Archive of Our Own

It’s not that Foggy likes the fact that Matt and Frank are together. 

He hates it, actually - hates the idea of Matt, alone in his apartment with a murderer, a man who shot him in the head, a man who-

He doesn’t like it. He really, really doesn’t. 

He’s just… willing to overlook it. That’s the big difference: he’s willing to push down his own feelings on the matter and let it go, because Matt seems looser, more even, and he gets more sleep and Foggy can’t feel the itchy, anxious energy come off him in waves as often as he used to. 

He’d be willing to overlook it. He’d even be happy to, if Matt would stop lying to him about it. 

“You look happy,” Foggy notes, watching Matt try to cover a limp as he walks in the door. “Good night?”

Matt makes a nod-shake-shrug motion with his head and leans his cane against the wall. “Rolled my ankle.”

Foggy grimaces, because the fact that Matt willingly admitted he got hurt while out Daredevil-ing is just confirmation that the limp was Frank’s doing, and that’s just really not something Foggy needs to know about his best friend and his best friend’s murderer boyfriend. 

“You alright?” He asks anyway, because Matt doesn’t know that Foggy knows, and Foggy doesn’t want Matt to know that he’s wrong about thinking Foggy doesn’t know, because then he would have to deal with Matt being mad about Foggy knowing but not telling Matt that he knows, and it would just be a whole host of shit Foggy doesn’t really feel like dealing with at the moment. 

Matt nods and walks stiffly into his office and Foggy glares down at the papers he’s sorting and goes back to work. 

Matt had promised he’d stop lying, dammit. 

Foggy just wishes this lie was about anything else. 

“We should get dinner,” Foggy calls. “I’m thinking Indian. Butter chicken, what do you think?”

“I… have plans,” Matt says guiltily. 

Foggy snorts. “With who, buddy? You got friends I don’t know about?”

“Something like that,” Matt mutters. 

Irritation and maybe a little jealousy curls like a snake in Foggy’s gut. 

Foggy knows Matt can take care of himself, of course. Hell, he trusts him with his life when it comes to being in danger of physical harm. 

It’s just that Matt, as skilled as he is at fighting, is also the thickest, most emotionally stunted person Foggy has ever had the displeasure of being friends with, and he can’t trust him for shit when it comes to not getting his heart broken. 

“Matt?” Foggy calls, knocking on the door. “I brought beer, I was thinking we could get drunk and binge watch the new Gray’s Anatomy season on Netflix.”

“It’s open,” Matt yells back after a small silence, voice hoarse. 

Foggy’s brows furrow in concern. He opens the door, marching in to find his best friend laying on the couch with red eyes. 

“Matt?” Foggy questions, setting the beers on the coffee table and crouching by Matt’s head. “What happened, buddy?”

Matt sniffles, wiping at the tears on his face and moving to sit up. “I… nothing. It’s nothing. Gimme a beer.”

Foggy cocks an eyebrow, turning to crack the lids off two beers and handing one to Matt. 

“Woah, easy,” Foggy says when Matt immediately starts gulping it down. “Jesus, Matt. What the hell happened? I haven’t seen you this upset since-“

Since Elektra. 

Matt reaches up to scrub at his greasy hair, breathing hard as he finally lets the beer down. He presses the cold glass to one of his eyes. “Got in a fight.”

“With your… friend?”

“Yeah,” Matt croaks. 

“About what?”

Matt breathes out a sigh, staring vacantly downwards as he sifts through what information to tell Foggy and what to keep out. “He… did something I didn’t approve of. I told him I didn’t approve. We got in a fight. Things were said. And now I’m here.”

He gestures vaguely around the room. 

Okay. Foggy translates the Matt Speak in his head; Frank killed someone, I told him not to kill anyone, someone got punched in the face, Frank held a gun to my head and called me a pussy, I called him a sinner and said he was going to hell, and then we had violent hate sex on a roof and broke up and now here I am pretending I wasn’t sobbing on the couch just before you walked in. Can we just drink alcohol and wallow now, please?

It’s a rough translation, but Foggy knows his best friend well enough that he knows it can’t be too far from the truth. 

“Okay,” Foggy says, and then, because it’s habit, asks, “Are you hurt? Physically?”

Matt glares at the floor. “No.”

Foggy nods. “Alright. What can I do?”

Matt sighs, leaning back on the couch. “Gray’s Anatomy was a good plan.”

