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There are a lot of aspects of fatherhood Foggy loves.
There are the typical things he sort of knew he’d love like getting to watch a tiny person grow up and blossom and morph into a bigger person with dreams and a sense of humor, nevermind sharing all those things with Matt.
Being stopped in the street by strangers compelled to inform him that his son is adorable is just an added bonus. (Foggy doesn’t need the praise or any type of validation, he already knows, but he certainly hasn’t gotten tired of hearing it.)
Then there’s the parts of fatherhood that never crossed his mind. Like how hard it would be to leave Jack once his paternity leave was up, no matter how much he missed regularly interacting with actual adults, or the particular one-of-a-kind joy he feels every time he comes home to him. Or the seven hundred and nine different possible things there are to worry about that don’t even involve fire or ninjas or dismemberment.
After dealing with Matt all these years Foggy honestly didn’t think anything could ever be scarier than undead ninjas and criminal kingpins but then Jack came along and redefined all the parameters of fear. It seems like Foggy really is doomed to spend his life worrying about Murdock men. (“That’s Nelson erasure and I won’t stand for it.” Matt protests. Foggy slaps him in the stomach. “Please, it would take a biblical flood to erase the Nelson clan from the TriState area.”)
And then there are the things Foggy should have known he would hate. Like leaving Jack to cry it out when they were sleep training him. God, Foggy still shudders to think about it these days. It was bad for him, but it had been unbearable for Matt. There were a few times there when Foggy honestly thought the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen would be making a comeback whenever Matt shrugged on his jacket and announced he was going to take a walk around the block while Jack wailed his gum pain and ear aches and general undiagnosable cholic away.
Then there was changing diapers. And teething. And not speaking baby. “What do you need me to do here?” Foggy had once practically sobbed in desperation when Jack would just not stop crying and nothing, absolutely nothing Foggy did could soothe him. The helplessness had been so overwhelming that they’d cried together in Jack’s nursery under the judging eyes of the menagerie of stuffed animals Jack had been gifted since his arrival and it had been hands down one of the lowest moments in Foggy’s life. Which, when taken into consideration alongside the rest of Foggy’s life to that point, was really saying something. Diapers, split gums, cholic, all things Foggy did not miss now that Jack was officially left babyhood behind him.
That said, Foggy is honestly a little surprised when he finds himself standing in a living room in Brooklyn surrounded by a gaggle of kids, all somewhere between four and six years old, and decides this is most definitely on the list of things he is not about.
Well. Alright he has to amend that. It isn’t the kids he’s having a problem with.
Jack is in the middle of a pile of kids all laughing and screaming and talking, their voices one giant sonic boom of noise that fills up every corner of the room. Parents line the room, pockets of two and three, holding tiny plates featuring Captain America (the guy used to go as Falcon when he came on the scene. Foggy officially felt old the first time he found himself trying to explain to Jack that in his day there were different superheroes running around. It’s probably how his parents felt when they were trying to explain Jefferson Airplane to him). He and Matt had floated between groups for a while when they’d gotten here, before Matt excused himself and mysteriously disappeared (the bastard). Foggy considers himself a pretty social guy, and he’s definitely got Matt beat (which Claire likes to point out is literally the lowest bar), but he’s never had the patience required to make nice with unpleasant people and he sure as hell isn’t gaining any the older he gets.
He only made it about twelve minutes into a conversation with a couple who willingly described themselves as socially liberally but fiscally conservative before he decided he was probably better off watching Jack play from a solitary corner until Matt reappeared.
That was almost fifteen minutes ago.
Foggy glances down at his own plate, Cap’s face is covered by a few grapes, crackers, and some kind of cheese that just feels categorically wrong in his mouth, and thinks longingly of kid birthday parties of old. Maybe they should have made like some of the other parents and just dropped Jack off and then gone about the rest of their day. There’s no shortage on errands postponed, and Foggy’s half of the home office is a mess that Matt’s been not-so-subtly hinting he should tidy up, and he’s pretty sure he’s supposed to bring something to dinner at Marci’s tomorrow but he can’t remember what. He should just bite the bullet and ask her but Marci’s still razor sharp and scary as hell when she wants to be, which is always.
