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It was the night after mid-terms.
Matt was far too many bottles of various kinds of alcohol in, and Foggy was— well, he was very, very drunk. They'd made it home to their dorm, somehow, but not before Matt had managed to win a game of pool.
And since Matt had won a game of pool, magically (not really that magically), Foggy had asked him to a game of darts.
“Where's the target?” Matt had asked, and Foggy had directed him to it. Matt had poked his finger in the center of it, walked back twenty paces and hit dead center.
So now, back at the dorm room, having been kicked out of the bar once Foggy— not Matt!— had accidentally shot a man in the arm with a dart, Foggy challenged Matt to a game of poker. Since, y'know, they were then relegated to their dorm, had to keep relatively quiet, didn't have a pool table for that rematch that Foggy kept grumbling about, didn't have a target for the other rematch Foggy also kept grumbling about, and were only armed with a deck of cards. And chips.
Foggy suggested poker confidently, so Matt assumed that this was a game that Foggy was quite familiar with. The only card game Matt had played was Go Fish, back in the St. Agnes (kids were mean and Matt had a violent urge to prove himself) so Matt was… He was probably at a disadvantage.
“Wait— wait, how do you play?” Matt asked, because Foggy and him were drunk and therefore that was the only issue Matt first foresaw.
Ha.
Foresaw.
“You're dealt two cards.” Foggy told him, nearly knocking over a bottle of beer in his uncoordinated decision to grab another sip of his already opened one. They'd raided their fridge and decided to set the bottles all out in front of them, on the floor, because alcohol poisoning? Who's that?
“Two?” Matt frowned, “That sucks. That's a su— that’s a sucky amount of cards. Are you sure it's two?”
Foggy nodded vigorously, forgetting to narrate it. Matt heard the brush of his long hair against his shoulders, which either meant that they had an Exorcist moment on their hands, or Foggy was shaking his head no, but Matt could tell that Foggy was definitely nodding yes because Foggy then said, “That's what it is in Texas Holdem. It might be different in other versions.”
“Texas?”
“Yeah, Texas Holdem.”
“But—” Matt giggled, “We're in Hell's Kitchen.”
Foggy grabbed his discarded beanie from off the floor and playfully slapped Matt's head with it, who only defended his head moments after it had already been attacked. His hands stayed on his head. Because, well. Because.
“It’s just called Texas Holdem everywhere. Even in China probably.”
“In China?”
“Yeah, China.”
Matt frowned incredulously. “What's China?”
Foggy burst out laughing. “You— you don't know what China is?!”
Matt’s hands slipped off his head. “I'm. I'm confused.”
“It's— you know. Pandas and shit.”
“Ohh.” Matt said, “That China.”
“There's only one China!” Foggy exclaimed, patting around for his beanie so he could whack Matt again.
Matt pouted. No, really, like, stuck out his bottom lip. “How do you play Chinese Hold Them?”
“No, no.” Foggy frowned. “Holdem.”
“Holfem?”
“Hold. Em.”
“Oh.”
“So you're dealt two cards.”
“I heard this part already!” Matt complained.
Foggy found his beanie and whacked Matt again. “It's— I've got a process.”
Matt frowned, but allowed him to continue.
“And then you bet.” Foggy explained.
“You bet?”
“Yeah. Ten for the— the little blind, twenty for the big blind but— everybody's gotta bet twenty eventually.”
“The blinds?”
“Yeah, there's a big one and a little one.”
“You need blind people to play this game?” Matt asked incredulously.
“What? No—”
“But we've only got me.”
Foggy giggled. “It's a term.”
“A term for what?”
“The pot— there's gotta be a pot.”
“A pot?”
“Not an actual pot.”
“A meta— metophy— metaphorical pot?”
Foggy went quiet for a moment. “I mean, yeah, I guess.”
“But why?”
“Because. Because, money. I like money.”
“I like money.” Matt parroted back, because he really did like money.
“Great.” Foggy told him. “So, the blinds—”
“The fake blinds.”
“—They gotta put in money no matter what. And then everybody else has gotta decide if they wanna, uh… what's it called. Oh, call! If they wanna call, and then they put money into the pot. The not-real pot.”
“They— they…” Matt frowned. “They yell at a fake pot?”
Foggy was just in a constant state of giggles. “No, that's another term.”
“What does that mean?”
“It's— ya gotta match the bet. And you call it calling. Sober me knows why.”
“Knock knock.” Matt said.
“Knock knock?”
“You don't knock back.”
“Oh. Hello?”