Foggy nods, sitting down so Matt can rest his head in his lap and pulling the blanket up to the other man’s chin for him. 

“It’ll be okay, buddy,” Foggy mutters, stroking Matt’s hair, and pretends not to notice when hot tears leak into the fabric of his sweats. 

Matt is a self-destructive idiot. Foggy knows this. Karen knows this. Hell, even Matt himself knows this, and they’ve all been working to… not fix it, exactly, because they all know it’s not fixable, and they don’t want it to be, but they’re trying to work with it. 

And it had been working, but Foggy knows that old habits die hard. 

Especially the bad ones. 

So, when Matt walks into the office with a dark, purple and black collar of bruises wrapped around his throat, Foggy shoots a look at Karen. 

Karen is already staring at him, looking worried. 

Foggy cocks an eyebrow. 

Karen nods. 

They both stand and move towards Matt’s door. 

“Hi Matt,” Foggy starts awkwardly. “How’s your day going?”

Karen pokes him in the back. 

Matt looks up, staring at him. “What’s wrong.”

“Nothing!” Foggy says. “Nothing, nothing at all! We were just- er…”

“I was gonna offer you my scarf,” Karen pipes up. 

Matt starts, hand coming up to his throat. “I- they’re- it’s nothing.”

Foggy shares another look with Karen. 

He’s blushing, Karen’s look says. 

Frank, Foggy says back with a roll of his eyes. 

Karen wrinkles her nose. Ugh. I have work to do. You can deal with this. 

Foggy sighs, closing the door and leaning back against it. 

“What’s going on, Matty?” He asks softly. “What happened?”

The red on Matt’s cheeks deepens. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You fix things with your… friend?”

Matt turns his face away. “Uh-huh.”

“So what’s with the bruises?”

“Just some thug.”

Okay, so it was Frank. Now Foggy just has to figure out if it was meant to cause pain or pleasure, and whether Matt actually likes it or if he’s just using it as some fucked up form of punishment for whatever he thinks he needs to be punished for. 

“Big thug,” Foggy observes. 

Matt sighs. “What do you want, Foggy?”

“To know that you’re okay.”

“I’m fine ,” Matt hisses. 

“If you stopped lying I might believe that.”

“I’m not lying.”

Foggy shoots him a Look, and Matt sighs. 

“I’m okay, Foggy. Really.”

Foggy shifts his weight between his feet, searching Matt’s face. “This… friend, of yours… do you think they’re a good person?”

Matt stares at him for a long moment then, cautiously, slowly, he nods. 

Foggy nods back. “Okay.”

Okay. 

That’s that, then. 

Matt and Frank are fucking and Matt thinks Frank - murderer, liar, Punisher Frank -  is a good person. 

God, what has Foggy’s life even become?

It keeps happening. 

Matt comes into work with bruises set firmly over his cheek and jaw and throat and wrists, and busted lips and brows and even a black eye once that he guiltily tries to brush off as “an accident, Foggy, I got distracted and didn’t see it coming, it’s fine”, but Foggy can see him absentmindedly pushing his fingers into it through the windows in his office. 

But. He still seems happier. So Foggy begrudgingly ignores it. 

Until his mom sees. 

It’s at one of the Nelson family gatherings for his cousin’s wedding, and he’s brought Matt because of course he brought Matt, he always brings Matt and he’s pretty sure he’d be disowned if he didn’t bring Matt, and Matt has to wear long sleeves and a high collared coat to cover the hand prints burned into his wrists and shoulders and collar bones. 

“My family’s gonna see it,” Foggy warns on the walk over. “You sure you want to come?”

Matt huffs. “Of course I want to come. I’ll just say I fell down the stairs, or something.”

His mind’s made up, so Foggy refrains from telling him that that excuse paired with those bruises just makes him look like a domestic abuse victim. 

Besides, he kinda wants to see what’ll happen. 

Unsurprisingly, Foggy’s ma frowns when Matt won’t let her take his coat. 

“It’s alright, Mrs. Nelson,” Matt says easily, smiling with all the charm he can muster. “It’s cold out today; thought I was going to freeze on the walk over.”

“It’s sixty degrees out,” Mrs. Nelson says, bewildered. 

Also, Matt’s literally sweating in the heat of the butcher shop and the way everyone is packed together like sardines. 

Foggy chuckles, pulling her in for a hug. “C’mon, ma, let the poor man breathe.”

