Work Text:
"One more drink."
"No."
"C'mon, it's barely 8:30!"
"Not tonight." Matt stands, groping for the counter and sliding his bar stool along the sticky floor.
Foggy lifts his beer, sloshing the drink onto his hand. "Can I get this in a to-go cup?"
Josie rolls her eyes, shaking her dingy rag at Foggy. He's favored with a few droplets of... whatever liquid(s) the scrap is soaked in. Ambiance.
Foggy stands to follow Matt, half-full mug in hand, dripping.
"Oy!" Josie barks, "Drink it, leave it, or wear it, Sweetheart."
Foggy shines on her his broadest smile. "Didn't know we'd moved on to pet names. You're sweet on me, aren't you?" Foggy thinks about sending a nickname her way -- maybe "lamb" -- but then reconsiders. He happens to know that Josie isn't her first legal name, and quite probably won't be her last.
Also, she will definitely put stolen-as-a-souvenir items on their tab and the mug probably cost more than the beer itself. Foggy really can't afford splurging on unmatched glasswares right now.
Wanting to keep his shirt dry and himself in Josie's good graces -- such as they are -- Foggy shotguns the beer, grimacing at the grit at the bottom, and jogs to the door. He nimbly ducks past a few leather-clad Dogs shouldering their way in, already reeking of alcohol. No time for pleasantries; Matt can be a slippery bastard when he wants to and Foggy's gotta catch up.
Sure enough, he can just make out Matt's silhouette a surprisingly long distance down the block.
"Matt!" Foggy calls after grumbling under his breath about long-legged athletes who also got all the good looks. "Matt, c'mon, man."
Matt stops short of the corner, waits for Foggy to approach.
"The night is young," Foggy says. "Where to next?" He doesn't point out that Matt wasn't on a path back home. He knows Matt knows that.
"Need to clear my head. Stretch my legs." Matt says the last part with the faintest touch of smug.
"What happened?"
"Nothing happened. I'm just going home."
Foggy blinks, then peers into Matt's face.
"The, uh, long way," Matt amends.
"I hate it when you go all--" Foggy waves a hand. Matt arches an eyebrow. "--all inscrutable!"
Matt goes stock still for a moment. A small crew of teenagers whoops on the sidewalk across the street, heading out for a night of adventure. A car backfires a block over. Matt shrugs, then finally seems to make a decision. He turns 180 degrees and takes off down the sidewalk, back the way they came.
Foggy tilts his head in confusion, then hustles to catch up.
"That was," Foggy begins, halfway between suspicion and happiness, "Much easier than I thought it'd be."
He reaches to guide Matt's hand to his elbow. Matt goes stiff a second, then obliges. They set off, steps falling unerringly into rhythm.
"Not going back to Josie's."
"Uh, yea, we are. Next doorstep on the right: land of libations, shitty lighting, and forgetting your troubles for the evening."
Matt continues past the grimy glitter of Josie's, resolute.
Foggy, reluctant to drop Matt's arm, lets himself be tugged along in tow.
Foggy tucks his free hand in his pocket, as the air suddenly feels cool. Matt's pace is brisk but the streets of Hell's Kitchen are quiet enough at this hour that passersby see his cane in time to sidestep.
"On your left--" Foggy starts, but Matt turns just at that moment so there's no need to continue advising about a particularly nasty pile of grade A prime homegrown New York City sludge.
"Foggy, I'm not--" Matt starts. He then shuts his mouth, pulling up his cane and rolling the handle between his fingers.
His knuckles are red, Foggy notes. Maybe Matt's returned to the boxing gym.
"I'm not in the mood for more drinking."
Foggy snorts, shrugs his arms wide. "Clearly."
"Actually, I don't think we should keep going to Josie's every night."
Foggy's face falls. "What happened?" He asks again, voice softer this time.
Matt hesitates. "You can do whatever you want, of course, but... I won't be joining."
