothing you haven’t heard from me before. You already know the spiel: I’m wearing what I’m wearing because I like it, and because clothes are just clothes and people are just people. I don’t relate to being male or female,’ he said, in a much less engaged tone than he would use in reality.

It would be easier, kinder, to leave it there, but that wouldn’t serve any of them in the long term, so he continued. ‘I guess it usually extends into: No, I don’t feel the need to impose my beliefs on anyone else. If you tell me you’re a man or a woman, then that’s what you are. No, I don’t want to be a woman. No, I’m not fishing for attention. And, yeah, sometimes,’ he began, and was annoyed to feel a twist of shame and futility at what he was about to say. ‘Sometimes it comes down to: No, I don’t care what anyone else thinks about my attractiveness or otherwise. Yes, I am attracted to people who aren’t female and also to people who are. No, my clothes don’t say anything about my sexual fantasies or practices, or my relationship style. They don’t imply that I’m open to being harassed or groped, or that I'm too weak to do anything about it. And no, I don’t think for a second that it’s just as well Matt’s blind, because, no, he wouldn’t have requested a room reallocation if he could see who he was living with…. Oh! I guess I’m going to have to change that one. No, I don’t think Matt’s only in a relationship with me because he can’t see what I look like. That’s gonna be a common one. I just know it.’

‘You know you could both keep living here if you wanted. It’s a long commute, but you managed it in undergrad.’

Foggy didn’t look up but he could tell his dad was upset, just from the sound of his voice. Matt probably was too, judging by the way he tightened his arms around Foggy’s middle.

‘It’s fine, Dad. Don’t worry. Some people are kinda crap, but they’re the minority by far. Honestly, most people don’t even look twice. I’m really not that interesting.’

‘You really are,’ Matt said, ‘but I know what you mean. Look, Ed, I hate hearing the kinds of things Foggy has to deal with as well. It’s awful and it’s unjust. But I’ve also heard him put people in their place or, far more often, change the way they think.’

He tugged Foggy around until he could cup his face in his hand and smooth a thumb along the curve of his cheek. He looked so damn thoughtful and sincere that Foggy was lost for words. ‘It’s true,’ Matt said, maybe taking the lack of response as denial instead of… just… gratitude and appreciation really. ‘You’re amazing at helping people find common ground, even when they don’t start out wanting to understand.’

And that was something Foggy would always be able to talk about, even with his voice soft and throat tight with emotion. ‘The way I see it, you can work to build connections or you can work to build a fort. Either way, you’re still working, and it’s exhausting sometimes, but at least with connections you’re not living on siege rations, muttering to ancestral tapestries, and wondering when the drawbridges are going to burn.’

That made Matt really smile: the big, brilliant one that creased the corners of his eyes. ‘I’m trying to imagine Stick incorporating an idea like that into my training,’ he said. ‘Or into his own life, really.’

‘It’s secret wisdom, shared only among members of the Sacred Order of the Buttercup,’ Foggy said.

‘Well, that explains everything,’ Matt said, and left it at that.

‘Look, just promise that you’ll remember, both of you, that you can come back here at any time for as long as you need. We can reorganise your room, put in a bigger bed, make things more manageable. I know, at your age, living at home isn’t ideal, but sometimes it’s more important to have support.’

‘Dad, I promise that we’ll come running any time we need to.’

It was something Foggy took for granted really, but he was glad for Matt to hear it.

It seemed far more likely that any trip away from campus this term would be to get some distance from whatever reaction would follow Matt’s revelations, after all.

Chapter Text

Initially, organising a meeting with Alvarez proved more difficult than Matt had anticipated, particularly since he wasn’t willing to provide admin with an explanation for the request.

When it became clear that he wasn’t going to make any progress through university channels, Foggy suggested they contact her through social media instead. That proved to be awkward, since Matt still had no intention of saying anything specific about his situation until they met in person, but she was only terse with him for a short time before deciding to accommodate his request.

Foggy, of course, insisted that this was further evidence that Alvarez was inclined to show Matt a degree of courtesy and positive regard that she may not extend to every student.

Foggy was absurd.

Fortunately, he could also be methodical, tenacious, and incisive. With the meeting confirmed for later the same week, the goal was to put all their available time into preparation. Unfortunately, Matt soon discovered that dissecting his situation dispassionately and treating it almost like a hypothetical was more difficult than he’d anticipated. Foggy never faltered. He was accepting of Matt’s struggle to get his mind fully engaged in the work, and responded by brainstorming wildly with Matt and then turning the jumbled substance of their ideas into carefully structured research plans and notes.

By the middle of the second day, Matt found himself soothed by the familiar routine. It was one that he and Foggy were equally passionate about.

By the time they were writing up concise summaries of their research, Matt was keenly aware how much he was looking forward to the new term. He loved the mental processes involved in this kind of work.

And that preparation was, at least in part, responsible for the fact that a few days later he was feeling calm as they approached Professor Alvarez’s office.

Foggy was not.

Matt could feel the tension where his hand rested lightly at Foggy’s elbow. In fact, the contact was as much a gesture of reassurance for Foggy as it was an aid for Matt in the familiar and uncommonly quiet building.

‘It’ll be alright, Fogs,’ Matt said, not for the first time.

‘Uh huh. I know.’

They continued in silence.

Foggy was almost never silent.

Matt pulled them to a stop when they reached the right corridor. ‘I’m glad you’re with me,’ he said, before giving Foggy a quick kiss, and then another.

Foggy took a deep breath and seemed to transform into the more usual version of himself: the one who was willing and able to talk to anyone about anything. ‘Alright. Let’s do this,’ he said.

‘Matthew,’ Alvarez said, upon opening her office door. ‘And Mr Nelson.’

‘Foggy, please,’ Foggy said.

‘Foggy.’

There was an edge of disapproval to the word, which Matt took as a sign that Professor Alvarez didn’t believe nicknames had any place in law.

‘Please, come in. I didn’t realise there’d be two of you. I’ll collect an extra chair from another office.’

Matt rested his hand against Foggy’s back while they waited. The office was familiar to him from multiple visits in the past. It was large enough to comfortably hold the wide desk and extensive shelving, but his overall impression was of clutter: not on the desk, that was almost always sparsely occupied with neat piles of books or papers and the computer to one side, but the shelving held more than books, and there were stacked baskets of journals and other documents piled in corners and on top of a wooden filing cabinet. It was a work space more than a consulting room.

After a brief and stilted interaction over the placement of the extra chair, they were seated.

Alvarez remained quiet.

Matt assumed she was waiting on him, expectant of an explanation for their meeting.

‘Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Professor,’ he began. ‘I apologise for being circumspect about the reason for my request.’

‘Continue.’

‘I’m not here to talk about course material, but it does relate to my place as a student at Columbia.’

‘Perhaps an academic adviser would be better placed to help you then.’

‘It’s not an academic issue.’

‘I see.’ Alvarez tapped her fingernails against the wooden desktop and shifted in her seat. The warm smell of leather intensified briefly. ‘I know I’ve made it clear to my students that I’m not here to give free legal advice, Matthew, and I’m certain you’re aware that we have counselling services and disability support services for non-academic issues, so I’m at a loss to understand what purpose this meeting is to serve.’

‘I’m hoping you’ll make an exception on the legal advice, once I provide some details.’

Alvarez was quiet again, though Matt could hear her running the pad of one finger slowly back and forth along the edge of her seat. ‘With most students I’d shut them down right there and send them on their way, but you’re not a frivolous person nor have I found you to be one who’s inclined to take liberties, so I’m not going to do that yet,’ she said, ‘however, I would like to know: what is Mr Nelson’s role here? Moral support? Witness?’

The question and her dry tone made Matt smile. ‘Foggy’s my partner, and he’s here because the choices I make affect him too. But more than that, I wouldn’t be doing this without his support. I rely on his insight as much as my own. He’s brilliant,’ Matt said, directing the last part more to Foggy than to Alvarez.

‘Mmm.’ It sounded flat, but Matt could hear the reluctant amusement in it. ‘Alright. Spell it out for me, Mr Murdock. What the hell are we doing here?’

‘I need advice about the range of potential repercussions in a relatively untested area of law,’ Matt said. He and Foggy had come up with that phrasing when it seemed they’d have to give Alvarez a reason for the meeting. It had been funny at the time. It felt less so now. ‘In our past interactions you’ve always seemed, well, amazing at pulling together plausible arguments that go beyond conventional interpretation, and it would be good to have someone with your skill and experience to help me work out... it’s not something… it’s not quite unheard of, but there doesn’t seem to be a clear-’

‘Matt, it’s alright. Just like we practised,’ Foggy said.

Matt was surprised by Foggy’s interruption, but then realised that he’d been getting stuck. It had happened when they’d been practising at home, too.

He took a moment to focus. The smell of leather and paper filled the space. Foggy was nearby. Alvarez was waiting, but she didn’t seem genuinely annoyed or hostile. Everything was fine.

‘Since the attack,’ he said, ‘there’s been some media attention given to the existence of what they’re calling enhanced individuals. The status of these people, under the law, is unclear.’

‘I’m aware,’ said Alvarez. ‘There’s been a lot of discussion in some of the circles I move in.’

‘Can I, uh, sorry to interrupt,’ Foggy said, ‘but could you maybe just clarify whether your side of that discussion bears any resemblance to a lock them up and throw away the key position?’ 

‘Foggy,’ Matt said, but Alvarez laughed.

‘No, it does not, Mr Nelson. I believe I’ve established myself to be staunchly in the camp of innocent until proven guilty, and to be clear, for example, being black or Latine is not proof of guilt. Nor, I would argue, is being enhanced. So why don’t we get to the point. Matthew?’

‘I’m enhanced,’ Matt said, needing finally to get the words out. ‘The chemicals that blinded me altered my other senses. A lot of my behaviour in public is faked to make people believe that I’m just like anyone else who’s blind. I don’t want to keep up that charade. I’m looking for advice on what might follow if I stop pretending.’

‘She looks surprised, buddy, but not horrified or disturbed,’ Foggy said, voice soft, when the pause without a response stretched on.

‘I am surprised, even though I’d assumed, based upon Mr Nelson’s question, that the conversation was headed in this direction. I think I know you well enough, Matthew, to trust that you’re not talking about slightly better than average hearing.’

‘No. I’m not.’

‘Really, really not,’ Foggy added, though quietly enough that he was possibly talking to himself.

‘Alright.’ Alvarez tapped her nails against the desk again, a few short bursts of bright sound in the muffled space. ‘I want you to stop for a second and consider your position. If you tell me anything that indicates you’ve gained academic advantage through these enhancements I will have no hesitation to act upon that information as I’m required to.’