“Is sober Foggy home? I'd like to speak with him.”
“Sober Foggy is, uh, he's gone. He's scandalously drinking a lot of water right now.” Drunk Foggy said, gulping down a little more beer.
“Oh. Then— what if I don't like my two cards?”
“Then you fold.”
“I fold what?”
“You just— you fold. You get rid of your cards.”
“I fold my cards?”
“Yes. I mean no. It's a term.”
“I hate terms.” Matt informed him.
Foggy patted his back.
“Pat, pat.” he said. Matt dopily smiled at him.
“How— how do you— how do you win?” Matt asked leaning into Foggy's shoulder, since that seemed like a smart thing to do. Foggy smelled nice. He smelled— he smelled like Foggy. Very homey. Like home. Yeah, that.
“You get a royal flush.” Foggy said.
“I have to get the Queen to— to poo?” Matt wondered, furrowing his eyebrows. Using Queen and shit in one sentence seemed wrong.
“No!” Foggy shouted, far too loudly. Matt winced, but kept his face smushed into Foggy's jacket.
“It's— uh, it's when you get an ace, king, queen, jack, ten, and nine. Which is a straight. And then you also get them all in the same suit. So it's a flush. And it's royal. And a flush. And a straight. So it's a royal flush.”
“You have to get a royal flush?”
“No, no, no.” Foggy said, swinging an arm around Matt's shoulder, who had completely melted into Foggy's side. “You could even just win with having a high card, if I suck.”
“You don't suck.” Matt murmured.
Foggy had apparently forgotten what thank you meant, so he just continued without acknowledging Matt's very kind compliment.
“And you can get a two of a kind. And a double pair which is two two of a kinds. And, uh, a three of a kind. And then a full house which is a two of a kind and a three of a kind.”
Matt nodded for Foggy to continue.
“And then you got your straight. Which is five in a row. Wait. It's like, one, two, three, four, five. It's a staircase. But with numbers.”
“Staircases suck.” Matt said helpfully.
Foggy nodded, forgetting to narrate again but this time, Matt could feel Foggy's hair against his, and was sure that he was nodding.
“And then you have a flush. Which is all of one suit. Like, five cards. And they're all the same suit. They match in color. Well. There's only two colors and four suits. But they all match shape. There’s uh, there’s red hearts, and black clovers, and then there's red diamonds and black, like, shovels.”
Matt felt that there was a problem in there, somewhere, but he couldn't put his finger on where, exactly, the problem was. So, he just nodded.
“And there's four of a kind. And then straight flush. And then— then the Queen pooping.”
Matt giggled.
“You shuffle.” Matt said, because he wasn't sure where the cards were.
Foggy hummed some kind of affirmative and reached for the cards, discarding his arm from around Matt's shoulders, and removing the support of Matt's head, forcing him to sit like a normal person.
Foggy busied himself with shuffling and then gave Matt his two cards, along with his poker chips.
“The— the blue and whites are tens. And the reds are twenties. And the blues are fifties. And the greens are hundreds.” Foggy informed Matt, placing them down as he said what each was worth.
“I'm dealer. And I'm the big blind. You're little blind.”
“Oh god.” Matt cried, “You're blind.”
“Oh shit.” Foggy realized, “You're blind!”
What?
Oh! Yes. Yes, he was.
“Mhm.” Matt nodded, because he wasn't sure what Foggy meant.
“You can't play poker!”
“Ob— objection!” Matt said, fumbling for the reason why. “Hearsay!”
“That's— is that right?”
“You're wrong.” Matt said pointedly. “I can play poker all I want. I know how to play!”
“You can't see your cards! Or your chips!”
Matt listed off the chips in the order that Foggy had put them down, lowest to highest, Matt's left to right.
“Oh yeah?” Foggy asked, “What're your cards?”
“That's cheating!”
“You're blind!”
“That's prejudice.” Matt said, sulking. “I bet fifty.”
“That's a hundred.”
“I bet a hundred.”
“We haven't even got any cards!”
“So?” Matt argued.
“So—” Foggy paused. “So… So— oh, for fuck's sake, I call!”
He slammed down a green chip.
“You gonna raise, Murdock?”
“Nope.” Matt said, smiling. “I'm good.”
Foggy set one card on the table, then three more, but in a different spot.
Matt had no idea what this meant.
He set down another chip that he knew for sure was blue, this time. “Fifty!”
Foggy slid a chip forward. “I raise you a hundred!”
“I raise you two hundred!”
“I raise you four hundred!”
Matt pushed all his chips in.
