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“Are we in trouble?” Karen asked in a whisper. The van they were in turned a sharp corner and she rolled into Foggy, squishing him against the legs of one of their kidnappers.
“I think probably, yeah,” Foggy said, grunting a little when the kidnapper guy kicked at him. “But I think, I mean we left Josie’s right after M- our friend. Like pretty soon after.”
Karen blinked at him through the messy curtain of hair across her face. “You think he was- you think he heard us?”
“I mean,” Foggy tried to shrug, but it was kind of hard with his hands bound behind his back. “I was pretty loud.”
“Yeah,” Karen agreed. “You’re a good screamer.”
“Thanks.”
The van turned another corner and this time it was Foggy that couldn't help but squish Karen a little.
“Sorry, sorry,”
“‘S fine,” Karen said, wiggling a little and trying ineffectually to blow the hair out of her face.
“Could you two shut the hell up?”
Foggy squinted and craned his head around, trying to get a look at the kidnapper guy. “Why?”
“‘Cause you’re giving me a headache,” the guy growled, kicking Foggy in the back sullenly.
Wincing and trying to wiggle a little farther from the guy, Foggy fell back to his default mode. Arguing. “Uh, well you’re giving me at least two different types of trauma like, as we speak. You can keep your headache for all I care.”
“Yeah,” Karen said, kicking her leg out and flinging her tasteful kitten heel right off of her foot. Foggy watched, impressed, as it bounced off the guy’s shoulder. Karen punctuated the move with a biting, “Hope it gets worse.”
The guy made to stand up, hand coming down to the butt of his pistol, but he stumbled and sat again when the van turned another corner and then shuddered to a screeching halt shortly thereafter.
“What the fuck, Morty!”
"Morty!" Karen whispered at Foggy, eyes sparkling behind the tangled curtain of her hair.
Foggy agreed, but was immediately distracted by the driver's response.
"I know! There's some guy in the middle of the way!"
"Whattaya mean a guy?"
"There's just some weird guy! He's standin' there!"
"So run him over! We got a schedule to keep and we’re almost there!"
"He's got a flag on his head!"
There was a beat of silence, wherein Foggy and Karen squinted at each other and the kidnapper guy let out an audibly-confused sigh. "What the hell do you mean he's got a flag on his head?"
"He's got an Italian flag wrapped around the top of his head. I'm not desecratin' no Italian flag by runnin' a guy over in it."
Foggy blinked at Karen, who blinked back at him. Karen gave a minute nod. Foggy felt something in his chest relax.
With a heavy, gusting sigh, back-of-the-van guy stood up, hunched over to keep from banging his head. He grumbled disapprovingly and drew his gun, tapping at the grate covering the little window between the front and the back of the van. “Lemme see.”
The scrape of metal against metal sounded, and Foggy wiggled around, straining to watch as back-of-the-van guy peered through the little opening.
“...Huh.” He said after a moment of observation, and then tapped the butt of his gun against the partition again. “Just run him over, Morty. You ain’t even Italian.”
“My gramma’s Italian!” Morty protested from the front seat.
“She’s your step-gramma. Don’t count and you know it. Run his ass over.”
Foggy frowned at Karen, aware that Matt was capable of many amazing things, but he probably couldn’t take on a van single-handedly. Karen stared back, reassuringly calm. The horn honked, and Foggy flinched violently, legs flailing.
“You!” Back-of-the-van guy barked, “Stop fucking moving. Morty!” He turned back to the little window and rapped on it angrily. “Stop dickin’ around and run him over. He’ll either move or he won’t. The boss is already gonna be pissed we couldn’t find the other one.”
“Ah shit. I just washed this thing,” Morty complained, but the van lurched into movement, accelerating with a squeal of tires.
Foggy flinched, eyes slamming shut. There was, to his dismay, an audible thump.
And then Morty shrieked.
And then there were more thumps, or more like cracks, like the sound of something solid hitting glass, and the van swerved, brakes squealing.
The crash, when it happened, tumbled Foggy and Karen into each other, along with back-of-the-van guy, in a painful heap of limbs and swearing. They were still grumbling and trying to untangle themselves, Foggy lurching his way out from under back-of-the-van guy like a hogtied inchworm, when another thump echoed through the van, this time from the roof.
“He’s a fuckin’ ninja!” Morty cried from the front seat. “He’s possessed! He just jumped on the front of the van and started wailing on the windshield with a pole!”
“Shut up Morty!” back-of-the-van guy yelled, grunting as he pushed himself up to his knees, elbowing Foggy in the head as he did.
“Watch it!” Karen snapped as Foggy yelped, rolling awkwardly away.
“Shut up and stop moving,” the guy growled, checking the gun still clenched in his hand and then waving it at Karen and Foggy. “You stay the fuck there. You move, I shoot, got it?”