‘I haven’t. I can’t see. The disability accommodations Columbia provides are completely necessary. In that regard I’m no different to any other student who’s blind, and I’ve never used my other abilities to gain advantage in any way.’

‘His grades are high because he’s brilliant and he works harder than anyone else I know!’

‘It’s alright, Fog. She had to ask. It’s a fair question.’

Foggy shifted in his seat. ‘Of course. Sorry, Professor.’

Matt thought she gave a slight nod in Foggy’s direction.

‘Alright. Since your grades are consistent with my observation of your intelligence and commitment, I’ll take your word on that. Be advised, depending on the particulars of your abilities, administration may not be willing or indeed able to extend the same faith.’

‘I assume not.’

Matt wasn’t sure where to go from there. He tried to recall the list of points they’d made in preparation, but came up blank. The information was lost beneath the realisation that he was actually doing this.

Foggy cleared his throat. ‘As we see it,’ he said, ‘there are issues specific to Matt’s presence here at Columbia. You’ve raised the need to protect academic integrity, but there may also be challenges relating to Matt’s residence on campus and his ongoing access to necessary disability supports. Beyond Columbia, there are broader issues that may have an impact on Matt’s future with regard to general protection of his rights and freedom under the law. And then there’s the stuff I’d like to think belongs in truly disturbing fiction, but who knows? Matt’s abilities are… well, they’d be useful to people with nefarious intent, and in that category I’m including governments as well as back alley villains and evil scientists. We don’t really know how to assess that risk, or what might be done to mitigate it.

‘We’ve compiled lists of all the potentially relevant statutes, ordinances, and university regulations we could find, and cross-referenced them with a list of the issues we envisage might arise from Matt’s intended transparency about his enhanced abilities. But, well, we have one year of legal training, and this isn’t an established area of law. We’re groping in the dark here, honestly.’

‘You might be. Personally, I find it doesn’t pose any particular challenge,’ Matt said.

‘Oh, good. You’re back.’ Foggy made it sound light, but he was obviously relieved.

It was a valid observation. Matt hadn’t been aware of drifting, but a large part of his attention had stalled while Foggy took the lead. The instinct for repartee had dragged Matt out of his daze.

Alvarez ignored their exchange. ‘May I have a copy of these lists?’

Foggy didn’t reach for the satchel that was by his side. ‘Matt?’

The legal research wasn’t an issue, but they were also talking about a written account of Matt’s abilities and the negative implications people might ascribe to them. They’d made sure no identifying information was included, other than being blind, obviously. They’d even printed the document, to avoid having to send an electronic copy that could be tracked back to Matt. It had felt absurdly over-cautious at the time, but Foggy had wanted to be prepared for the event of Alvarez reacting poorly.

‘You’re hesitant, Matthew, and I think you’re right to be. Even though I do practice law outside of my role here at Columbia, I can’t offer to make you a client for the sake of privileged information. It would be a conflict of interest, given our respective connections to the university.’

‘You have tenure here don’t you, Professor?’ Matt asked.

‘Yes, and I take my professional commitments seriously, including the fact that all records pertaining to students are university property.’

‘So what course of action would you recommend? What would you do in my position?’

‘That depends,’ she said. ‘Why are you doing this? What’s at stake?’

‘Freedom,’ Foggy said, when Matt failed to answer. ‘Gained, rather than lost, is the part we’re trying to ensure.’

It was a fair summary.

‘Alright,’ Alvarez declared. ‘I’m going to need coffee. Can I get either of you anything? There’s a decent machine in the staff lounge.’

‘I’d really love a coffee, thank you, Professor,’ Foggy said. ‘Should I come and give you a hand?’

‘No, thank you… Foggy,’ she said, and the slight discomfort at the name caught Matt’s attention again. ‘I need a moment to think, even more than I need the caffeine.’

‘It’s a lot to take in,’ Foggy said. ‘We live in peculiar times.’

‘Indeed, we do,’ Alvarez agreed. ‘Can I get you anything, Matthew?’

‘Oh, ah, black coffee would be good, thank you, Professor.’

Once she’d confirmed Foggy’s coffee preferences, Alvarez left the room. Matt could detect the kitchen facilities down the hall, and wondered if he should focus his attention on checking whether she spoke to anyone about him while she was out of the room. It was a paranoid idea, and exactly the kind of behaviour he was likely to be accused of in the future.

‘Are you having second thoughts?’ Foggy asked.

‘No. It just feels bigger than I thought it would.’

‘In my own less super-powery way, I know what that feels like. Listen, this isn’t a one-time, all or nothing proposition, Matt. If it doesn’t feel right you don’t have to do this now.’

‘I know, and thank you for the reminder. But I just… I want this. Is that stupid? There are so many reasons why I shouldn’t be giving anyone this information, but I want this.’

‘It’s not stupid, Matt. It’s amazing. You’re amazing. And, for what it’s worth, I think coming here was the right choice. Like I’ve said, there are benefits to having someone inside the institution who’ll listen to what you have to say, someone who’ll hopefully be an intermediary when you come up against those who want to think the worst.’

Matt reached out a hand, and relaxed a little once Foggy held it in his own.

When Alvarez returned, she put the tray with their coffees on the desk and then perched on the corner and picked up her cup. It placed her quite close to Foggy, and Matt was distantly amused to hear him shuffling in his seat.

Perhaps Alvarez noticed something as well, because there was a more human note in her voice when she spoke. ‘First question: will either of you be taking any of the subjects I’m teaching this term?’

After a little back and forth, they determined that they weren’t.

‘Good. We may need to work something out for future terms, depending on your response to what I have to say, but for now, at least, it won’t be an issue.’ She sipped her coffee, which reminded Matt to reach for his own. It was too hot, but he took a small sip while he waited for what was to come.

Something non-verbal passed between Alvarez and Foggy, but Matt couldn’t decipher it and Foggy didn’t explain.

‘So, let’s address our immediate dilemma,’ Alvarez said, and there was a pause as she returned to the leather seat behind her desk. ‘I can’t know what my responsibilities to this institution might dictate in relation to this situation without knowing the specifics of your abilities, shall we say. And you can’t know whether to trust me with that information until you know that I’m going to act in your best interests. That could create something of an impasse.

‘But I’ll be frank. This is bigger than Columbia, and bigger than your individual circumstance, Matthew. As we’re all aware, the reality of enhanced individuals has been brought to public attention in the most spectacular way possible.

‘This isn’t even a national issue. The whole world is aware of what happened here last month. As a result, the myriad legal questions relating to people such as yourself are becoming a hot topic in certain circles. Not all of those circles are kindly disposed, but public sentiment is positive. To put it in simple terms, it would be politically difficult to act against Captain America so soon after he was instrumental in fighting off an alien attack. Mr Rogers is further protected, of course, by the fact that his enhancements were the intentional result of a government sanctioned military program, but it’s far from unheard of for politicians and governments to deny protection and remediation to citizens affected by the policies and actions of their predecessors.

‘So,’ Alvarez slapped both hands down on the surface of the desk. ‘Now is the best time to establish protocols and precedent in favour of protecting the rights of people such as yourself, Mr Murdock.

‘Here’s what I’m thinking: Columbia University, like all large institutions, has its issues, but it also values and indeed capitalises on its reputation for integrity and diversity. I believe I can present your situation as an opportunity for the university to be at the forefront in modelling appropriate institutional responses to this emerging area of diversity law. Their alternative would be to risk becoming the losing party in a test case in which the recently resurrected Steve Rogers may be called to testify on your behalf, after all. That would be an outcome rather counter to their preferred reputation but, in any case, I don’t believe it would come to that. You’re an outstanding student and your presence, in the current climate, could bring considerable prestige to the university if they handle this well. Of course, if they’re reluctant, the suggestion that Yale or Harvard would be glad to offer you their support should be enough to get them to reconsider.’

‘Matt?’ There was a sharp edge of fear in Foggy’s voice. ‘That sounds like a lot of pressure and attention.’

Matt put his coffee down and turned towards Foggy. ‘It does,’ he agreed, ‘but it was always going to be difficult if I took this path. I knew that, Fog. It couldn’t possibly not be. And Professor Alvarez is right. Now is the best time to do this. Can you give her the lists, please? Or, well, the one that deals with my specific abilities, anyway.’

‘I’d like to see your research, as well, if I may.’

While Foggy dug around in his satchel, she continued.

‘I asked if I would be teaching either of you this term because I have a proposition that might be questionable if I were responsible for allocating your grades. I’d like to get together a small, informal team to work on creating submissions and potential responses to legal challenges that might arise for people in Matthew’s position. In emerging areas of law it’s best to be well prepared, particularly when conservatism is the status quo. I’d very much like you both to be part of that team. An alternative would be to formally appoint you as my research assistants, but that would impose restrictions to your participation, as set down by the institution.

‘I realise you’re relatively untrained and inexperienced in law, but I’m also aware that you’re both among the highest ranking students in your year. You’re clearly organised and motivated. You didn’t come here empty handed, expecting me to think for you. And, of course, Matthew’s personal perspective would be invaluable.’

‘It’s more than invaluable. You need him. Otherwise you’ve got no standing.’ Foggy was clearly agitated, but Alvarez didn’t seem offended.

‘That’s true. Hypotheticals can only carry an argument so far.’

‘You asked what my motivation is, Professor,’ Matt said. ‘May I ask about yours?’

‘Of course.’ She took another sip of coffee, then placed her cup to the side. ‘Alright. But first: if there’s to be a chance of us trusting each other and working together, you may call me Gina, outside of public spaces on campus, I suppose, to avoid the presumption of preferential treatment.’

Matt was struck by a brief recollection of the first time he’d heard some of the sisters at St Agnes’s chatting over coffee late at night: an unexpected informality, or so it had seemed to him all those years ago. He’d long since understood that people were quick to drop formalities unless they were holding on to them for reasons of custom, status, or intimidation. People were just people, under all their facades.

‘Thank you, Gina,’ he said. ‘I’m sure you’re aware that most people call me Matt, but I’m fine with Matthew if you prefer.’

‘Thank you for indulging me, Matthew. I have a brother called Matteo, so I have a fondness for the name.’

There was a pause, which may have been an awkward one. It could be difficult to tell, at times, whether a person was waiting for a response or just collecting their thoughts.

Matt wasn’t sure what to say, so he waited.

It didn’t take long for Gina to continue.