“All in!” Matt shouted like a battle cry.
“Also that!” Foggy said, raising his voice to Matt's volume as he, too, pushed all of his chips into the center of the table.
He flipped four more cards onto the table. Foggy's heart beated a little faster. However, the adrenaline of betting already had his heartbeat up.
“Cards?”
“You're the dealer.” Matt said, petulantly.
“No, I gotta— I gotta see your cards to see if you won.”
Oh. Foggy set his cards down only a moment before Matt set his down.
Foggy's heartbeat did something funny.
“What?” Matt asked.
Foggy stayed silent.
“What?”
“... You motherfucker.”
“Did I win?” Matt asked hopefully.
“You got a straight flush, you asshole!”
“Is that— that's good, right?”
“I dealt you a nine and a queen of diamonds, and the table has the ten, the jack and the eight of diamonds. Asshole!”
Matt let a grin start to appear on his face. “So I beat you?”
“I got nothing. You're blind and you're an asshole.”
Matt corrected him, “I'm blind and I'm a winner.”
Foggy huffed and scooped the cards off of the table. “I want a do-over.”
.
.
.
“Oh my god.”
Beside him, Foggy stirred.
Matt pushed himself up from the floor and patted around for his glasses, accidentally knocking down a large stack of poker chips as he did so.
“Oh, god.” Matt groaned, putting his head in his hands. His head was throbbing. Like someone had decided to jab a bunch of knives into his skull.
Matt heard the sound of Foggy gagging, then running, then vomiting. That… That was a lot of drinking last night, huh?
“Hey, Foggy?” Matt called, his throat scratchy. Should've drank more water, Murdock.
There was more heaving, then a word that sounded like a hairball. “What?”
Matt patted around the area where Foggy had been and came up empty.
“Did— Did I…” Matt felt the poker chips by his side, which felt like a sizeable amount. “Did I win?”
Foggy crawled out of the bathroom.
“You're an asshole.”
.
.
.
An unspecified amount of time later, because, not to be meta, but certain executives apparently don't think timelines are important, or maybe they do, but maybe the author is lazy…
.
.
.
“... You want me to play poker with Matt. Blind Matt.”
“Yes!” Foggy agreed. “For science.”
“Science.” Karen repeated, sounding unimpressed. She leaned back dramatically in her office chair. It was late, they all should've gone home a while ago, probably, but they'd just gotten a fridge installed. And when you have a fridge, you need to put stuff in it.
So, they bought alcohol. And the alcohol might've not made it into the fridge.
“Matt always beats me, so I have to make sure that my family hasn't just been secretly going easy on me all these years.” Foggy said, “If you beat him, then I guess I've just been losing to a blind guy all these years.”
“That's ableist.” Matt said lightly, a smile curving on his lips.
“No, it isn't, and you know it, you weirdo.” Foggy said to Matt, before he turned back to Karen and told her, “If Matt beats you, then I'm still great at poker and Matt's just freaky.”
“What if Matt wins but I still beat you?” Karen asked Foggy, raising an eyebrow.
“Then all hail the great Karen Page.” Foggy replied, grinning as he mock-bowed from his seat.
Matt giggled. He was one whiskey in but one whiskey was still one whiskey.
Karen pursed her lips. “Alright, fine.”
She turned to Matt and poked his shoulder so he knew who she was talking to. “I'm going easy on you though.”
“You won't be saying that for long.” Foggy snorted, popping open another beer before he slid the cards out of their package.
“Matt, chips?” Foggy asked.
Matt retrieved the chips from the bottom drawer of his desk.
“Do you guys just keep gambling stuff around the office?” Karen wondered.
“Don’t think about it too much.” Matt said, distributing the correct amount of chips to each designated player. Foggy had gotten him weighted chips for his birthday two years before.
Foggy dealt.
Karen, sitting in the center and therefore to Foggy's right, set in her blind while Matt dutifull put his in as well.
Foggy and Matt matched the bid, and Foggy dealt.
“At least I don't have to worry about my poker face with one of you.” Karen joked as she bet a fifty. Foggy and Matt matched.
Next card.
“Wait, shouldn't we tell Matt what's on the table?” Karen frowned.
“He always wins anyhow.” Foggy replied.
“I do.” Matt chimed in.
“And he doesn't even know what his own cards are.” Foggy added. “And we can't really tell him what his cards are.”
“That would be cheating.” Matt said, helpfully.
Karen, having an air of dissatisfaction at their answers, listed off the cards on the table, despite Foggy’s groans of giving Matt an advantage. She whacked his shoulder and bet a twenty, which Foggy and Matt called.