“He’s too skinny,” Foggy’s ma says, turning to load up a plate and shove it at Matt. “You need to make sure he’s eating, Foggy.”

Foggy rolls his eyes over her head at Matt, who hides a smile and takes the plate. 

“Alcohol’s to your right, Matty,” ma says, patting his cheek. “Let me speak to Foggy for a moment.”

Matt leaves, shooting Foggy an apologetic look. 

“Franklin,” his ma says, voice like acid as she glares at him. 

Foggy shrinks back. “What! What’d I do!”

She slaps his arm. “Why does that boy have a bruise on his cheek!”

Foggy’s brain goes through five different defenses at once and eventually comes up with: “What bruise?”

His ma stares at him, and Foggy curses his two hundred thousand dollars in student debt, because apparently he spent that much and five years of law school just for his best idea to be playing dumb. 

She slaps him lightly across the cheek. “Don’t act like you haven’t seen it, he’s wearing makeup for God’s sake.”

Foggy whines, hand coming up to rub at his cheek. “Okay, okay! He fell down the stairs, alright? He went up to the roof and forgot his cane and missed a step coming down.”

Ma’s eyes narrow. “Bull shit .”

“What? No it’s-“

She hits him again. 

“This is child abuse-“

“Oh shut up, you’re a grown man.”

“ Fine ,” Foggy huffs, exasperated. “I don’t know what happened, alright? I’ve been trying, but he won’t tell me and I don’t want to push him on it. He trusts me, and I trust him. If it’s something bad, he’ll tell me. If it’s not, then I don’t need to know. I promise .”

It’s a half truth. He does trust Matt, but… not about Frank. Not yet.  

His ma relents, holding up her hands in surrender. “Alright. You’re right, I apologize. Now go stop your father from trying to hustle him, the poor boy can’t even play pool.”

Foggy holds back a laugh at the last statement but does as he’s told. 

“Thank you,” Matt says quietly as they stand side-by-side on the wall, drinking cheap scotch and watching the Nelson Clan make utter fools of themselves. 

Foggy raises an eyebrow. “For what?” 

“I heard what you said. About trusting me, I mean,” Matt explains. “Thank you.”

Foggy nudges him with his shoulder. “‘Course. That’s what family’s for.”

Matt takes a deep breath and opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but stops. 

“I’m sorry,” he says instead, barely a whisper. 

Foggy sighs, setting his glass down. He puts a hand on Matt’s shoulder, pulling him in for a hug and rubbing his back. “For what, Matty?”

Matt’s tense in his arms. “I want to tell you, but I- I can’t.”

Foggy pulls away, putting a hand on the back of his neck and pushing down to help release some of the tension. “It’s okay.”

Matt looks away. 

“Hey. Look at me,” Foggy says sternly. 

Reluctantly, Matt turns his head to face him. 

“As long as you think you’re safe ,” Foggy says, stressing the word. “Then I don’t need to know. Okay? What you do with your personal life is your business. I don’t want to push you on it, and I’m not mad if you can’t or don’t want to tell me. I’m here when you’re ready.”

Matt nods. “Okay. Thank you, Foggy, I-“

“However,” Foggy interrupts, letting his voice go hard. “If I think you’re in danger - even a little bit - I will be enacting my right as your best friend to kick this ‘friend’s’ ass, you got that? And just so you know, you self-sacrificing dumbass, I draw the line at broken bones and anything that’ll leave permanent damage, which includes a broken heart.”

A ghost of a smile touches Matt’s lips. “Sure, buddy.”

“Safe, sane, consensual,” Foggy reminds him, a little glimmer of satisfaction popping up when Matt blushes uncomfortably. 

“Fog-“

Foggy says it again, more insistent this time. “I’m glaring at you, Murdock.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Matt mutters. “Fine. We’ll set up a safe word, or something.”

Oh my god. 

“Okay, so, the fact that you didn’t already have one is extremely worrying, Matt. You’re not making a good case for yourself if you’re trying to convince me you’re not a domestic abuse victim, because I am this close-“ he pinches his fingers together. “-to thinking you are.”

Matt sighs. “I’m not-“

“Matt, think about it. If you were one of our clients, or someone you saved on the street, would you think that you were okay?”

Matt’s silent. 

“That’s what I thought,” Foggy sniffs. “I’m trusting you - for now. But we both know that it really, really doesn’t look good for you. Plus, you’ve got my ma worried, which means you’ll have the whole family on your ass soon enough if you’re not careful.“

“I get it,” Matt says. “C’mon, I smell peach cobbler.”