‘Now, you asked about my motivation, but I think it’s best if I begin with some personal background. I work at Columbia for a variety of reasons. I enjoy research. I even enjoy teaching, depending on the year’s student cohort, but my job also provides a decent salary. My partner works in immigration law, which is not the most lucrative field if one wishes to represent the people who need it most. So it’s a trade off. I don’t get to teach the things I’m most passionate about, here, but I can support her in her practice. Most of my personal circle is comprised of people who work in fields that deal with marginalisation and oppression in one form or another. It’s probably no surprise to either of you that there’s a marked tendency towards altruism among people in those fields, myself included, but we also tend to be rather driven when it comes to championing a cause. It’s a strength that can also be a flaw.

‘Which means you’re right, Foggy, to be concerned that Matthew’s situation could be exploited to gain a foothold in an emerging area of law, with little regard for his personal wellbeing. It would be to Matthew’s advantage to have you remain vigilant.’ Another tap of fingernails against wood. ‘I won’t pretend that I’m not excited to be presented with an opportunity to become involved. But, for what it’s worth, given that you don’t actually know me, I assure you that my enthusiasm doesn’t preclude me from having Matthew’s welfare as a fundamental goal. Quite the opposite.

‘What I’m suggesting is a mutually beneficial collaboration. I’m willing to use my expertise, my professional standing, and my position here at Columbia to try to ensure a positive response to Matthew’s particular circumstance. I’d also like to use this situation to advocate more broadly for the rights and protection of enhanced individuals across the board. If there is one person in Matthew’s position, it’s a certainty that there are others, though their particulars will differ, of course. What Matthew would provide is not just standing, as you rightly pointed out, Foggy, but also the necessary insight to guide the work we’d do together, and also, quite possibly, hours upon hours of the kind of detail-oriented research that tends to be foolishly dismissed as grunt work.

‘Human rights law is a vast arena, and there are many ways in which either or both of you could be involved. I know people who would mentor you in the field, should you find it to your liking. Or you may choose to limit your involvement to the specifics of Matthew’s individual situation, which would be an understandable allocation of your available focus and energy given the circumstances.

‘But this is a lot to consider, and you needn’t decide anything now.

‘In fact, unless you have questions for me, why don’t you take a stroll and think about it while I read what you’ve put together?’ Alvarez tapped a finger, presumably against the documents Foggy had placed on the desk since the sound was dull instead of sharp. ‘You could come back at, say, two o’clock?’

Matt sat in silence for a few seconds, taking the time to register everything he’d just heard.

When he realised that they’d been politely dismissed, he stood up. ‘Of course, Professor,’ he said.

‘Would you like us to take the cups to the kitchen?’ Foggy asked. ‘Or are we not supposed to go in there?’

‘You’re not, but there aren’t many of us around at the moment. Thank you. It’s a short way down the hall, on the right.’

Chapter Text

The air outside was heavy with humidity, but it was such a relief to be out of the office and alone with Matt. Foggy’s mind kept flipping between inanities along the lines of what the hell just happened and that could have gone worse, but he was also sharply aware that those thoughts were just patches hastily slapped down across the treacherous chasm they were hovering over.

Despite how much he’d wanted Matt to make this choice, it was now irrefutably undeniable just how much Foggy hadn’t understood what he was advocating. Even their days of research hadn’t shattered his utterly credulous assumption that everything would be fine because Matt wanted this and everyone should be able to be themselves.

In Foggy’s mind, that had been the bottom line. End of Story. There would be costs, sure, but he hadn’t believed for a single second that they might be higher than the gains.

Now… well… he wasn’t so sure.

Foggy fretted and possibly imploded a little while Matt walked quietly by his side.

They were almost at the stairwell to their residence, an empty room for which they no longer had a key, before Foggy realised what they were doing.

Matt was yet to notice, and that was all the impetus Foggy needed to put his own concerns aside so he could check in with the person whose whole life was actually hanging in the balance.

‘We’re like homing pigeons who’ve lost access to our loft,’ he said, a little forlornly, ‘which is regrettable because I could really use that kind of familiarity right now. What about you? We’ve got about forty-five minutes. How do you want to spend them?’

‘I don’t know,’ Matt said. ‘I don’t want to sit.’

Foggy didn’t ask why he’d been walking towards their dorm room. It was hardly the point. And besides…. ‘I have just the thing,’ he announced, barely able to contain his glee.

‘You’re not serious.’

‘Matt, buddy, I am the most serious. Have you ever known me to take this kind of thing unseriously?’

Matt smiled a little and shook his head. ‘I’m not going to do this,’ he said, with calm certainty and also zero percent credibility due to an extensive history of being easily swayed by any kind of physical challenge.

‘That’s fine,’ Foggy said. ‘You stay on the ground. I’ll just take my time hefting my way up to the seat of victory. No need for you to feel bad about not being up to the challenge.’

‘Foggy, we can’t do this,’ Matt tried.

‘You can’t do this, apparently. I have no qualms and all the skills.’

‘Fine, I can’t do this. It’s too hot, I’m not dressed for it, and I can’t climb a tree in the middle of campus!’

‘Wow, that’s a lot of excuses right there, buddy. Why don’t you keep working on the list while I mosey on up to the top of this lovely old elm.’

Matt still seemed hesitant, which made Foggy wonder if tree climbing was, in fact, something he couldn’t do. They’d never talked about it specifically, but Foggy had assumed Matt would be able to feel out the general structure through vibrations and air flow and so on. Smaller twigs might be an issue, but his glasses would protect his eyes.

Maybe Foggy had gotten it wrong.

Damn. This wasn’t an ideal time to confront Matt with a challenge he couldn’t overcome.

‘I know what you’re trying to do,’ Matt said. ‘It’s that thing where you think I’m like a dog who needs to run: too much pent up energy or whatever.’

‘Actually, no, although I’ll concede that I may have given you cause to suspect that motivation due to perfectly valid observations I’ve made in the past. This time, however, I’m just trying to help us both remember that the crazy-terrifying storm we’re apparently about to sail into has something really simple and good at its heart.’

‘Fog.’ It was a request, rather than the start of a statement, or maybe it was a statement in itself.

Foggy crossed the small space between them and pulled Matt close. The experience was different from the many other times Foggy had hugged Matt. It was the first time they’d been on campus as a couple, and that felt significant in unexpected ways.

Foggy hadn’t realised there was such a split between his campus-self and his home-self. Campus-dwelling-law-student Foggy maybe hadn’t quite caught on to the awesome fact that he and Matt were a thing.

For a moment, those terrible, difficult conversations with Siobhan didn’t seem that long ago, and he had the uncomfortable thought that jealous-grabby-needy-Foggy had somehow won. But it wasn’t like that. In fact, it was inconceivable how much had changed since then.

Matt shifted a little, pressing his hands flat against Foggy’s back. He took a deep breath that Foggy felt through his own chest.

It was a good feeling, the two of them wrapped together so tightly. It brought Foggy back to his intent in bringing them here. Because, truthfully, that meeting had scared the hell out of him. It had made him feel protective of Matt, sure, but it had also tripped all kinds of alarms in his own world, because this was exactly the kind of thing he didn’t want for himself. It was possibly an arsehole thing to be feeling, but denying it wouldn’t make it go away. And it wasn’t as if ninety percent of his concern wasn’t directed towards Matt. He was allowed ten percent for himself.

The thing was, he hadn’t been anything less than entirely serious when he’d told Matt that he didn’t want to specialise in the law of marginalised identities. Alvarez’s people were no doubt awesome and necessary, but Foggy had felt, for a long time, that letting identity politics become central in all aspects of his life would lead him no place good. Why he felt that way and what it meant exactly, he wasn’t sure. But here they were. Matt couldn’t afford to stand back and trust that other people would do what needed to be done on his behalf. There weren’t enough people with personal experience of his situation, and it couldn’t be left in the hands of-

‘I haven’t climbed a tree since I was about nine years old,’ Matt said. He’d pulled his face away from Foggy’s neck just enough to make himself heard. The words were a little raw, a little timid.

Right.

Good things.

Simple, everyday, good things.

That was what they were here for.

The rest of it wasn’t going anywhere. It could wait.

Foggy rubbed a hand firmly over Matt’s back. ‘And do you plan to remedy that deplorable state of affairs?’

Matt gave a parting squeeze, then stepped back a little. ‘Can we not race?’

‘Of course,’ Foggy said. ‘Come climbing with me, buddy. I’ve been eyeing this tree forever. It’s perfect.’

Matt smiled, a little tentatively, but it counted.

Swinging up onto the lowest branch was always the hardest part, in Foggy’s extensive tree climbing experience. Trees in public places were always pruned to be easy to walk under, after all. Fortunately, Matt had no difficulty boosting Foggy into place then pulling himself up alongside. They stayed there for a while, straddling the wide branch and running their fingers over the rough bark.

‘This is nice,’ Matt said. He stood up and walked along the branch until he could place a hand flat against the trunk. After that, he became absorbed in his own world, head tilted towards the canopy of rustling leaves and scritching branches. It wasn’t the first time Foggy had felt a gentle, wistful delight just imagining what this part of Matt’s world might be like.

When Matt looked like he’d come back from whatever place he’d gone to in his mind, somewhere vaguely fey, if appearances were anything to go by, Foggy manoeuvred himself to his feet and shuffled along the branch.

Together, they squirmed and huffed and wriggled upward. Or, well, Foggy did it that way while Matt kind of swung and pulled and leaped, and sometimes lifted Foggy along behind.

It was unexpectedly lovely, climbing together. Previously, their physical games had almost exclusively been competitive and absurd. This was peaceful and soft somehow, even with the exertion and the scratchy bark.

It didn’t take them long to reach the spot that would be the immediate goal of anyone who looked at this tree with climbing in mind. It was a lazy, open configuration of trunk and branches, with enough flattish space to stretch out on. Foggy let Matt take the more comfortable spot and they rested there, backs pressed against the trunk, legs sprawled. Their position left them near enough to talk, but mostly they were quiet. There was too much to say and nothing that needed saying.

Even after they returned to the ground, they didn’t speak much about the proposition Alvarez had made, other than to agree that her plan to get Columbia on side was a good one. They’d both imagined a much more piecemeal process, a case of putting out fires as they arose. Obviously, an extensive preemptive approach was much smarter. Fires would no doubt still arise, but there’d be less scrambling to find a bucket.

As for the rest of it, well, it was more than either of them were ready to process. It seemed unreal and distant, compared to the gut wrenching immediacy of trying to get the entirety of Columbia University’s administration on Matt’s side.

Chapter Text

Once they were back inside Alvarez’s office, Foggy shuffled his seat much closer to Matt’s. It turned their previous equilateral arrangement into something much more pointed, but Foggy quickly shelved any discomfort about that.