Next card.
They all checked.
“Cards?” Foggy asked.
They all set them down.
“Ah-ha!” Karen harrumphed, “I beat Matt!”
“Well, he doesn't win every round.” Foggy clarified. “He just winds up with all of the chips by the end. Somehow.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.” Foggy said, awkwardly. Then, “Nice hand, though. Matt, she got a full house.”
Grinning, Matt held up his hand for a high five, which was returned.
“Karen's grinning back at you.” Foggy informed him. Matt laughed.
Foggy won the second and third round, Matt won the fourth through eighth round (“See, Karen?! I told you so!”), Karen won the ninth and Foggy won the tenth.
Matt's betting habits were sometimes off, which was understandable, since. Well.
He wound up losing two hundred to Foggy with a two and a seven in his hand, but winning only a pair's worth of a pot when he had a full house.
Somehow, Matt still had the most chips out of the three of them. Foggy was motioning to Matt (or, more accurately, Matt's large stacks in front of him) and Matt heard Karen's jaw open and close dramatically. Probably mouthing something.
(("Luck."))
“I bet a hundred.” Matt said on the thirteenth round, after the first three cards were laid out in front of them.
“Mm, you must have good cards.” Karen said, either forgetting that he was blind or saying it ironically. Matt wasn't entirely sure.
Just like how he had no idea what cards he had.
Karen and Foggy matched.
“Two-fifty.” Matt said, once the next card was laid out on the table.
Karen matched, Foggy folded.
The last card was on the table.
“Three hundred.” Matt said.
Karen shrugged and slid the correct amount of chips forward. Probably. “Call.”
“Cards.” Foggy said.
Matt laid them on the table.
Karen and Foggy's heartbeats were thunder.
After a few too many beats of silence, Karen finally squeaked, “Are you sure you're blind?”
“What?” Matt asked, oblivious and, you know, blind. “What did I get?”
Foggy stood up from his chair, set his beer bottle— which he'd been resting between his thighs— down on the table, softly, then he slammed his (not) folded cards onto the table, not so softly.
“THE QUEEN JUST POOPED.” Foggy roared.
“What?” Karen asked, wrinkling her nose, but also throwing her cards onto the table.
“Don't worry about it.” Matt and Foggy told her, one grinning like a cheshire cat while the other was doing the exact same— just upside down.
“What did I say about going easy on Matt?!” Foggy exclaimed.
“Alright.” Karen said in a semi-intimidating voice. “No more Mrs. Nice Karen."
"Oh, thank god." Foggy said, cracking his knuckles while Karen shuffled the cards all fancy-like.
… Matt won the pot anyway.
.
.
.
After Foggy finds out that Matt dresses up in a BDSM suit every night for slightly-sexy reasons and also after Foggy and Matt are done being emo with each other…
.
.
.
Matt knew he was coming from five blocks away.
Foggy jammed his key into Matt's door and ripped open his door, greeting Matt with Foggy accusing, “You feel up the cards, don't you!”
Matt cringed. “It sounds so dirty when you put it like that.”
“So you do, you cheater!”
“No.” Matt said, and before Foggy could interject, Matt continued, “ Can't . Cards are covered in a coating to protect them from wear, so I can't feel the ink.”
“And.” Matt added, “You'd definitely notice me feeling up the cards and then you’d call me out on it. And technically, that wouldn't be cheating, that'd just be me playing the game.”
Foggy paused, moving his weight from foot to foot. He gave, “Okay, that's true.”
But, struck with a moment of inspiration, Foggy said, raising a finger, “But what about your freaky heartbeat thing? Can't you hear me bluffing?”
“Well…” Matt replied, “Bluffing in poker isn't outright lying. Sometimes I can figure it out, but accelerated heartbeats could mean excitement over a good hand or a bluff; I often can't tell the difference.”
“So your human lie detector is actually just a bunch of bull?”
Matt sighed. “Usually when I need to figure out if someone's lying, there's a lot of context to go with it. In poker, it's different. It's not a life or death situation, for one thing. Or at least, you don't think it's a life or death situation.”
“Right.” Foggy said, “Your Batman rule.”
Matt rolled his eyes. He wasn't entirely sure if it was visible from behind his glasses, but Foggy always got the gist anyhow.
“So…”
“So…” Matt prompted.
“You're just really, really, really good at poker, even though you're literally blind?”
Matt mulled it over.
“Yeah, I guess.”
Foggy paused.
“... Motherfucker.”