He leaves, conversation apparently over. 

Foggy sighs. 

He can take a hint, especially if it’s from Matt, because as secretive as Matt likes to think he is, he’s an open book even on his best days. 

Well- he is to Foggy, at least. 

They’ve known each other for a long time, and so Foggy knows that when Matt seems like he’s telling the truth, he’s lying, and when he seems like he’s lying, he’s hiding something. 

He does a lot of hiding things. 

“Hey, Foggy,” Matt says through the phone speakers, voice tinny. He sounds tired. 

“Matt? What’s up?”

“I, uh- I’m not gonna be in for a few days.”

He sounds sullen, irritated, annoyed. 

“Oh,” Foggy says, blinking. “Okay. What happened? You okay?”

“Fine,” Matt growls. 

There’s a voice in the background, deep and edged with amusement. 

Matt snaps something back that sounds like Fuck you, asshole . 

“Who was that?” Foggy asks, even though he knows. 

“No one,” Matt says guiltily. “Just a friend. I, uh. I got shot on patrol. So.”

Foggy’s brows raise in surprise. “You got shot?!”

“I’m fine-“

Foggy cuts him off. “Yeah, I know. I’m just surprised you actually admitted to being shot.”

“I made him,” Frank’s voice says, fully amused this time. 

Matt huffs, the noise of a small scuffle coming through the phone - probably Frank reaching for Matt’s bandages and Matt batting at his hands. Then there’s a squawk from Matt and Frank’s voice comes through, loud and clear. 

“Matty’ll be back in a couple days,” he says gruffly. 

Then he hangs up, and Foggy’s left staring at his phone. 

“Matt got shot,” he calls to Karen. 

“What?!”

“Matt got shot.”

Karen appears in his doorway, looking shocked. “That’s fine. I’m just surprised he actually told you.”

“I think his friend made him,” Foggy says. 

Karen snorts, leaning against the doorframe and crossing her arms. “Frank.”

“Frank.” Foggy rests his chin on his hand. 

“So, what’s up?”

“‘Made him’,” Foggy repeats, staring at the wall. “I don’t know if I like that.”

“He’s not abusive, Foggy. Matt would know if he was. I would know.”

“I don’t trust him,” Foggy says sullenly. “What does he want with Matt? I don’t get it. He shot him in the head, like, last year. So why now? What changed?”

“Well… what changed with Matt?“ 

Foggy blinks, surprised at the question. “I don’t know, he- he found a better work-devil balance. Started up Nelson, Murdock, and Page. He… shit. He got with Frank.”

Karen’s quiet for a long moment, letting Foggy’s words hang in the air. 

“Maybe they just realized they can’t be alone anymore,” she says. 

Foggy can’t find a reply. 

“You have a meeting in ten,” Karen reminds him, backing away and shutting the door behind her. 

Foggy sighs. 

Can’t be alone anymore. 

Can’t be alone anymore?

Matt was never alone. He- he had Foggy, he had Karen, he had- hell, he had Claire, he had Jessica, Luke, Danny- everyone but Frank goddam Castle . 

And Frank, Frank had-

Well. Frank didn’t have anyone, as far as Foggy knows. 

“Nah, I’m busy this weekend,” Matt says, munching on his meatball sub. “We can do drinks next weekend.”

They’re eating in Matt’s office, knees brushing under the desk, the bouncing of Matt’s left knee vibrating against Foggy’s. 

Foggy stares at him, slack-jawed. “Busy?”

Matt nods. His fingers tap against the lid of his paper cup, a nervous tick that reminds Foggy of Frank like a slap to the face. “Uh huh. I- I got, uh. A thing.”

“A thing,” Foggy says. 

Matt nods again. Then, exhaling loudly, he blurts out, “Frank has some friends who invited us over for the weekend.”

Foggy stares at him, shocked. 

He hadn’t been expecting Matt to admit it so easily. 

“Frank?” He asks, just to keep up pretenses. 

Matt’s voice is shaky with nerves. “Frank Castle. We’re… dating.”

His mouth twitches on the last word, a nervous frown tugging at his lips, like he’s not quite sure about the statement. 

Foggy stares for a moment, then sighs. “I know.”

Matt blinks. “You… know?”

“For a few months,” Foggy reveals. 

“And you didn’t tell me?!”