He knew this next part was going to be harder for Matt. Creating the document that recorded Matt’s abilities and their implications had been painful, even in the safety of their shared room. Handing it over to Alvarez must have been terrifying.

‘Matthew, Foggy, this is impressive work,’ Alvarez began. 

‘Thank you,’ Matt said.

‘It’s quite comprehensive. I’ve made some annotations you’ll want to look over, but it’s a solid start.’

‘I’m sorry, Professor, but this isn’t a term paper we’re talking about. It’s Matt’s life,’ Foggy said. He knew he should keep his reaction to himself, but Matt was sitting right there looking attentive and polite. It felt wrong. The faith Matt was putting in this woman deserved something more from her in return.

‘You’re right, Mr Nelson. Of course.’

Alvarez paused, eyes down and glossy red nails tapping against the desk, then breathed out slowly in that pursed-lips way that, for Foggy, at least, was all about reassessing and starting over.

‘I’m sorry, Matthew. I was trying to be nonchalant and professional, but I see that was a mistake.’ Her gaze flitted to Foggy and then back to Matt with the most natural, truly human expression Foggy had ever seen on her face.

Finally, something Foggy could relate to! It was the look of someone utterly intrigued and probably a little awed.

Matt got that poised-but-good-naturedly-baffled look that meant he knew he was the focus of some kind of positive attention but couldn’t work out why. It was charming as hell, but also a reminder that the absence of visual cues could be disconcerting for him.

‘It’s the superpowers, buddy,’ Foggy said. ‘We’re both staring in wonder because of the superpowers.’

The poise disappeared and Matt groaned. ‘They’re not superpowers, Fog. We’ve been over this. Multiple times.’

‘We have, and I won. Clark Kent has x-ray vision: superpower. You have x-ray adjacent vibration sensors and sound receptors and the like: superpowers.’

‘I’m sorry, Professor,’ Matt said. ‘Foggy can get a bit carried away about-’

‘Don’t apologise for my behaviour,’ Foggy cut in, a little sharp.

He regretted the response even as it slipped out, but this was a trigger. By the end of his relationship with Deb, she’d been prone to apologising for Foggy’s socially awkward tendencies. He’d put up with that for way too long, had even begun to believe her, but he was done with all of that. He didn’t need to apologise for being himself, and he certainly wouldn’t let anyone else do it on his behalf.

Not even Matt.

‘I’m sorry,’ Matt said. ‘I didn’t mean…. I was just uncomfortable.’

‘Yeah, no, I get that. I shouldn’t have pushed it. But don’t do that, alright?’ Foggy said, much more softly.

Matt turned his full attention towards Foggy. After a moment, he nodded and gave a sad looking smile.

Foggy reached out for his hand, and Matt immediately reached back.

‘How long have you been together?’

Foggy pulled his attention away from Matt. ‘Uh, about a month, or, no, closer to two, I think.’

‘We’ve lived together for almost a year,’ Matt said, and managed to imbue such simple words with the weight of everything they’d become to each other.

‘I see. Then I need you to be aware that the path I’m suggesting will be difficult,’ Alvarez said. ‘This kind of thing takes a toll on relationships, as well as on individuals. Do you have supportive people around you?’

‘We do. Foggy’s family is great. They know about everything, and they’ve made it clear that they want to help in any way they can.’

‘It’s not my preferred option,’ Foggy added, ‘but we can live there if we need to during term. They’re in Queens though, so it would be a hassle.’

‘It’s good that you have a backup plan. We don’t have much time to get Columbia on board before term starts. We might need to be flexible in our expectations, as a show of good will.’

‘So, where do we start?’ Matt asked, shaking off his softer mood and letting go of Foggy’s hand.

‘Step one is putting together a submission to present to Columbia, outlining your situation and inviting them to take a proactive role in working with us to formulate a strategic response.

‘They’re going to want some parameters from which to construct an understanding of enhanced. Given that there’s no established legal definition or metric for assessment, we’ll have to work with them to hash out some kind of frame of reference. I hope to convince them that the outcome of that process will be of broader public interest, and will thus reflect on the university’s reputation, for better or worse. They need to understand that, for you, Matthew, this is a life-altering choice. Once this information is on record, there’s no turning back. It has to be handled carefully, and there must be protections in place, as always, with regards to access and storage of personal medical records.’

Matt nodded stiffly.

‘Would you do this… Gina? If it were you,’ Foggy asked. He felt impossibly young all of a sudden, the world larger and more complicated than he’d imagined.

‘I’m not sure,’ she said, which was definitely the right answer as far as Foggy was concerned. ‘Many people think they want the spotlight, but few manage to live comfortably under it when they get it. I think what most people want is a normal life, whatever that means for them. I presume that’s why you’ve stayed hidden despite the significant restrictions it’s imposed upon you, Matthew?’

Yes, Foggy expected him to say. Absolutely. This entire proposition is uncertain and carries the threat of being scienced in a lab or whatever, so, unequivocally: yes. That is the one and only reason for secrecy: the desire for a normal life.

Instead, Matt hesitated.

‘It’s definitely part of the reason, a substantial one, but there are other factors.’

‘Matt?’ Foggy held back from saying any more than that. They’d talked about how much of Matt’s background and training to include, and had decided the safest option was none.

Apparently, Matt had done a one-eighty since that conversation.

There was a flicker of recognition that he’d heard Foggy, but his attention was trained on Alvarez.

‘There are some things you should know, Gina, before we continue. I hadn’t envisaged action of the magnitude you’re proposing, but now I can’t move forward in good faith without you having full knowledge of my situation. There are… aspects of my background that make me less than ideal as a representative case. I don’t share this information lightly, and I hope you’ll be discreet in what you do with it.’

‘I can’t guarantee confidentiality without knowing what I’m about to hear, but I have no intention or desire to use any part of this situation to negatively impact your safety or future prospects, Matthew. I have enormous respect for you, and high hopes for your future.’

‘Thank you,’ Matt said, possibly too caught up in his own thoughts to even notice the compliment. ‘The, ah, the public narrative relating to Steve Rogers, and even Bruce Banner, is understandably positive overall, which it should be after everything they’ve done. And, obviously, I’m no hero, but it’s more than that. It would be easy for someone with a conservative agenda to present me as unstable and potentially dangerous. What I’m saying, I suppose, is that I would hesitate to put me on the stand.

‘My father was a professional boxer, not big time, but he was known well enough in parts around here. He was murdered because he got involved in throwing fights, upset some dangerous people. I’m not sure if anyone could dig up that information, but I’m not sure they couldn’t either. And, besides, proof doesn’t matter if the media says you have mob connections.

‘You were young, Matt,’ Foggy insisted, even though they’d had this conversation before. ‘There’s no way anyone could suggest you had any part in that. You didn’t even understand what was going on.’

‘I knew he got paid a whole lot of money when he lost. That money paid for my rent and food.’ Matt looked like he wanted to continue to argue the point, but then he pulled himself up, literally straightening in his chair. ‘I’m not saying I was responsible for his actions, I’m saying that the information could be used as part of a strategy to create public fear of people like me. You know how smear campaigns work, Fog.’

‘I do. And I hate it, but you’re right.’

‘May I make some notes, Matthew? I won’t include identifying information at this stage.’

‘Alright.’

Matt sat quietly and waited.

After a brief flurry of writing, Alvarez returned her attention to him. ‘And is that why you’ve been reluctant to draw attention? Fear of repercussions from the past, and the risk of public scrutiny?’

Matt laughed. It was a brief burst of uncomfortable sound. ‘No. I was starting with the easy bit: sins of the father, and all.’

He made no sign of continuing beyond that, just sat in silence, head tilted slightly down.

Alvarez gave no indication of impatience. She didn’t fidget or turn to her notes. She waited.

Foggy had a lot of respect for that strategy, but after a few minutes he knew they were approaching the outer limit of useful waiting.

‘Matt?’ he prompted, then changed direction when the response was almost nonexistent. ‘Would it be easier, maybe, if I outlined the situation? I’d do it neutrally, I swear, and you could correct me if I got anything wrong.’

Matt didn’t look like he was listening, but there was only a slight delay before he nodded.

Foggy took Matt’s hand and twined their fingers together. Then he allowed himself a long moment to gather his thoughts. He needed to do this right.

‘I don’t know that this will be an issue in dealing with Columbia’, he began, ‘but, looking beyond that, Matt’s right. If anyone had an agenda to discredit people like him….’

Foggy could feel the anger underlying that thought.

It wasn’t helpful in this context.

He took a deep breath and breathed the tension out.

Different approach. Nothing but the facts.

‘Matt was blinded when he was nine. He was placed in an orphanage just over a year later, when his father died. The physiological impact of the chemical he was exposed to when he lost his sight was gradual. It eventually caused overwhelming sensory processing issues. In their attempt to… help Matt deal with the difficulties he was having, the orphanage eventually engaged a man who seems to have presented himself as something akin to an occupational therapist. He wasn’t. He possibly… actually, I’m going to go with probably… had ties to a cult. It seems he was somehow aware of Matt’s abilities, and sought out an avenue to….’

Foggy made himself stop. Made himself focus on the purpose of this conversation, and the fact that Matt was relying on him to speak on his behalf.

‘Over a period of about twelve months he taught Matt many things, and Matt learned not just to cope with the impact of his enhanced senses but to use them in incredible ways. Unfortunately, the man also attempted to groom Matt to accept the mentality of the cult. His agenda appears to have been to train Matt as a soldier for what he described as an upcoming war. As a result, Matt has extensive, and I can’t overstate how extensive, skill in hand-to-hand combat in ways that were designed to take advantage of his sensory enhancements. His training didn’t progress to the point where he was pressured into any significant illegal activity, and doesn’t seem to have involved some of the more brutal psychological manipulations that child soldiers are often exposed to, but it left its mark in a lot of ways.

‘Matt has kept his abilities secret primarily because he was trained to. He’s been working on reevaluating those experiences and his choices, but, yeah, it would be possible to question the risk posed by someone with his combat training, enhanced abilities, and… well… complicated background.’

Alvarez studied Matt, who was clinging tightly to Foggy’s hand but was also clearly far away, and then turned her attention back to Foggy. ‘Matthew was nine, you say, when he was exposed to the chemicals that caused these physiological changes. He would have spent time in hospital as a result.’

Foggy nodded, even though it wasn’t a question.

