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Foggy is mad.
Or Matt thinks so, at least.
There’s nothing in his heart rate to indicate this, to be fair, and he treats him normally. Well… not normally exactly. How things could ever be normal again he doesn’t know, but he isn’t angry anymore at least. There's no more of that seething rage, just a bitter and weary resignation. No more biting underhanded remarks, no little pointed jabs and passive aggressive quips. Not unless they’re directly talking about his alter ego, but that’s reasonable. That’s enough. He doesn’t mind. Lately, things are, have been, good. As good as he could ever hope for.
Or he'd thought so.
But things had changed.
The first time he'd really noticed that something was well and truly off was this morning, when he was caught stumbling over a chair at a meeting with a client. His head ached from the blow to the head he’d acquired last night, making everything seem sharper, more distracting, more painful. It also hadn’t helped that he hadn’t been paying attention, focusing on the far away, drifting on the noise in the city beyond, before he’d tripped over it.
Karen had needed to take his arm and speak softly under her breath, “Over here, Matt," as she guided him towards one of the plush seats, her hand on his elbow.
He’d let her guide him, murmuring his thanks, and heard Foggy's soft scoff under his breath.
Matt couldn’t help the twinge of guilt in his chest.
He’d sat down with a plastic smile, resolving to pay more attention, to be better, and carefully said nothing.
Foggy is mad.
And Matt knows it.
The group of women (three, one of them older, the other two her daughters, one worked at a bakery and the other a flower shop) laughs and Matt smiles awkwardly, unsure as to why but playing along helpfully. Trying to be charming for these new potential clients gathered in their office. Foggy always said he kept Nelson & Murdock afloat with his good looks and Matt has been far too absent from their firm recently. He truly hadn’t meant to, but his alter ego was starting to take up more and more of his time.
He hoped this would help make up for it.
He knows deep down that it doesn’t.
He knows it isn’t enough, he isn’t enough, but he’s trying so hard to be useful, to make up for it, but he’s not sure he can ever make up for being such a terrible friend and partner. For existing. But he’s putting his best foot forward. He has to at least try. For Foggy who's always needed someone better than him.
Foggy snorts at, presumably, the joke Matt had missed, "Oh, that was a good one."
Matt clasps his hands over his cane and hopes none of them were looking to him for cues. He honestly had no idea what he’d missed.
"Oh," titteres one of the ladies, Michelle if he remembered correctly, her perfume thick enough to clog his nose and make his eyes water, the taste of rancid petunias lingering on his tongue, "I’m sorry was that- you didn’t get that at all did you? I’m so sorry-“
Matt laughs, waving it away, understanding, assuaging her fears, "No, no it’s fine. Believe it or not," he gives her his most charming smile, his confidence wavering as he hears Foggy sigh with an unusual amount of irritated disdain behind it, "Physical comedy is a favorite of mine."
Luckily, his guests seemed to buy it, laughing along.
Foggy doesn’t seem pleased and Matt's smile falters, dim.
Foggy is two steps to the left of him, miles away somehow, and, as Matt's wandering hands grope for the door handle, he can’t help but to ask, "Uh, Foggy, is- is everything alright?"
Foggy hums, that little tune he’d been muttering under his breath all day, tapping his fingers to a beat against the leather back of his briefcase even now, "Yes, everything’s fine. Why?"
He’s not lying.
Matt swallows, shaking his head, cane swinging out as he walks forwards, back into the cool comfort of their office, "Just… just wondering."
He shouldn’t be surprised, he’d just thought… Never mind. This was better. They needed distance. It was… it was enough.
He feels the displacement of air as Foggy moves and then steps back, quiet, voice lowering into a hush, a whisper, "Is this about… you know… your nighttime actives?"
Matt can smell the sweat on him, taste the anxiety on his tongue. It’s too much today, next to the loudness of the cars outside, the children wailing across the street, the sirens, the screaming, the shouting, the conversation of the woman next door about the death of her aunt. Matt breathes in, trying to narrow his focus, trying to ignore the buzz of the electricity wavering in the building and the hum of a fly stuck in the ceiling corner, "No. No, I was just. I didn’t mean…" finally he breathes, letting it go, "It’s nothing."
They start forwards, upwards, and Matt tries to shake his uncertainty off.
Michelle's perfume still fills the office and, even hours after she’d left, it is enough to make him gag.
It’s too much.
He starts forward, tapping his cane lightly, even that light noise hurting. He picks it up as they reach more familiar ground. His head pulses, the ache worsening. He really should have been more careful last night. The blow to the head by one of the muggers had left his ears ringing even now, leaving him unfocused and clumsy and worse, distracted.
Foggy sighs behind him, that annoyance there again. As if he’d done something. But what? He hadn’t done anything lately. Was it something new?
He knows he doesn’t have any right. Any right at all to be upset. To be worried. He’d lost that right… But he wants to know, needs to know, to make it better, if he even can anymore.
Even though he can’t see, he can feel Foggy's gaze burning into his back.
He’s so distracted that he bumps into the chair and nearly plants his face against the floor.
Foggy scoffs, the thunk of his briefcase dropping down on his desk almost damning, "Okay, Matt. Look, can we- can we drop the act? At least here? Karen is out, it’s just us, why do you have to- why do you have to pretend, man?"