Foggy spreads his hands helplessly. “I was waiting for you to tell me! You’re like a fucking cat, Murdock, I have to let you come to me with your secrets or you get scared and run off for three days until you get sick of being lonely outside.”

Matt groans, dropping his head. “So I’ve been fucking embarrassing myself for the past three months for no reason?”

Foggy shrugs. 

“Well?”

“‘Well’ what?”

“‘Well’, what do you think? You’re not mad at me for hiding it? You’re not mad I’m in a- a relationship with the Punisher?”

“I was for a while,” Foggy admits. “I still kinda am, but it’s more from confusion than anything else. I just don’t understand. And I don’t trust him, especially not to not turn into an abusive ass at the first sign of trouble.”

“I do,” Matt says quietly. “He’s… he’s different. With me.”

“They all are,” Foggy says. “Until they’re not. Remember Elektra?”

Matt goes stiff, pain and grief and anger written in every line of his body. “Really? You’re gonna bring Elektra up? How about Marci, huh? Foggy?”

Pain hits Foggy’s heart then, cold and sharp like an icicle, but it’s old. He lets it in, lets it melt and turn warm and drip through his veins and out of his feet into the floor. 

“I remember Marci,” he says carefully. “I couldn’t forget, Matt. I won’t ever be able to, and that’s why I can’t-“

He cuts himself off, trying not to choke on the words. 

“I can’t let it happen to you,” he finishes, slow and solid and determined. “Not again.”

“He won’t do that,” Matt says. “He never would.”

It’s the only thing he’s sounded sure of in this entire conversation. 

It terrifies Foggy. 

“I really hope you’re right, buddy.”

By all evidence, their weekend goes well. 

Matt comes back to the office on Monday, on time for once and carrying a tupperware full of homemade enchiladas for lunch. 

But there’s something else - he’s pensive, brows pinched together even more than usual as he scours his braille case files. His shoulders are tight, an unsettling imitation of his early Daredevil days, and when Foggy reaches out to brush his shoulder, he-

He fucking flinches. 

Foggy freezes, staring at where his hand hovers over Matt’s shoulder. 

Matt says nothing. Doesn’t move. 

“Matt,” Foggy says lowly. “What the fuck was that?”

“Nothing,” Matt says too quickly. “Nothing. I just didn’t see you, is all.”

Foggy ignores what is possibly a very poor attempt at a blind joke and reaches out again, gently taking Matt’s face in his hand. He turns it to see, taking in the bruising on his jaw, sloppily covered up with concealer. 

“Did Frank do this?” Foggy asks, voice cold. 

Matt closes his eyes, leaning in to Foggy’s palm. Hoarsely, he says, “Yeah.”

Rage lights up hot in Foggy’s stomach. “Why?”

“It’s my fault,” Matt mumbles. “I said something I shouldn’t have.”

“So you said something he didn’t like and he hit you for it?”

Matt wrinkles his nose. “Well, if you put it like that it sounds bad, but I swear to you I deserved it-“

“You don’t deserve to be hit, Matt!”

“Not usually, no,” Matt agrees. 

“Not ever ,” Foggy stresses. “Tell me where this guy lives, I have my softball bat in my office.”

“Ah- no,” Matt tsks like an old lady, pulling away. He points at him accusingly. “You said the line was broken bones and permanent damage.”

“And being hit nonconsensually for no reason.”

Matt frowns. “No, that’s changing the rules.”

“They’re my rules, I can change them whenever I want!”

“Changeable rules or not, you can’t go after Frank with a softball bat.”

“What’s stopping me?”

“Frank,” Matt says, like it’s obvious. 

Foggy curses internally because he’s right , dammit. “But you flinched.”

Matt shrugs. “There was a cat down the street. I got distracted.”

Foggy pushes his tongue into an old filling in one of his canines, not quite convinced. 

Sometimes he wishes he had Matt’s hearing, just so he could figure out when his best friend was lying, but then he feels a little guilty for thinking it. 

Matt’s senses are probably just as much the worst thing that ever happened to him as they are the best, because without them, there’s a very good chance the rest of the shit would have never happened. 

Like Stick, for example. Like Elektra. 

Like Frank. 

It’s hot out. Hot for New York, hot for the summer, just hot in general. 

Heatwave, the news says. 

“It’s hot,” Foggy whines, fanning himself with a case file. “Jesus, I’m sweating.”

Matt chuckles from where he’s fiddling with the broken AC behind Karen’s desk. “I have no clue what to do with this thing.”