Foggy tried to regulate his breathing, his lungs trying to go into overdrive, while Karen glared daggers at the guy.
“You got it?” the guy asked again, angrily, crouching as he shuffled towards the door at the back of the van.
“You want us to shut up or you want us to answer the question?” Foggy griped, wriggling awkwardly until he managed to sit up against the side of the van.
Another thump sounded from the roof, causing all three of them to glance up warily.
“I want you to stay right the fuck there,” the guy continued after a moment. “Morty!”
“What!” came Morty’s irritable reply.
“Keep an eye on ‘em.”
“Oh sure. Keep an eye on ‘em,” Morty griped. “Drive the van, Morty. Run over the creepy Italian ninja, Morty. Get whiplash and watch the hostages, Morty-”
“Shut up, Morty,” Karen groaned through clenched teeth. She used Foggy’s elbow to help wiggle herself into a seated position next to him and Foggy was finally able to make out the thin trickle of blood running down the side of her face from a cut at the corner of her eyebrow.
“You okay?”
"I'm fine," she said, face grumpy-looking as she slumped against the side of the van. She blew the hair out of her face and leaned over until her shoulder bumped into Foggy’s upper arm. Foggy sighed and leaned back into her, cheek resting against the top of her head.
They watched as back-of-the-van guy made his hunched-over way to the door, eyeing the roof suspiciously, gun held up by his ear and pointed towards the origin of the last thump. He grabbed the handle and moved it down, pushing the door open and peering out into the night. There was nothing but an alley, with a dumpster shoved up against one of the brick walls, boxes piled haphazardly next to it. He shot one last glare into the van and then stepped out.
"This is the good part," Karen whispered.
"What are y-"
"Shh, just watch!"
Foggy shushed and watched as back-of-the-van guy climbed cautiously out, and then turned, gun raised, and addressed the top of the van. "Alright jerkoff, you put your hands where I ca- Ack!"
A slim metal pole whipped through the air and thwapped against back-of-the-van guy’s hand. The gun clattered to the ground and a figure dropped down from the roof of the van, crowding back-of-the-van guy up against the brick wall by the dumpster with a hand on his throat.
The figure was Matt. It was definitely Matt. Dressed in his rumpled court suit with a cheap Italian flag wrapped around the top half of his head. He was growling. Foggy blinked as Matt’s lip curled. He’d never seen Matt growl before.
His contemplation was interrupted by a noise from the front of the van, and Foggy turned to see a pale face pressed up against the grate, one eye opened wide and jaw slack with disbelief.
“Shit,” came the soft exclamation from Morty, his face disappeared, and then the quiet sound of a dialing phone could be heard from beyond the partition.
“Uh-oh,” Karen said quietly, although she sounded anything but worried. “Here, can you get these off me?” She turned, grunting as she shifted, and nudged at Foggy so he would do the same. Foggy turned once more towards the open door at the back of the van, fingers tangling briefly with Karen’s until he managed to find the ropes around her wrists. He began tugging at the knot, eyeing the events outside with interest.
Matt let go of the guy’s collar and shoved him back. His head lolled worryingly, nose bloodied, and back-of-the-van guy slowly slid down the brick wall, downgraded for the time being to slumped-in-the-alley guy.
Matt turned, right ear cocking toward the van, and then made his way over, hands grabbing surely at the sides of the opening as he climbed inside. “You okay?”
Foggy, whose fingers were still fumbling uselessly at the ropes around Karen’s wrists, shrugged. “I shrugged. Karen’s bleeding.”
Foggy could practically see Matt’s eyebrows furrow under the flag.
“I’d hug you but we’re tied up,” Karen added. “And it’s not that bad.”
Matt turned and hopped nimbly back out of the van, and Foggy blinked in worried surprise for a moment before he realized Matt wasn’t going far. He dug around in slumped-in-the-alley guy’s right front pocket and pulled out a folding knife, heading immediately back to the van. “Here,” he said, sliding the knife along the floor of the van and then turning slightly, head tilting into what Foggy thought of as his listening pose.
He straightened up, mouth a flat, determined line. “Be careful. I’ll be right back.”
“Kinda hard to take him seriously with that flag on his head,” Karen observed, already scooting over to grab the knife.
Foggy shrugged, nodding. “I wasn’t gonna say anything, but…”
“Could have been worse,” Karen mused, “He could have just tied his tie around his eyes.” Her fingers reached out and danced over Foggy’s hands before moving up to his wrists. “Hold still.”