Besides weekends are family days and it’s not like it’s such a burden, really, eating weird hipster cheese in an overly designed living room while his child participates in what’s shaping up to be a reenactment of Battle Royale. He can do this even if Matt’s probably scaling down the side of the building right now.
“Alright.” Foggy thinks, steeling himself, remembering that he is a grown man who is capable of interacting with other adults who are neither related to him nor friends spanning decades. He’s a professional. He can make small talk for a couple of hours until it’s time to cut the cake.
(God, there’d better be cake.)
-
Matt’s first words after Foggy climbs out of the hallway window and onto the fire escape are, “Are you here to talk me inside?” There’s a bunch of recycled wine crates and mason jars acting as planters for tiny cacti of all shapes and sizes, and a narrow bench made out of rough discolored wood that was probably salvaged from a haunted barn or something. The whole set up totally puts their fire escape, and possibly their entire apartment, to shame.
“Actually I was about to ask if there was room for one more out here.” Foggy says, sliding the window down behind him before Matt’s even answered. Matt scoots over what little he can on the bench he’s seated on and Foggy wedges himself into the space he leaves, elbows tucked close to his sides and legs stretched out and nudging against the base of a planter. Matt wiggles next to him, lifts one of his arms and drops it over Foggy’s shoulder. It has the added benefit of keeping Foggy from falling off the bench by allowing Foggy to crowd into Matt’s space as much as humanly possible short of climbing on his lap. Which he might do anyway just because.
“If I’m being honest, I was kind of hoping you’d follow me.” Matt says with a sly grin and Foggy doesn’t give him the satisfaction of an eye roll.
They sit in the merciful near-quiet for a few minutes. There isn’t much of a view, just an alley and the next building over, a row of windows with different colored blinds and curtains. “We’re probably setting a bad example by hiding out here.” Matt says, almost wistful, like he’s already steeling himself to go back inside.
“Please, as if he’s even noticed we’re gone.”
Matt doesn’t tilt his head towards the window but Foggy sees the little crease in his brow that means he’s focusing, picking out one sound in particular. Foggy can’t hear anything out here but the traffic and pedestrians chattering below, but whatever Matt hears just makes him nod, “Guess not.”
Foggy sighs, “Our duckling’s growing up Matthew. Soon he’ll be slamming doors and shaving.”
Matt chuckles. “Foggy, he’s not even five.”
Foggy shrugs the shoulder closest to Matt, leans against him a little bit more. His teasing melancholy transforms into something different. Great, now he’s actually made himself sad. “I know, it’s just…hard to believe it’s been so long already you know. Feels like it’s all going by really quickly.”
Diapers to potty training to preschool to play dates. Earlier this year they traded out Jack’s toddler bed for a real twin size bed, and even if he’s still using bedsheets covered in shooting stars and magic hammers Foggy still gets a little verklempt thinking about it.
Matt pokes him in the shoulder, the sunlight reflecting scarlet off his glasses when he tips his head towards Foggy. “We could have another one you know, start all over again.” He’s teasing, Foggy know he is, but his stomach turns somersaults at the idea. He remembers Matt the first time Jack was placed in his arms, how nothing short of overcome could describe the look on Matt’s face, the gentle awe and fierce emotion Foggy saw there.
He remembers Jack’s first steps and his first word and the first time he crawled into bed with them after a bad dream and the hundredth time he did just because he wanted to.
“Alright but if the next one makes us go to a party with vegan cheese we’re sending them back.”
Matt laughs, knocks his head against Foggy’s shoulder. “Sorry I should have warned you.”
Foggy tuts. “Some husband you'll be. Maybe I’ll send you back.”
He’d never. The universe can try to pry Matthew Murdock and everything they’ve fought for from Foggy’s cold dead hands.
“How’d you score the private garden anyway?”
Matt’s grin sharpens. “I asked if there was somewhere I could smoke.”
Foggy’s eyebrows shoot up. “No wonder Sheryl gave me the hairy eyeball when I asked where I could find you. She probably thinks we’re out here killing her plants.”
Matt cackles so loudly he scares the pigeons from their roosts.