“We could just call it a day,” Foggy suggests. 

“You guys have court tomorrow,” Karen reminds them. 

Matt sighs, standing. “I can- no.”

“What?” Foggy asks, confused. 

“Nah, it’s nothing.” Matt runs a hand through his hair. “I was gonna say I could call Frank to come take a look, but I know you don’t want him here.”

Foggy hesitates, poking at that filling, then- “No, it’s fine. You can call him.”

Both Karen and Matt turn to stare at him, surprised. 

Foggy glares defiantly. “Call him. It’s hot and I want the damn air working.”

Matt and Karen exchange a look and then, with a shrug, Matt pulls out his phone. 

“Hey, Frank,” he says into the phone, words and voice and posture awkward. “Yeah, everything’s fine. Uh- the AC broke, we were wondering if you could come down and take a look at it? …nah, if you’re busy, don’t worry about it- Oh! Oh, okay. Thank you. See you then.”

He hangs up without any more fanfare. “He’ll be here in 20.”

“Great,” Foggy says, shoulders tight. 

It’s fine. Really. Everything is fine. 

Frank arrives with a bag slung over his shoulder, wearing loose blue jeans, a white tee smeared with dirt and oil, and a black leather jacket that even Foggy’s straight self can admit does everything right to accentuate his wide shoulders and muscled arms and the broad expanse of his chest. And he’s wearing blue aviators, for God’s sake. 

He leans down to kiss Matt when he goes to meet him at the door, a grin on his lips as his hands go to curl possessively around Matt’s waist. 

Foggy crosses his arms and stares at them, watching for any sign that Matt’s even the littlest bit uncomfortable. 

There’s nothing, just the normal awkwardness that comes with kissing one’s boyfriend in front of coworkers. 

Matt pulls away, clearing his throat. “Um, hi. Thanks for coming.”

“Hot in here, Red?” Frank asks, referring to Matt’s lack of tie and undone collar and rolled up sleeves and the way his suit jacket is slung carelessly over the back of his chair. 

Matt nods. “You’ve got no idea. AC’s over there. How’s the shop?”

Frank shrugs off his jacket, hanging it on the rack by the door. He carries his bag over to Karen’s desk, smiling as he pulls her into a hug and kisses her cheek. “‘S alright. Was workin’ on a firebird when you called. Afternoon, Nelson.”

“Hi,” Foggy says curtly. “Coffee?”

“That’d be great,” Frank grunts as he kneels to start fiddling with the AC. “Black, thank you.”

Foggy heads for the coffee maker, starting a pot in sullen silence. 

He can hear them talking in the main room as it brews, something about the heatwave and the car Frank’s been working on, the one with the blown coolant holder and the pipe he’s been fighting with for the last three hours that’s stuck under a bunch of other shit and he can’t tell if he needs to take the front bumper off or just pull harder. 

“Pretty sure I just gotta pull harder, yuh know?” Frank grunts, twisting at a bolt on the AC with one of his wrenches. 

“What if you break it?” Karen asks. 

Frank chuckles. “Guess I’ll just have to fix it. Speaking of- there we go. All good, eh?”

Break it, then fix it. Just the way God intended. 

Foggy just hopes he doesn’t think the same way about Matt. 

But, who’s he kidding - Frank Castle’s about as careful with people as he is with cars. 

It’s obvious in the bruises on Matt’s skin, the scabs that cover his knuckles most days, the way he never holds back, never stops. 

It’s just - Foggy never expected he’d see it. 

Domestic abusers are sneaky. They’re smart, even as much as he hates to give them any credit. They use words and force, scare their victims into being quiet and careful and just taking it. All behind closed doors, of course. 

Foggy bets 90% of them never even get found out. 

“Matty?”

He frowns, opening the door to Matt’s place. “You home?”

No answer. 

Foggy checks through every room and finds nothing and sighs, reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck. 

“Great,” he says to no one. 

His eyes dart to the closet under the stairs, and an idea hits him. 

He’s out the door in seconds, speed walking down the street. His breathing is hard and rough, his heart pounding in his ears anxiously. 

He- he thinks- 

God, he hopes he’s wrong. 

Fogwell’s is already open when he arrives, confirming Matt’s presence. He listens at the door, doing his best to quiet his breathing, and hears-

Matt. Sobbing. Skin hitting skin. Frank. Growling. Words Foggy can’t make out. 