Foggy did his best to hold still as cold metal slid against his wrist. “He could have just draped his jacket over his head and hoped for the best.” He focused on the sawing motion of the blade as the flat of it rubbed against his skin. There came a muffled exclamation from the front of the van, followed by a short, sharp rocking and then the sound of a door slamming. Foggy tried not to think about it. “Still, I don’t think he realizes how distinct the bottom half of his face is.”
“Mm,” Karen made an agreeing sort of noise. “Did you see him growl?”
“I saw,” Foggy agreed, eyes wide.
“Right?”
“I know.”
“Ha!”
The ropes across his wrists fell away, and Foggy brought his arms in front of him, wincing with the tight soreness in his shoulders. “Alright, gimme.” He turned and took the knife from Karen, making quicker work of her ropes since he could actually see them, even with swollen, tingling fingers.
“Now what?” he asked. Karen sat across from him, rubbing her wrists and peering out into the alley.
“C’mon,” she instructed and, after reaching for her previously projectiled shoe and shoving it back onto her foot, she climbed out of the van.
“You sure we shouldn’t just stay in here until he’s done with Mor-”
Foggy was cut off by a wash of headlights that flooded down the alleyway, casting a deep shadow from in front of the van. The sound of grit under tires echoed off the brick walls. Another set of headlights joined the first. Voices began to make themselves known in the distance.
“He might need our help,” Karen whispered, crouching down and peering around the side of the van.
“We have one pocket knife between us,” Foggy pointed out, but he was already scooting awkwardly towards the back of the van. Karen ignored him and turned, moving to where slumped-in-the-alley née back-of-the-van guy’s gun had landed. She picked it up, inspecting it in a brief, competent-looking manner and then gesturing at Foggy with her chin. She moved into a crouch and peered around the side of the van again, and Foggy sighed, glancing down at the knife in his hand, before following behind.
There were at least eight guys out there, illuminated from behind by bright headlights. They were advancing slowly on Matt, jeering and murmuring amongst themselves. Foggy half-expected them to start snapping their fingers to a beat, but before he could relay this to Karen, Matt surged into motion.
Foggy watched, entranced, as Matt began to take them out. He struck and retreated, darting between people, ducking and twisting as he made his moves, never staying in one place long enough to be a target. He hurled himself around like an acrobat bent on destruction, taking out knees and flipping off of walls; short, violent strikes interspersed with almost balletic flourishes of motion. Foggy was dizzy just looking at him. “Holy shit,” he breathed, as Matt launched himself off of one guy to land a flying kick on another ten feet away.
“Right?” Karen breathed back, nudging him with her shoulder. “I told you, this is the good part.”
It wasn’t seamless. The men around him occasionally landed hits, but Matt just kept going, never taking more than a split second to regroup and come back harder, more determined.
The men went down, one by one, until it was just Matt, surrounded by groaning, writhing bodies, breathing heavily as his hands stretched and flexed, slowly, rhythmically, by his sides. He stood with his chin down, chest heaving with each gust of breath, back-lit by the headlights of the cars at the other end of the alley.
Foggy took a deep breath, letting it out slowly through pursed lips, and Karen switched the gun to her other hand, patting him consolingly on the shoulder.
Matt picked his head up, ear cocking towards them. Foggy watched as he brought a bruised knuckle up to swipe at his bloodied lower lip.
“Oh man,” Foggy breathed.
Karen squeezed his shoulder, a sympathetic smile on her face. “Yup.”
Matt eventually joined them again, his breathing closer to normal and the flag crooked on his head. They make their way back to the other side of the van, sheltered somewhat from the bright headlights.
“Where’d you even get that thing?” Foggy asked, tugging on the tail end of the flag.
“Outside of Carmine’s,” Matt answered sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Took the little pole and everything. I needed something to cover my face and I didn’t want to waste any time. I could hear you, uh-”
“Screeching manfully?” Foggy suggested.
“Sure.”
“Carmine’s is the one with the calzones?” Karen asked, nudging slumped-in-the-alley guy’s leg with her foot.
Matt nodded to confirm and Foggy wrinkled his nose. “They’re good. We’ll have to buy ‘em a replacement.”
Matt snorted and then lifted his head, going into his listening pose. “I’ve gotta go,” he said after a moment. “Someone called it in, the police are on their way.”
“Be careful,” Karen ordered.
“I always am,” Matt lied, grinning, and hopped up onto the dumpster, making a jump for the ladder to the fire escape and scrambling up it faster than Foggy felt was absolutely necessary.
“Well,” Foggy said after a moment.
“Yeah.” Karen gave slumped-in-the-alley guy’s leg one last kick and then they both turned to survey the sea of groaning thugs Matt had left behind. Sirens began to sound in the distance.
“What do you think they wanted us for, anyway?” Foggy asked, turning away from them and hopping up to sit in the back of the van.
“My money’s on the Miller case,” she said, untucking her shirt and using the hem to wipe at the gun, presumably removing her fingerprints from it.