‘So, what I’m hearing is that there were actionable failures, first within the medical system and later in the provision of state care for a minor, to recognise an admittedly unanticipated but nevertheless noticeable cluster of physical symptoms resulting from a traumatic injury. Had an appropriate response occurred at either point, Matthew would have been spared-’ Alvarez stopped abruptly and looked at Matt. After a considered pause, she redirected. ‘It’s probable that earlier evidence based interventions would have been possible if the kind of awareness and policies we’ll be advocating for were already in place.

‘A first hand account of the need to protect children in Matthew’s situation does not run counter to our goals, but I agree that the information could be used in damaging ways if it came to light as a hidden past. It’s a question of controlling the narrative, getting ahead of any possible negative imputations.’

Matt didn’t respond, so Foggy spoke for him. ‘He’s not going to want you to use this information to sell the narrative of a damaged child who could have been saved from further harm. That’s not how he understands his experience. You can’t reframe everything he’s been holding onto for over a decade and expect him to agree.’ Foggy sighed. ‘It doesn’t work like that. I wish it did, but the truth is way more complicated.’

‘Real life is always complicated,’ Alvarez said. ‘Nevertheless, when it comes to the domain of law, our role is to present the simplest, most defensible truth that supports our argument. Complexity muddies the water. I hope you’ll help Matthew accept that reality, both intellectually and emotionally.’

She softened then, and Foggy wondered if it was sincere or just her demeanour for comforting clients. ‘I imagine this all seems overwhelming and endless for you. If it helps, I’m confident that we have a good chance of an outcome that will protect Matthew’s freedom and his future.’

Foggy nodded again, more a reflex to acknowledge her words than an indication of agreement or hope. ‘I pushed for this, you know. He didn’t want any of it, wanted to keep things under cover, but I pushed. Maybe I shouldn’t-’

‘I don’t know Matthew as well as you do, clearly, but even before today I had no doubt about his strength of mind and independence of thought. I can see that you matter very much to him, but I don’t think Matthew would be here if he didn’t believe it was a viable option. He understands what’s at stake far more than either of us can.’

Foggy was listening, and the words actually brought some relief, but it was uncomfortable to be talking about Matt when he was sitting right there.

He pulled his attention away from Alvarez and turned to Matt. ‘Are you with us, buddy?’ Their entwined hands were damp with sweat, but Foggy increased his grip.

Matt shook his head minutely, like he was unsettling an insect, and was back with them as though he’d never left. ‘Making that information public, in any form, may have repercussions for people other than me. I need time to think about that, and, if we do go ahead, to speak with the staff at St Agnes’s. They couldn’t have known what I was experiencing as a result of the accident, and I won’t have them blamed for making use of the best help they could find. I wouldn’t be here if they hadn’t acted as they did.’

‘Alright. Well, we certainly don’t have to lead with those specifics in our approach to Columbia. It will suffice to say that you come from a complex background which reflects the issues inherent in a lack of awareness and recognition of your enhanced status. At the very least, nothing more than that will be included until we have a sense of the direction their response is likely to take.’

Alvarez glanced down at her brief notes, although Foggy suspected she was thinking of everything she’d not yet been able to add. ‘I realise there’s a lot for you to consider, but we need to make a start on presenting this to Columbia if you want to see anything put in place for the upcoming term. They’re not going to appreciate the short notice, but I believe they’ll be willing to consider that an alien attack and subsequent rapid change in public perception are reasonable grounds for the timing of your shift in position. Even so, I’d like to hear back from you tomorrow so we can get things moving. We’ll arrange to meet in a few days to go over the details of my proposal for the university, and to work on a strategy for moving forward. I’d like to have something to present by the start of next week.’

And that was it.

There were pleasantries and reassurances exchanged, along with contact details and a commitment by Alvarez not to share Matt’s information with anyone until a decision was given the next day. Matt was polite, expressed gratitude, gave assurances that he understood the tight timeline they would be working to.

Then they were outside, in the muggy air.

Matt didn’t take Foggy’s arm. Instead, he unfolded his cane and walked towards the place where they’d parked the bike. It was the first time Foggy had seen him approach it without any enthusiasm for the upcoming ride.

There was an automated quality to his movements, something flat in his expression. His hand brushed perfunctorily at his cheek, and Foggy realised he was swiping at tears.

‘We don’t have to ride home straight away if you’re not up for it,’ he said.

‘I want to be home.’

That made sense. Foggy knew all about holding in his emotions until he could get to a safe space to let go.

He wouldn’t push for Matt to acknowledge that he wasn’t doing so great.

Chapter Text

Foggy took the trip home as steadily as he could, shifting slowly up and down through the gears and cornering far more sedately than both of them usually preferred. Matt’s grip around his middle wasn’t tight but it was rigid.

When they got to the apartment, Foggy took Matt’s helmet along with his own and dumped them in a corner to deal with later. His only goal was to get Matt somewhere he felt safe enough to decompress.

The thought of tea arose and was summarily dismissed as a product of parental conditioning.

Foggy was still debating the best destination when Matt took the lead, heading straight for the living room.

Matt entered the room quickly, but then pulled up short. ‘Ed,’ he said, with an almost childlike uncertainty.

Foggy hadn’t realised it was late enough for his dad to be home. The day had been long and exhausting, as well as shockingly sobering and simultaneously unreal.

Matt stood in the middle of the room, looking lost, for the length of time it took for Foggy’s dad to get to his feet and hold out his arms. Then Matt was across the room and collapsing into a hug. Almost immediately, he made the most desperately pained sound of despair, which then turned into a series of sobs and gasps.

Shit.

Foggy had never seen Matt like this, but how could he not have realised? Matt had sat silently while Foggy told Alvarez his most conflicted and damaging childhood secrets, and Foggy had been willing, hell, had wanted to believe that Matt had walked out stressed rather than distraught?

His dad didn’t seem shocked by the overflow of emotion, though. He held Matt and made encouraging sounds and did everything he’d always done to make it alright to feel difficult things.

Foggy was intruding.

He decided to go and make tea.

By the time he returned, bearing a tray complete with a range of Matt-appropriate snacks and everything necessary for tea, his dad and Matt were sitting close together on the lounge. Matt’s glasses were off and he was blotchy around the eyes. His hair was still a mess from the helmet.

He looked so much less alright than Foggy was used to.

‘-so tired of having to prove that I don’t need anyone’s pity,’ he was saying.

Foggy put down the tray and sat on Matt’s other side.

His dad gave him a look of thanks, then turned back to Matt.

‘You’ll never prove that,’ he said, gently, ‘because no one can control how other people react to them, sweetheart. I know you’re aware of that. And sometimes people need to feel pity. It’s how they cope with all the terrible things that happen. Anna says it’s a distancing mechanism. It protects people from recognising that we’re all suffering, in one way or another, pushes it off onto someone else where it can be safely fussed and tutted over and then forgotten.’

‘I’m not some tragic victim.’ Matt sounded so exhausted, like all the years since that fucking accident were weighing him down all at once. ‘I’m doing this so I can stop pretending… so I don’t have to participate in making people underestimate me, and the first thing she wants is for me to play the victim.’

Foggy wondered how Matt reconciled the idea that proving he wasn’t like other blind people would reduce the pity and low expectations he was subjected to. It wasn’t Foggy’s place to raise the issue, but it sometimes seemed that Matt had some fairly harsh internalised ableism to deal with on top of everything else. That was probably inevitable given Stick’s toxic influence when Matt was a child trying to come to terms with his new reality.

‘I don’t think that was what she wants, buddy. She was just thinking like a lawyer, which was why we were there, right?’

Matt seemed to fully register Foggy’s presence for the first time. He sighed. ‘Yeah,’ he said, defeat embedded in the truth of it.

For a moment, Foggy wished they were curled up on their bed. Matt responded to physical reassurance far more than verbal. Comforting words tended to be met with rational acknowledgement or else debate.

Working within the space available, Foggy shuffled around on the lounge until one of his shins pressed all along Matt’s thigh, then leaned close and brushed the hair from Matt’s forehead, making as though to tuck it behind his ear. When it flopped right back where it belonged, he made do with running his fingers through it a little.

Clinking sounds caught Foggy’s attention and he looked across to where his dad had begun pouring the tea. It was such an ordinary and settling sight: steadfast and dependable.

‘We don’t need to talk about it right now if you’re not up for it,’ Foggy said. ‘There’s time to decompress or shift focus or whatever. Or, you know, drink some tea? Eat something? Because this much stress uses up a whole lot of energy, and proper blood sugar levels are important.’

Foggy had mostly been trying to shift the mood but Matt nodded a little, which Foggy’s dad took as an invitation to press a cup of tea into his hand.

Matt sipped at it for a while, gradually looking more lost in thought than just lost.

In truth, they didn’t have much time to talk about all of this, and Matt was no doubt aware of that fact. Term was approaching, and Alvarez was expecting his decision in the morning.

‘Could you… Fog….’ Matt sighed. ‘I wasn’t able to pay proper attention back there. In Alvarez’s office, I mean. I was listening but… could you maybe walk me through that last part? What did you think?’

‘Of course, buddy.’

Foggy took a moment to get his thoughts together.

What he wanted to say was that he’d been sickened by the cold reality of talking about Matt’s past in that impersonal, procedural manner. He supposed that was what most people felt when consulting a lawyer though, particularly when the matter involved sensitive, vulnerable, squishy human stuff. And, anyway, revisiting those emotions wouldn’t be helpful to Matt. He was asking for something more detail oriented and analytical.

‘Look, I hate the idea of you being put through all this,’ he began, because it had to be said, or, honestly, was impossible not to say. ‘But if you’re going to do this at all then I think Alvarez is right. I really, really wish I didn’t think so, but I do. She might be able to get Columbia onside without a full account of your history but, once people know about you, they’re going to talk. And it’s like you said, someone might go digging with the intent to do harm. Hell, Columbia might go digging to assess the risk of publicly supporting your right to be there.

‘So, it’s better if we try to control the narrative right from the start: you’re relieved that recent events have brought public attention to the possibility of enhanced senses such as your own. Your personal history is evidence that a lack of awareness can have negative consequences, particularly for children, and you’re eager and relieved to be able to be transparent about everything now. The burden of keeping your secret has been exhausting.’

Which, Foggy suspected, was more true than Matt realised. Not that coming forward was going to be any less exhausting, at least for a while.

‘Alvarez said something about keeping complexity out of it, and that’s what you’re doing with that summation, but it’s not going to be like that, is it?’ Matt said. ‘Negative consequences for children? No one’s going to hear that and not ask questions. They’ll want details. So aren’t we presenting a story that encourages people to go digging? Wouldn’t it be better to say nothing and hope for the best?’

‘That’s definitely an option,’ Foggy conceded. ‘But weigh it up against transparency and tell me what you think?’