Foggy rocks back on his feet, winded as if from a physical blow. But Matt's face is still calm, if closed, so Foggy tells himself there must be something else going on, something he doesn't understand. No worries: he can get to the bottom of this. If anyone can get Matthew Murdock to open up, it'd be his best friend. And Foggy Nelson is gonna be Matt's best friend forever. No take-backs.
Foggy tries to gather hints starting on neutral ground. "I thought you liked Josie's."
"Nothing wrong with Josie's."
Foggy hopes the implication isn't that there's something wrong with the company.
Matt tilts his head back, eyes closed behind his shades. He taps the tip of his cane against the ground, prodding at a crack in the sidewalk. Foggy waits him out, fighting the urge to rock on his feet. Leather shoes have thin soles and he's only got this one good pair, after all.
Matt tilts his head back down. "I know starting out on our own has been stressful, but don't you think we should be saving our money, at least until we have clients?"
Foggy bites his lip, narrows his eyes. When Matt prods with a leading question it means he's trying to steer the conversation. Pushing toward work topics means this isn't about Nelson & Murdock. Or, at least, not directly.
Foggy shifts his stance. "A compromise," he offers. "If you think Josie's is too classy a joint for us to spend our few hard-eared pennies at--"
Matt snorts, fails to contain the edge of a smile.
"--then let's grab a six pack at the bodega. You can pet the cat, I'll catch up with Mr. Pak, and then I'll crash on your couch?" And... there. Foggy knows the moment he's leaned too hard by the crinkle high on Matt's brow. There's a sudden, subtle tenseness to his smile, no longer the same as when Foggy first coaxed it into existence.
Matt shakes his head and the facial tells are gone, smoothly erased by Matt's practiced 'pleasant and pleasing' mask. "Not tonight, Fog." Matt's almost rueful and Foggy's heart does a familiar belly-flop, like landing in a muffling pile of whipped cream. Put a lid on it, Nelson, Foggy tells himself.
"You got somewhere else to be? Someone else to be with, maybe?"
Matt shakes his head again, more insistent. "Just--" Then, as if deciding between a lie and a more elaborate lie, he ends with, "--just tired."
Foggy reaches out, sets his hand on Matt's. Matt stills his idle probing of the ground with his cane.
Foggy gives Matt's knuckles a firm squeeze. They're hot with bruises.
"I gave you shit about leaving L&Z and, yea, maybe it is driving me to drink a little, but," he squeezes again, more firmly still, "we're doing the right thing, Matt. I can feel it. I'm with you in this, buddy. 'til the end."
In the orange fluorescence of the streetlight, Matt's face suddenly looks a shade paler, more sickly. He swallows. "You really mean it," he whispers. It's not a question, but Foggy answers anyway.
"Of course I do."
The two stand in silence, more awkward than they're used to. Matt turns his posture toward the street, open and loose like he's feeling the night air. Testing it for what, Foggy's not sure. He doesn't look tired, not physically, but Foggy's noted the distraction in Matt since they started Nelson & Murdock. He knows Matt hadn't grown up with the sort of safety net Foggy has had (meager though it was). So maybe this preoccupation is about their new business after all, but in the abstract.
Foggy shifts his hand from Matt's wrist to Matt's back, patting twice, lightly. "Let's get you home to bed, if you're so tired. Who knows what kind of evil-doers lurk in the shadows to prey on young, soft lawyer-types?"
Matt smiles, but squeezes his knuckles around his cane so tight they go white.
"You're not holding out on me though, right, buddy?" Foggy says, cheerfully, as they resume walking toward Matt's apartment.
"Hmm...?"
"If you've got a ladyfriend waiting back at your place I can--"
"No, no," Matt insists. His cane tap-tap, tap-taps. "Nothing like that."
Foggy's now certain something has happened to Matt, and recently, but he's equally certain that Matt's not ready to talk about it. Not yet.
That's okay, Foggy can wait.