“The Miller case? I was thinking Rivera. The ex. He was into some shit.”
“Nah, that was small time.” Karen crouched and placed the gun more or less where she had found it. She hopped up next to Foggy, legs swinging. “What about the Cooper thing?”
“Irish?” Foggy asked, and then squinted at slumped-in-the-alley guy. He shrugged after a beat. “Maybe. Guess we’ll find out eventually.”
“Thanks for keeping me company,” Karen said, swaying into him companionably.
Foggy leaned back and wrapped an arm around Karen’s shoulders. Red and blue lights began to reflect against the buildings across the street. “No one I’d rather be kidnapped with.”
***
It was late enough to be early when Foggy finally made it home. He was dead tired and a little hungover, and didn’t expect Matt to be sitting quietly on his couch when he let himself into his apartment.
So naturally he screamed.
“Sorry!” Matt exclaimed, climbing off the couch. He had caught Foggy’s keys when Foggy chucked them at him reflexively, and they jingled merrily in Matt’s left hand as he held his palms up non-threateningly. “Sorry, didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“You could have texted!” Foggy accused breathlessly. He patted himself down nervously, taking a few deep breaths.
“Your phone’s dead!”
Foggy glanced down at his phone, dark and silent on the counter, and exhaled through his nose. That sounded plausible. He pulled his crumpled tie out of his pocket and dropped it next to his phone, toeing off his shoes. He waved a hand dismissively. “Whatever, man. What’s up?”
“I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
Foggy blinked and rubbed at the corner of his eye, making his way to the couch. “I’m fine. A little tired and my arms are sore but that’s it.” He plopped down next to Matt, who had his face turned towards Foggy, eyebrows up.
“You sure? Earlier you… there was…”
“There was what?”
“Your heart was kind of-”
“Inadmissible,” Foggy declared, feeling the traitorous organ start back up again.
“I’m not,” Matt huffed out a breath through his nose and turned, knees bumping into Foggy’s thigh. “I’m not putting you on trial; I just wanted to make sure everything was- Not…” He took a deep breath and started again. “I didn’t want you to be scared. Of me.”
Foggy’s shoulders slumped. “Of you?” He patted Matt on the leg. “Never. And you have my permission to polygraph that.” He leaned back, neck curving over the back of the couch as he stared blankly at the ceiling. “For you? Uh, yeah. I reserve that right as your best friend and partner.”
“So that’s… you were scared for me? Tonight? That’s all that was?”
“I mean, I was scared at first,” Foggy said, turning to peer tiredly at Matt’s face. “I’ve never seen your whole,” he paused to make some choppy-motions in the air with his aching arms, “thing before. But after the first 27 punches, when you did a round-house kick off the side of a building into some guy’s face, I stopped being scared.”
The corner of Matt’s mouth curled up into a smile. It put the cut on his lip in stark relief, and Foggy sniffed and turned away, looking back to the ceiling.
“You thought it was cool,” Matt accused, delighted.
“It was pretty cool,” Foggy allowed. “You were…”
“...What?”
Foggy sighed at the ceiling and rolled his eyes. “You were amazing, okay?”
Matt was quiet for a few beats, and Foggy eventually turned his head again to check on him. Matt was grinning in his direction, head resting on the back of the couch, mirroring Foggy’s position.
Laughing, Foggy smacked Matt’s arm with the back of his hand. “What, man?”
“You’ve got a crush on Daredevil!” Matt exclaimed, smile radiant.
“Okay, okay,” Foggy protested, “First of all that wasn’t Daredevil. That was like… the Italian Avenger. Macaroni Marauder. Discount Daredevil at best. Not even a single horn.”
Foggy trailed off as Matt dissolved into giggles at his side, burying his face in Foggy’s arm. Foggy’s contented sigh was interrupted by a jaw-cracking yawn. “Alright,” he declared, slapping his palms down on his thighs. “It’s bedtime for good little lawyers everywhere. And you, I guess. You staying?”
“Mm,” Matt made a contented little noise and knocked his temple into Foggy’s shoulder. “Can I?”
“‘Course,” Foggy said, standing up with a groan. He turned and held out a hand. “Anything for Captain Cannoli.”
“Okay, okay,” Matt said, taking Foggy’s hand and pulling himself up. “Strong,” he said, once he was standing, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.
“Thanks, I work out,” Foggy lied, flexing cheesily and regretting it immediately.
“Take me to bed,” Matt directed, curling his hand around Foggy’s elbow.
“Hey Matt,” Foggy says softly, leading them toward the bedroom.
“Hmm?”
“Thanks for the rescue.”
Matt flashed him a tired, warm smile, hand tightening around Foggy’s arm. “Any time.”
***