Matt fumbles for the back of the chair to lean on, brows furrowing, "Wha-? The act?"
He doesn’t fake his confusion.
Foggy's heart rate picks up, Matt was messing up again even though he couldn’t figure out why, "The blind act, Matt. I get it, you have to keep it up for everyone else. But lying to everyone, to Karen… it hurts, man. I just- I wished you wouldn’t pretend that you were blind with me at least. Not anymore."
Matt opens his mouth, closing it again, and then, "Foggy, I can’t… I can’t see?"
He sure as hell wishes that he could see Foggy's face now, but he depends on that steady loyal heartbeat as he always does, wishing that things were different, wishing that he weren’t such a colossal failure, wishing that he wasn’t the person he was.
"What do you mean you can’t see?" Foggy laughs, incredulous, "You told me- you told me world on fire, remember?"
Six blocks away there’s a car crash, minor, but loud, a broken horn still blaring enough now. Matt massages his brows, trying to think, "It’s not like that Foggy. I- look, let’s, let’s rewind. A little bit."
"Yeah, okay," scoffs Foggy, belligerent, but giving him a chance, all too generous, "Go ahead."
Matt places his cane down, leaning it against the desk, directionless as he stumbles and then starts, trying to explain, "I can feel balance and- and direction. I can sense micro-changes in the air, vibrations- temperature variations. I can hear- and I can smell and I can feel. All of that helps me get an idea, form a picture," Matt licks his lips, trying to focus, his headache worsening, "For example, I know what type of coffee you had this morning, Foggy, I can tell Marci spent the night with you, I know you’re- you’re upset right now based on your heartbeat and that flop sweat," Foggy shifts, fingers tapping on the table again. Matt tries for humor, desperate to salvage his best friend's mood, "And I know you’ve had that new song that was on the radio stuck in your head all morning," he strikes out, there’s no answering chuff of laughter from him. Matt swallows, finishing meekly, "But- but I can’t see."
"But you know where stuff is, Matt," he doesn’t understand, he hadn’t been good enough.
"I know, I’m sorry, I should’ve- I should’ve-“ he finishes lamely, knowing it’s not enough, "I’m sorry. Some days it gets too much, I get- I get distracted," the horns have finally died on that car at least and his headache lessens a little.
"Too much?”
"Yeah, I just," he doesn’t want to bring up Daredevil to him, but he wants to be honest, "I got knocked around a little bit last night- I’m fine, Foggy, I’m fine- but I’ve got a headache. And the city is-“ on edge? Torn up? "-loud today. I’ll-“ he fumbles for his cane, pushing through the ache and finding it finally, "I can still work."
"Oh geez, Matt," there’s another bump, and Matt cocks his head, curious as his friend stands up, "You asshole."
“Uh," Matt raises an eyebrow, tensing, wary, unsure, "Sorry?"
Foggy gently takes his arm and Matt almost jolts at the contact before his shoulders relax, he hasn’t realized how much he’d missed it, how much he needed that touch to ground him. So few people touched him these days without intent to kill, "Now I feel like a jerk. You should’ve told me, man."
"I don’t- told you what?"
"I thought you could see everything- I didn’t- I didn’t know."
It hits Matt then that it hadn’t been on purpose. Foggy really hadn’t been mad, hadn’t been punishing him. Instead of making a joke, telling him it was okay, all he can manage is a pathetic, strangled, " Ah ."
That halts his partner and he can almost hear the gears turning in his brain, "Wait, Matt, did you think I was doing it on purpose?"
He always could read him too well. He answers too quickly, too nervously, with forced laughter, "What? No!"
"Smooth Murdock."
Matt scoffs, leaning into him, "Like you could do better."
His partner's voice is dry but warm, "I could and you know it."
It’s almost back to old times, them teasing and joking, but Foggy brings him back down to reality all too quickly, "Matt, I swear, I wasn’t doing it on purpose. I just figured you could see."
"It’s alright, Fog, it’s fine."
It really is. He really doesn’t mind, he’s just thankful that he isn’t mad at him, that for once he isn’t the cause of a problem, that he didn’t mess everything up.
"It’s not fine. I wasn’t punishing you. And, if I was, you shouldn’t have put up with that shit, you hear me? You shouldn’t have taken it lying down. I can’t believe I’m saying this but you can’t let people walk all over you. Next time, tell me, okay?"
"Foggy," Matt laughs, warm, "I’m fine."
"It hurt you, didn’t it?"
Matt hadn’t been expecting that and he opens his mouth, pausing, debating between the honesty that he’d promised or a comforting white lie. His pause, however, is enough to confirm it, "Matt," Foggy slings an arm around his shoulder, his touch one that Matt had missed more than he would ever be able to express, "I’m sorry for hurting you, okay? No matter how mad I am, I would never treat you like that on purpose. You’re still my best friend, even if you are stupid as hell sometimes."
Matt shifts, looking down sheepishly, overwhelmed, lips twitching, unable to help the shy warmth spreading in his chest. "There we are," there’s a tap on his shoulder, soft and light, a laugh and then Foggy finishes with a smile in his words, "I just nodded in approval, Matt."
Matt grins, wide, something unwinding his chest, loose and free and happy, "Thanks, Foggy. I appreciate it."
"Anytime, man, anytime."