The rage from the other day, already present, grows and grows and grows in his stomach until there’s nothing else, the angry red snake hissing and coiling and writhing until he feels sick with it. 

He practically breaks the door down, sprinting inside to find Matt laying on his back on the floor, tears on his face, Frank Castle straddling his hips with one hand around his throat and the other raised in a fist over their heads, blood on his knuckles and Matt’s nose and mouth and chin, and Foggy sees red. 

“Hey!” He bellows, marching towards them. 

They both freeze in surprise, Castle’s head whipping up, and Foggy gets close and pulls his fist back and punches him right in his ugly fucking face. 

Castle rears, stumbling off of Matt in a way that’s more surprised than pained, and Foggy follows, shoving at his chest. 

He knows it’s a bad idea, knows Castle could fuck him up, easy, probably has a gun in the waist band of his jeans and could put a bullet between Foggy’s eyes in a second, but he doesn’t care, barely even fucking thinks, just forces as much distance between his best friend and the fucking Punisher as he can. 

Belatedly, when he has Frank pressed up against the lockers with a bloody nose and a bruise already forming, he thinks- 

Why hasn’t he stopped me yet?

“Foggy!” Matt’s shouting, stumbling towards them across the rough floor. “Foggy, stop!”

“He’s abusing you, Matt!” Foggy shouts back. “Jesus, how do you not realize? Look at you!”

“Look at him !” Matt retorts, coming up next to them and jerking the hem of Frank’s shirt up until it reaches his collar bones. “You think I don’t give it back? Huh? What, I’m just weak fucking Matthew Murdock who needs you to take care of him? Use your goddamn eyes , Foggy!”

Foggy pulls away so he can look down, finding Castle’s torso just as covered in thick, dark purple bruises as Matt’s throat is, bites layered over his neck and shoulders and Matt’s hand prints branded into his biceps and wrists and hips and fingerprints dipping below his belt line. 

Castle cocks an eyebrow, leaning his head back against the wall. “You hit hard, Nelson.”

Foggy’s panting, confusion now fighting with the rage that still burns in his chest. “I- I thought-“

“No, I get it,” Castle grunts, lowering his arms to his sides. “I get it, yeah? You thought I was hurtin’ your boy. ‘S alright, I woulda killed a man for doin’ that to Maria. You did good, kid.”

Foggy’s hand loosens in Frank’s shirt collar. “I-“

“Hey. Easy, Nelson. Listen to me.” Frank ducks his head so he’s looking up through his lashes into Nelson’s eyes, gaze intense and honest in a way that makes Foggy’s rage start to cool. “You were protecting your friend. You did good. I’m proud ‘a ya. But, hey- look at me, Nelson.”

Foggy does, looking up from where he’d apparently turned his head down towards Frank’s chest. 

“I would never hurt him,” Frank says, voice shaking with how much feeling he packs into the words. There’s fucking tears in his eyes. “ Never. I love him, alright? I love this boy. I would kill for this boy, hell- I already have. They were gonna hurt ‘im, and I tore their fuckin’ heads off at the neck. Okay? You got that?”

“But- you- he-“

“He wanted it,” Frank says. “He coulda told me to stop whenever he wanted, and I fuckin’ woulda. Right, sunshine? We got a word, don’t we? Go ahead, tell Foggy what our word is.”

“Maria,” Matt whispers. 

Frank nods, a big swaying motion that moves his whole body, and shuts his eyes tight for a moment. “You hear that, Nelson? You know who that is? You know who Maria is?”

“Your wife,” Foggy murmurs. 

“That’s right,” Frank says, so low it vibrates up Foggy’s arm. “Maria. My wife. My dead wife, who fuckin’ died right in front of me because I wasn’t good enough. He says her name, and everything fuckin’ stops. I stop, and I do whatever the fuck he wants me to, alright? You got that? So I’m gonna stand right here.” He slumps back against the lockers, crossing his hands together in front of his belt buckle. “You do what you gotta do.”

Foggy turns slightly, taking in Matt’s bloody, dirty face. 

Matt nods slightly. “Let him go, Fog.”

And, goddammit, how the fuck is Foggy supposed to argue with that?

He lets go of Frank’s collar, watching him straighten. 

“There you go, kid,” he murmurs. 

Foggy laughs a little hysterically, running a hand through his hair. “Jesus, Castle, I thought- I was about to-“

Frank chuckles, cuffing his shoulder. “‘S ok. I sleep better at night knowing my boy’s got friends like you and Karen.”