It felt cruel to ask, because Matt clearly wanted to be told that it was a strategically sound idea to keep the most painful and difficult parts of his life private. But it wasn’t ultimately something that either of them could believe, even if it wasn’t Foggy’s place to say so.

He’d come away from the meeting knowing that Matt’s options were to stay entirely hidden or be absolutely visible. Anything in between would involve constant uncertainty and fear. And Matt knew that, too. He’d been the one to offer the information to Alvarez, after all. He had to be feeling deeply afraid if he was trying to convince himself to ignore what he knew to be true. It was a realisation made Foggy’s gut twist and his chest tighten.

‘The kinds of questions they might ask… I don’t know how to answer them, even for myself. Why didn’t I tell my dad? Why didn’t I tell the doctors? Why didn’t I tell the sisters? Why, as an adult, did I allow Stick’s perspective to keep me in hiding when the cost was so high? He was in my life for barely more than a year but I kept living as though there was a chance he might return. I learned meditation after he left because I knew he’d wanted me to do it and I wanted to be ready if he came back! How am I supposed to talk about any of that? It’s pathetic! And how could that possibly help my case?’

‘Oh, sweetheart, it’s not pathetic. Here, give me that cup.’

That wasn’t a bad call, because Matt looked like throwing it across the room wasn’t out of the question. Which wouldn’t be a terrible thing, but Matt would feel guilty about it later.

Once the cup was returned to the tray, Foggy’s dad took both of Matt’s hands in his own. ‘There’s nothing shameful or pathetic about a child wanting a parent,’ he said. ‘It’s the most natural thing in the world. If I’d been in Stick’s place, I’d have felt so grateful and honoured to have you choose me as an adult you cared about in that way.’

Matt didn’t look like he was shutting the words out or dismissing them in his mind. He still looked agitated, but he stayed quiet, just fidgeting his fingers against Foggy’s dad’s.

It was different to the way Matt sometimes idly mapped out Foggy’s hands while processing his thoughts. Maybe this was something he’d done with his own father when he was small.

They approached and then exceeded the amount of time it was wise to wait for Matt to say anything, so Foggy stepped in.

‘As for the rest of what you said about why you didn’t tell anyone or make different choices… you don’t have to defend that, Matt. You were a kid. Kids don’t make decisions the same way adults do. I know Dad’s told you plenty of stories about me as a child that support that fact. And it must have been pretty scary when it first began, when everything started getting louder and smellier and all that.’

‘Yeah,’ Matt said, almost absently, like he was more focused on his fingers than his words. ‘It was complicated. At first I thought I was imagining things. Everything started to feel rough. The texture of some foods became repellent. Then everything started getting louder. Smells got stronger. It was gradual and I tried to convince myself that it was normal, that I was just noticing more because that’s a thing that happens when people close their eyes. But sometimes I could hear my heart beating, and my dad’s, so I knew I was lying to myself. Knew it wasn’t normal. I knew, but I ignored it. I was making progress with relearning to read and navigate and feed myself, and do all the things I’d taken for granted before the accident. I didn’t want to know about anything else that was new and difficult.’

‘That makes sense,’ Foggy said. ‘I think lots of adults might be tempted to deal with the situation in a similar way. Humans are quite optimistic on the ignore it and it’ll go away front.’

‘I don’t think I understand why your professor is focusing so much on Matt’s childhood, anyway. Shouldn’t the institutional response be the same even if the accident had happened a year or two ago?’ The gentle force behind the question was directed towards Foggy, but it didn’t prevent his dad from continuing to respond to Matt’s touch as though it were a conversation of its own.

‘It would,’ Foggy said, ‘but Alvarez mentioned that there’s been negative talk in some legal circles on the issue of enhanced abilities, and you’ve heard some of the stuff in the press. Matt was concerned that someone might go digging for information to make him, and therefore people like him, seem dangerous or untrustworthy. He told Alvarez about his background because he didn’t think it was right to get her involved in advocating for him if she didn’t know the whole story. She’d already said she wanted to use the situation to push more broadly for recognition and rights for people in Matt’s position, which actually is a good outcome for Matt because then it’s not just about him. Once she’d heard Matt’s story, she decided the best way forward was to build it into her approach.

‘And, like I said, I hate it, but I think she’s right. It’s not a big stretch to recognise that kids with special abilities are vulnerable to more than the sick stuff that’s already out there, and Matt’s personal background proves that it’s not just a theory. Because, buddy, no matter what good things you got out of Stick’s training, he still sought you out because he knew of your abilities somehow. If he could do that, so could any number of people with nefarious intent.

‘So, anyway, Alvarez’s plan is to use the broader welfare agenda to get Columbia to recognise that this is an emerging issue beyond Matt’s current enrolment there. She needs to appeal to their desire to appear to be a forerunner in all that’s hip, cool, and progressive. And, yes, she’ll probably want to strategically utilise some of that hideous inspirational nonsense: Even with all these disadvantages, look what an upstanding, brilliant, and successful person Matthew is. Columbia would be fortunate to claim him.’

‘I don’t…. It all makes sense. I know it does. I just don’t want it. I don’t want to have to deal with it,’ Matt said.

‘We know, sweetheart. We don’t want you to have to go through this either. Do you think… is it time to consider other options? Take some of the pressure off? I know it doesn’t seem like it when you’re so motivated to finish, but it’s not a big deal to take a year out from study, you know. People do it all the time. Or you could put all this off until after you’re done.’

Matt looked like he was considering the possibility.

It was an unsettling idea.

Foggy hadn’t contemplated a reality that didn’t involve them returning to Columbia at the start of term. He hadn’t allowed himself to think much beyond that.

After a moment, it became clear that Matt didn’t like the idea any better. ‘There’s never going to be a good time to do this,’ he said. ‘Even if I took a year out from study to let the dust settle I’d still be going back to the same thing next year. And if I do it after I finish my degree I can hardly expect a new employer to deal with everything becoming public knowledge once I start working for them. It’s better to do it now.’

Foggy wouldn’t say it but he wasn’t sure how successful Matt would be if he tried to put a pause on this process anyway. He seemed to be finding his current constraints more intolerable every day. It was better to take action now so that the truth couldn’t come out unintentionally and possibly more sensationally.

‘Alright, but do you think this professor is making it more complicated than it needs to be?’

Matt sighed. He freed one hand so he could rub at his face. ‘No,’ he said, like it was something he’d just decided. ‘I wish she was, but… no. If I didn’t mind encouraging people to misunderstand the details then it might be possible to take a less extreme path. There are lots of things no one would guess if I didn’t ever talk about the way I experience the world. But I don’t want that. I’m so tired of that.’

Matt looked like he was scanning the space around him. Unexpectedly, he smiled. ‘Did you know that Mrs Cortes carries her husband’s watch with her all the time? She doesn’t wear it, but it’s always in a pocket or looped over her belt. I asked her about it one day, and she told me that it originally belonged to Alejandro’s father, which made the watch precious to Alejandro. She carries it as a reminder that they’re all connected, that her husband is still with her, but he’s with his father now, too, and that she’ll join them someday. I didn’t tell her, of course, but I can isolate the sound of its ticking, no matter what other noise is around. It’s comforting in a way that’s difficult to describe.’

‘That’s sweet, Matt,’ Foggy said. It always seemed like a win when Matt spoke about the nice things his heightened senses gave him.

‘Sure. But if anyone found out that that’s something I can do and it seemed like I’d been keeping that ability a secret, then what might they make of my intentions? I can’t leave this to chance. I can’t have anyone argue later that I hid the true extent of my abilities. That would make me more likely to be seen as having questionable motives, or being a threat to national security, or whatever. If I make all of my abilities very public then I’m inviting the whole world to supervise my actions, which makes me less of a threat.’

Which, holy shit, was horrifyingly accurate. Foggy hadn’t thought of it in quite that way before.

‘Or maybe I just need to find some aliens to fight,’ Matt said.

It was a weak joke that didn’t make any of them feel better.

Foggy’s dad shifted uneasily.

‘Matt, sweetheart,’ he began, but then looked like he was deciding whether to continue.

Matt, of course, noticed the hesitation and leaned in to focus all of his awareness on Foggy’s dad.

Foggy was getting used to being scrutinised in that way, but he hadn’t known how singularly attentive the gesture appeared from the outside.

It turned out that the question his dad was leading up to was one Foggy had been avoiding putting into words, or even thinking about, really.

‘I just wonder. Are you going to be able to practice law when this is done? I mean, will you be allowed to practice when so much of the legal process depends on confidentiality and the segregation of information? I’m having a hard time imagining that the New York State Bar Association will accept your integrity as a guarantee.’

‘They won’t, or I don’t expect so, anyway. It’s almost certain that I won’t be admitted to the bar once this is done. And even if I was, it wouldn’t be tenable to practice. No firm would employ me unless they wanted to exploit my abilities in ways that I’m not willing to entertain. Any case I won would be subject to appeal on the least suspicion that I breached ethical standards, and that would make it unconscionable for me to take on clients for anything other than the most mundane matters. I don’t plan to spend the next fifty years or so writing wills and pre-nups.’

Even though Foggy had known the truth it was so painful to hear Matt lay it out dispassionately like that, with the stoicism of someone who’d already lost so much.

‘So, what’s your goal then, sweetheart? Where does that leave you?’

‘I’ve been thinking about that, wondering what other paths I might have taken. I don’t know if there ever was one. When I was a kid, I borrowed books on civil rights and jurisprudence to practice reading braille,’ Matt said. ‘Nine years old, and I read them over and over till I could recite whole passages. Probably drove my dad crazy. Now… I don’t know. I’ve never even considered anything else, because I’m doing what I love.’

‘So, maybe that’s enough,’ Foggy said. ‘I mean, you can’t know what your future’s going to look like. You can’t predict what’s going to be possible, but you know what you love, what you’re good at.’

‘Yeah,’ Matt said. ‘I want to be a lawyer. I want to defend people who might otherwise fall through the cracks. But if I can’t do that… I don’t know. I can’t imagine walking away from what I’m doing now. I don’t want to stop studying law.’

Alvarez must have immediately recognised the dismal truth of Matt’s career prospects as well, but she hadn’t said anything. Foggy didn’t want to believe that she might have refrained out of fear that Matt would drop the whole thing, but he didn’t know her well enough to be sure. She’d admitted that she was excited to take up the cause, after all. But maybe it was nothing as sinister as that. Maybe her experience enabled her to see possibilities that Foggy hadn’t. Maybe he should have asked.

‘Whatever you choose, sweetheart, I hope you know that Anna and I will support you in every way we can. You have a home here, no matter what.’