Foggy huffs, turning to Matt. “You okay?”

Matt nods, wiping at the tears now dried on his face. “I was- I get overwhelmed. With everything. Frank, he- he helps me out of it, alright?”

“By beating you?”

Matt growls frustratedly, pushing a hand through his hair and stepping closer. “I know you don’t get it, okay? I don’t know how to explain it to you, but it’s all consensual, it’s all safe, I want it, he stops when I tell him to, I swear. ”

And he looks so honest, those stupid puppy dog eyes that have always been his weakness staring vacantly at Foggy’s chest, hands reaching out as if to touch Foggy but stopping himself, that Foggy just can’t make any other choice but to believe him. 

“Okay,” he sighs defeatedly. 

Matt blinks, surprised. “Okay?”

Foggy nods, backing away from Frank. “Okay. I still don’t get it, and if I ever catch or hear about him doing something you don’t want I’m gonna bash his skull in with my bat, but. Okay.”

Matt slumps in relief. “Okay. Okay. Thank you.”

Foggy grunts, reaching for the locker he knows has a first aid kit in it and pulling it out. He shoves it into Frank’s chest, still a little bit pissed. “Clean each other up. And don’t let me catch you in your weird BDSM shit from now on.”

Frank nods, immediately pushing at Matt to sit down on the bench and opening up the kit. 

Foggy leaves, but not before loitering at the door to make sure. 

“Alright, sunshine?” Frank rumbles, hand on Matt’s jaw to turn his head this way and that. He hisses, amused, and runs a thumb over Matt’s cheekbone. “I gotchu good there, huh? Sorry, sweetheart.”

Matt smiles, something dopey and lazy and happy that Foggy hasn’t seen in years, and pulls the older man down to kiss him. 

Frank groans into it, task forgotten, and Foggy takes that as his cue to leave. 

He closes the door behind him, standing on the sidewalk and staring blankly at the building across the street. 

With a sigh, he scrubs at his face and heads down the road. 

He doesn’t really have a destination in mind, but eventually he finds himself walking through Josie’s front door and throwing himself onto a barstool. 

“You look like shit,” Josie says dryly. 

“And you are as beautiful as ever, Josie,” Foggy retorts, taking the shot she sets in front of him with a nod. He doesn’t ask what it is, just downs it and makes a face as it burns down his throat. “Ugh. Gimme another.”

Josie snorts but complies. 

She stops giving him shots after number four, handing him a beer instead because it’s the middle of the day, counselor. 

Eventually, Matt shows up. 

He orders a whiskey and sits next to Foggy, shoulders brushing together. 

“Where’s Frank?” Foggy’s slurring his words a little, head heavy and stuffed with clouds. 

“I sent him home,” Matt says. “Didn’t think you were in the right mindset for that right now.”

The way he says it isn’t angry, just amused. Like he gets it. Like he understands. 

Foggy grunts. “Probably a good idea.”

“You broke his nose,” Matt goes on, grinning.

Foggy groans, burying his head in his arms on the sticky bar top. “Oh, god. He’s gonna kill me in my sleep, isn’t he?”

Matt laughs out loud, patting his back. “No, he was impressed. I think he likes you, buddy.”

Foggy whines, and Matt drops his voice in an upsettingly accurate imitation of Frank. “‘Your pal’s got some balls, kiddo. I coulda kicked his ass, but I was so surprised, thinkin’, Jesus, this kid must really care about Red.’ ”

“I don’t know if I should be proud or terrified,” Foggy mumbles. 

“Definitely both,” Matt says easily. “He wants me to invite you to dinner this Friday. He’s making lasagna.”

“I love lasagna,” Foggy says into the counter. 

“I know,” Matt says. “Want to come?”

Foggy sighs, pulling his head up. “It’s gonna be so fucking awkward.”

“I know,” Matt says again, still grinning. “I can’t wait.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Foggy mutters. “I’ll be there.”

Matt clinks their glasses together. “Great. I’ll let him know.”

Foggy let’s the silence stretch out for a moment, drinking his beer. “I’m bringing my bat, though.”

Matt laughs out loud, snorting into his whiskey. Foggy grins along with him, and soon they’re both laughing, and Foggy’s wiping at tears from the absurdity of it all. 

“Oh, god,” he says, breathing hard. “Jesus. You really love him, huh?”

Matt smiles, sheepish and lovesick, a blush creeping up his cheeks. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I really do.”