Foggy wasn’t sure when Matt had come to accept that but he clearly had. He gave a distant looking nod and leaned against Foggy’s dad like he was too tired to hold himself back.

The evening moved slowly after that. Matt had made his decision. They all knew what it was.

Exactly what it would mean on a day-to-day basis was far less certain, but there was nothing to be done about that.

Foggy and his dad chatted about inconsequential things for a while, letting Matt drift in his own thoughts.

Eventually, Foggy went to make dinner, kept company by his mom when she returned from work. He filled her in as best he could and they fretted in mostly silent solidarity for a while.

It was good.

His dad and Candy tended to fret in private and radiate reassurance in public, but Foggy and his mom were communal fretters.

His working hypothesis was that their fretting created a feedback loop that amplified the nurturing tendencies in both of them until it seemed inevitable that everything would be fine once there’d been enough hugs and, possibly, cookies. The crazy thing was that their process worked to reduce his anxiety, even when there was no possibility whatsoever that hugs and cookies could solve the problem. It should probably be worrying to note how easily humans could comfort themselves with deliberate falsehoods, but it could also be seen as a survival skill, so Foggy was going to roll with that.

Whatever the explanation, by the time dinner was prepared he was feeling a little better. Things were definitely going to be rough, but they’d get through.

Matt also seemed to have worked his way to a more steady state of mind, because he sat at the table looking resolute and calm. It was definitely a food is fuel, to be eaten out of necessity and routine kind of meal, but that was to be expected.

After dinner, Matt opted to play Scrabble with Foggy’s dad for a bit while Foggy and his mom cleaned up and then hung out in the living room.

The familiar routine must have helped, because Matt was in a less fragile state by the time they were getting ready for bed.

It was nice to have him back. The day had been draining on so many levels and Foggy really wanted some time to feel connected and normal. He wanted time for them to just be together.

Apparently that was what Matt needed as well.

Foggy was sifting through a drawer for his pajamas when Matt moved close behind him and put his hands on Foggy’s hips. He pressed his face against Foggy’s neck. ‘Can you not bother with those,’ he said. He sounded… not like he expected rejection, but like Foggy’s agreement was something special, something he’d never take for granted.

Foggy closed the drawer and turned towards Matt.

Sex between them could be intense and sometimes funny. It could be a rambling conversation or a quick chat. Occasionally there was a hint of competition.

It was none of that, now.

This time it was a slow, gentle ocean of touch that dragged Foggy deeper and deeper into himself, into all of his body, until his eventual orgasm felt incidental compared to the reality of his existence and Matt’s, collapsed against each other and breathing.

Chapter Text

So, intimacy and sex could be reaffirming and wonderful.

They were, nevertheless, only magical in that whimsical, wonderful, but ultimately human sense.

Which explained why Foggy still woke the next morning with all the heavy significance of the day pressing down on him.

Matt was sleeping, so Foggy stayed quiet and tried to relax.

He knew, thanks to Deepa’s persistent reminders to teenage Foggy, that difficult times only seemed endless. The truth was, one way or another, things would change. They always did.

And, besides. Matt was resourceful! Foggy was resourceful! They had family behind them.

So, sure, things felt insurmountable right now, but that was mostly because there were a lot of unknowns.

They’d already started taking steps to make things clearer.

What they were doing would enable Matt to make positive changes. And they couldn’t be more positive. Matt deserved to be free from all the pretence and holding back.

Everything was fine.

Yep.

It was all going to be fine.

Foggy brushed a hand through Matt’s hair then down his cheek. The prickly stubble he felt  there was so reassuringly human.

‘Matt?’ he said, being careful to keep his voice low and unobtrusive.

It provoked a soft sound of acknowledgement, but nothing more.

‘Matt,’ Foggy repeated, a little louder, a little more determined, but definitely still gentle.

‘Yeah?’ Matt managed. He breathed deeply and shifted until he looked almost awake. ‘What’s up?’

Foggy wasn’t sure. He just knew that he needed Matt to be awake. There was too much going on in his mind.

‘C’mere,’ Matt said. He shuffled a bit, until Foggy could have settled with his head on Matt’s shoulder.

It wasn’t what Foggy wanted. He stayed propped on his side and ran a finger firmly down Matt’s jawline.

Matt’s face screwed up in annoyance, or maybe in an attempt to shake off sleep. ‘What’s up?’ he asked again, more concerned this time.

‘Is this really what you want?’ Foggy asked. ‘With Alvarez and Columbia, I mean. Because it’s supposed to be something good, but it also kind of feels like something very much not good, and you seem so resigned to all the hellish risks that come with this plan, and all the invasive intrusions into stuff that’s so personal. And you were eerily calm when you were talking to Dad about the destruction of everything you’ve been working towards, and what if this turns out to be some kind of self-destructive path that’s just masquerading as something positive?’

Deepa hadn’t been wrong, the uncertainty would pass, but surely the best way to move beyond a rampant thicket of anxiety was to plough right through it? And at least it was out in the open now. Invisible thickets had to be more dangerous, right?

Matt blinked his eyes open. He rubbed both hands over his face. ‘Come here, Fog. It’s early,’ he said, and tried again to tempt Foggy into his arms.

‘No. Matt, what if this is the wrong thing to do, and everything goes to shit! What if this is the moment you look back on for the rest of your life and think: that’s when everything went wrong?’

Matt made a valiant effort to throw his head back and sigh in despair. It was a difficult move to pull off given that he was lying on his back. Then, with an attitude of incredible forbearance, he dragged himself up until he was sitting with his arms wrapped around his raised knees. ‘Stop worrying, Fog,’ he said. ‘It’s not like that. My life isn’t something that can be thrown off course. It’s something I piece together as I go, from whatever’s available at the time. I don’t expect any kind of certainty. That’s not self-destructive, it’s just realistic.’

This was not the reassurance Foggy had been hoping for.

‘That’s bleak, Matt. It’s… I can see why you’d feel that way but it doesn’t have to be like that anymore. What if doing this ruins your chance for something better?’

What if you’re throwing away your chance to practice law because you just expect everything to fall apart? Foggy thought, but didn’t say.

Matt scrunched his brow. ‘I’m more than a decade past the point where a fork in the road might make my life one thing or another. That whole idea belongs to people who’ve had very different lives than mine.’

‘Well, that’s bullshit,’ Foggy insisted, opting to spar instead of debate. ‘What if you’d been assigned to a different dorm?’

‘We’d still have met,’ Matt replied, instantly, almost managing to sound cocky and definitely a tiny bit amused.

‘We might have been rivals instead of friends, locked in bitter battles over grades, internships, and that one good table at the cafeteria,’ Foggy quipped back.

‘I’d have been doomed. You’d have used my Pavlovian reaction to your hair product to gain the upper hand.’

‘So you’re admitting that, no matter what universe we were in, I’d always have the upper hand?’

Foggy expected a decent rebuttal, though nothing he couldn’t overcome.

‘Without a doubt,’ Matt said, his expression and voice irrefutably earnest.

Foggy shoved him. ‘You’re not as charming as you think, Murdock.’

‘I disagree. Columbia only put us in the same dorm room. Care to explain my current position in your off-campus bed?’

‘I think there’s sufficient evidence to establish that it was my charm that enticed you here.’

‘You have a point.’ Matt smiled, like making Foggy melt was more important than winning.

‘I know you’ve had a lot of shitty things happen, Matt, but that doesn’t make you immune to suffering. You were so upset yesterday when you were with Dad.’

‘You need to work on your segues,’ Matt said, light, like it was a joke and not a deflection.

‘Maybe,’ Foggy conceded. ‘How about this: I lied. You’re totally charming, and I love you. Which is why I woke you up. Because I’m worried, Matt. You were more upset yesterday than I’ve ever seen you. It scared the hell out of me, and I’m afraid that I pushed for this and it will be my fault if it turns out to be a terrible mistake, which is a selfish thing to be concerned about and not something I’m proud of. And while I’m at it, I’m stupidly upset that if you don’t practice law we won’t ever get to work together. And I’m scared that I’ll change path, too, just to stay with you, and maybe that will be a mistake that I’ll regret. So, basically, I’m worried about our lives imploding and the fact that you’re so damn calm!’

Matt shifted into a cross legged position. It could have been about getting more comfortable, Matt always looked so settled like that, but it felt like it was designed to keep Foggy at a distance.

‘I’m not calm,’ he said, sending the words out into the open space of the room. ‘Like you said, I was really off-balance when we got home yesterday. It was pretty unexpected, even to me. I’m used to dealing with difficult things alone, behind closed doors. I don’t really know how things are supposed to go when there are people who… well, when there are people. None of this is easy. It’s uncertain, and it hurts to have everything dredged up and dragged into the open. But you have to stop expecting me to react to upheaval and risk the same way you would. I’m not like you.’

Foggy wanted to dispute the idea that Matt should react any differently to the challenges he was facing than anyone else would, but maybe that was a knee-jerk reaction. Maybe he didn’t understand what Matt was telling him. He was wondering what to ask to make things clearer, but Matt didn’t need prompting.

‘You’ve always had layers of protection around you, you know? My life has never been like that. I loved my dad so much, but even when he was alive we were basically alone. Even before the accident, things were tough. If you’d been blinded, you and your family would have been swamped with support and any resources you needed. If your dad had been killed, you’d have been devastated but you wouldn’t have been left alone among strangers. I’m not being bitter, just stating the facts. I’ve had a different life, and that means that I experience the world differently than you do. I always will. My life isn’t a game of catch up, trying to get to the point where enough love and stability will make me the same as some default person from a stable background. My past informs who I am, just like your past does for you. We both get stressed and overwhelmed at times, but I process risk and uncertainty differently than you do. It’s just who we are.’

‘I know that, Matt. I know I can’t understand what you’ve been through.’

Foggy didn’t sniff, and he was subtle about dabbing at his eyes. They were more hot than teary anyway, but that didn’t mean anything with Matt. He turned to Foggy as soon as he registered the smell of salt, or whatever, and his tone became gentler, more entreating than declarative.

‘That’s the point I’m trying to make, Fog. It’s not what I’ve been through, it’s just my life. I grew up at St Agnes’s. It wasn’t a thing that happened to me any more than your childhood was a thing that happened to you. It was a million small details. Same with being blind, and with the other sensory issues I grew up with.

‘I don’t think you have any idea how often you say things about childhood, family, and general everyday life, that assumes we have a common frame of reference. You think everyone takes familiarity and consistency for granted. You think the word home means the same thing to both of us. You make casual references to what you were doing at a certain age and assume that I can relate, like our twelve-year-old selves had anything in common. And I like hearing about your life and your world, I really do, but it’s yours, not mine. Your life isn’t divided into separate pieces that have little to connect them other than the construct of linearity. And I don’t resent that. I’m glad you had so much love and support. It made you who you are and I love you. But we’ll get through what’s coming more easily if you can recognise that we come from fundamentally different worlds, and that we’re very different people because of that.’

‘Tissue,’ Foggy said, and Matt passed the box from the bedside table.

After Foggy had dabbed at his eyes and blown his nose, he took some time to process Matt’s words, and the thoughts and feelings they provoked.

It wasn’t just a moment.

This wasn’t even a ten second situation.

It felt uncomfortably like deja vu.

‘Are you about to tell me that we need to give each other space?’ he asked, telling himself he was joking until he noticed how afraid he was to hear Matt’s response.

‘What? No?’ Matt sounded genuinely confused. ‘Why? I just said that I love you, Foggy.’

‘That was the take away I was supposed to get from all of that?’

Matt brushed his fingers over Foggy’s cheek, then tucked a straggly bit of hair back from where it had fallen across Foggy’s face. ‘Maybe one of them?’ he said. ‘Hopefully an important one?’

‘Of course it is, you jerk. I suppose this is what I get for waking you up with a seething mess of doom and despair.’

‘You’re allowed to talk about your fears, Fog. Just, maybe, I don’t know… maybe you could lead with some questions to check if we’re both on the same page instead of telling me why I react to things the way I do.’ Matt yawned. ‘And, yeah, letting me actually wake up first might be good. I didn’t sleep much last night.’

Foggy had slept incredibly well, relaxed and blissful and drifting on an ocean of dopamine.

‘So… don’t badger the witness? Don’t testify?’

‘Don’t put me on the stand.’ It was said playfully, like Matt was picking up the iambic meter of Foggy’s words, Romeo and Juliet balancing the measure of each other’s lines. Like working this stuff out was just another part of who they were together.

And maybe it was.

‘What if this is love?’ Foggy said, the thought opening up inside him.

‘I thought we’d covered that already.’ 

‘No, but, all this mess, this complication. What if love isn’t any kind of happiness or ease? What if it’s finding someone who shakes up everything you know and never lets it settle, a deconstructive force that makes you glad to be challenged.’

‘Your ability to shake things up is definitely something I love about you,’ Matt said, sincere but also maybe a little indulgent.

‘Of course it is. I’m awesome.’

‘You are. So, are we good, Fogs, because seriously, I think I slept for about two hours last night and I could appreciate your splendour just as well over a cup of coffee.’ 

‘One more thing?’

Matt huffed a small laugh and smiled. ‘I’m listening.’

‘Seriously, I shouldn’t have pushed for you to do this, or for you not to do it, for that matter. I didn’t know what I was talking about.’

Matt’s smile softened. ‘No. You didn’t. But you were right anyway. I want this, Foggy. I know you’re scared, and I am too, but it’s what I want. You’re not responsible for my choices.’

‘Well, that’s a relief,’ Foggy said, moving to get up. ‘I refuse to be held accountable for anyone drinking their coffee black.’

Matt threw a pillow at him, but it was worth it.

Chapter Text

Matt put his phone back in his pocket as he walked into the living room. The call had been better than he’d anticipated. Gina was obviously excited to be involved, but he’d always admired her particular combination of passion and intellect. It was humbling to have someone with her skill and experience leading the way.

Overnight, she’d revisited the documents they’d given her, expanded upon her notes from their conversations the day before, done additional research to back up her pitch to Columbia, and prepared a preliminary list of the various departments of the university that may need to be involved or at least informed of aspects of Matt’s situation. She’d made lists of the people she would speak to in person and those with whom it would be sufficient to rely on written communication. She’d also developed contingency plans in case things went badly from the start. She didn’t spend much time going over those, insisting that they were unlikely to be necessary, but it was good to know that she was considering every possibility. Foggy would be glad to hear about that.

It was surprising actually, how relieving it had been to follow along as she outlined such a comprehensive approach. The details which only the day before had seemed harrowing in their magnitude and invasiveness, now allowed for some comfort and a distant sense of certainty.

If he was going to do this then he would do it absolutely.

Gina’s plan would certainly require that he remain cognisant of his conviction that it would all be worthwhile.

He could do that.

Foggy and his parents had been chatting quietly, but they stopped the moment Matt entered the room. They’d clearly been waiting for his return.

‘It’s done,’ he said. ‘I told Gina that I want to go ahead with her plan.’ He dropped onto the floor beside Foggy, who was lying on his back with his legs stretched out on the ottoman. ‘Gina was up half the night working on preliminary outlines and getting started on written submissions for admin. She’s going to email us the draft documents, but she talked me through the general outline and I don’t think there’ll be much to revise. We’re going to meet with her tomorrow to make a start.’

‘That’s fabulous, Matt,’ Anna said. ‘I can’t imagine what this means for you.’

‘Honestly, I’m not sure I can, either,’ Matt said.

He’d gone so many years without letting himself consider the possibility. Even in the last couple of months, most of the freedom he’d experienced on his expeditions with Foggy had been blunted by the pretence of not being blind. This new prospect was something he wasn’t sure he’d ever known.

There’d been Elektra, but he’d never been himself with her. He’d been a version of himself who was playing at being nothing but reckless and wild, which wasn’t a lot different than playing sighted, he was beginning to realise. Both were liberating in their own limited way, but they didn’t provide the same quiet and intimate rush he felt at the thought of being honest in the more ordinary and complex domain of everyday life.

‘I think the only experience I have of anything like it is my time in this apartment with the three of you.’ It was a tender realisation and he wanted to share it even if they might not understand what it meant.

‘And your rapt audience of nine-to-thirteen-year-olds,’ Foggy added. ‘Oh, and Benny. He was totally aware of all the awesomeness that was going down.’

‘Way to spoil the moment, Fog,’ Matt said. ‘And, anyway, what I did there wasn’t honest. I was still holding back. I just shifted the line a little.’

‘So, what do you think it’ll be like, going back to classes and living on campus? Is there anything in particular you’re excited about or isn’t it like that?’ Ed asked.

Matt pushed aside his immediate response: that what he wanted most was to make anyone who’d ever been patronising to him aware that he was far from helpless. He wasn’t sure that was a genuine desire anyway, or if it was just a reflex to hit back after years of placidly playing along. He did like the thought that anyone who’d ever whispered anything offensive about him might come to wonder if he’d heard them all along. But none of that was what this was really about, or at least he hoped he wasn’t as petty as all that.

‘Simple things, I suppose,’ he decided. ‘Being able to start a conversation with someone without waiting for them to tell me they’re there; walking around obstacles without pretending to feel around for them; sprinting across campus if I’m running late to class, or, actually, just running whenever I feel like it. Being able to talk openly about the things I notice, like smells and sounds and all kinds of things.’

‘That all sounds wonderful,’ Anna said, voice warm and pleased. ‘I imagine there’ll be other small changes you won’t notice until they gradually sink in as well.’

‘I think you’re right.’ Matt knew he’d been struggling recently to keep up all the levels of pretence he used to perform without pause, but that didn’t mean it would all fall away at the same time. Some habits were deeply ingrained.

‘It’s going to be awesome,’ Foggy said, and fanned his legs across the velveteen ottoman like he was making snow angels. It rasped pleasantly against his corduroy pants. ‘We can go out on the green and toss a ball around, climb trees-’ 

‘My child, the budding lawyer,’ Ed cut in, but Matt smiled. He wouldn’t say no to climbing more trees with Foggy.

‘So, what are we doing about family?’ Anna asked.

‘Gina suggested waiting until things are sorted with Columbia. Her concern is that, with the recent media interest, it’s not implausible for some local reporter to do a small side piece if they found out.’ Absurd, Matt had thought, but he remembered his dad telling him about the small write-up on the accident when he was a kid. Apparently it didn’t take much to meet the criteria for filling a few inches of empty space towards the middle of the paper on a slow day. ‘She doesn’t want to risk the university being pressed to take a reactive stance in any way. So I guess that means a few more weeks of waiting, although there are people I’d trust not to say anything if they were asked not to. Bess and Jan, mostly. Maybe Susan. Ricco and Rita, I guess.’

‘So many options, Matt!’ Foggy enthused. ‘Family meeting? Phone-tree? Strategically dropped comments? Dramatic dinner party reveal? Any combination thereof! In this instance, I’m a big fan of doing unexpected things and seeing how everyone reacts.’

‘I’d have never guessed,’ Ed said.

‘Ha ha. But I meant for Matt, actually. When it comes to me, I’m a fan of doing whatever I want and not caring how anyone reacts. Totally different skill set.’

‘I’m literally the only person here who lacks the skill set to see how anyone reacts,’ Matt threw in.

Foggy groaned. ‘I can’t believe I used to think you made a lot of blind jokes. I swear, for the first few months, I had no idea that it was actually because you’re a prescriptivist pedant.’

‘You love me,’ Matt insisted.

‘I do. You’re the perfect kind of chaos for me.’

Matt contained his smile and managed not to blush. He shifted closer, so he could run his fingers through Foggy’s hair.

He noticed peripherally that Ed and Anna were watching them, but it didn’t feel invasive.

Apparently, Foggy could see his parents from his sprawled position though, because he groaned. ‘Quick. Look indifferent towards me, buddy, and I’ll do my teenage whatever face in your direction. We have to do something to fight off the looks of sappy indulgence their throwing our way.’

Matt laughed but didn’t stop stroking Foggy’s hair. It didn’t have any hair product in it, so it felt soft and delicate to touch.

‘Hush, you,’ Anna said. ‘We’re allowed to think you’re sweet together.’

‘Sweet?’ Ed scoffed. ‘I was thinking that they were menaces when they were friends but now they’re downright dangerous. You know: synergism, more than the sum of their parts, all that jazz.’

‘We’re still friends!’ Foggy insisted. ‘And I’ve always been dangerous.’

‘You won’t get any disagreement from us on that front,’ Anna said. She sounded proud.

‘You’ll look after each other, won’t you, when you go back?’

‘Of course, Dad,’ Foggy said.

‘We will, Ed,’ Matt added. ‘And we’ll stay in touch so you know what’s going on.’

‘You’d better. Or better yet, try and get back for the weekend sometimes. Play some scrabble, eat home cooked food. Let us see that you’re both alright.’

‘It’s weeks before we leave, Dad,’ Foggy said, a little exasperated, but Matt remembered how worried Ed had been at the start of break.

‘We’ll be around,’ he promised.