Chapter Text
Foggy squeezed his eyes shut against the headache forming. It was nearly 2am, and he was trying to do too much work by the light of his laptop to avoid using more electricity than they could afford. Two people's work to be honest, but it’s not like he could be mad at Matt for being out looking for missing kids. And if he found Mrs Bloomfields two children and got them safely away from the scumbags who had kidnapped them then the accountant would be free to testify against her former employers and those bastards would be locked up and the work that Foggy was doing now would just be the cherry on the top of the 20 to life sentence.
The sick feeling in Foggy’s stomach when he thought about Matt in danger (or what Matt might find, or what Matt might do when he found it, and really how long can Matt keep throwing himself at this stuff without getting broken in one way or another) has nothing to do with it, and isn't helpful. God, Foggy hopes those kids come out of this okay, wishes that he hadn't talked to Mrs Bloomfields in the first place, but then Alaidine Industries would get away with knowingly letting their toxic chemicals into the drinking water supply of a residential block (causing several elderly residents and children to get sick. It was a miracle no one had died). He scrubbed a hand over his face, none of this is what he needs to think about right now. He can spend another hour on this, then go home, shower, crash for a couple of hours, come back in and catch up with Matt and hope that they can get everyone out of this mess safe.
It was nearly 4am when Foggy finally left the office and he was exhausted from work and worry. It was perhaps not his fault that he didn't notice the burly man following him at a discreet distance on the otherwise deserted street. Foggy pulled his phone out to ring Karen, as he expected he got her voice mail.
“Hey Karen, just leaving the office,” he said tiredly to the machine. “I know I said I wouldn't stay this late, well early, but I think I might have something. If you get to the office in the morning before me could you try to get me another meeting with Cooper? I found something in the paperwork I don’t understand and I think he might know what’s going on there. Right, home, bed. See you tomorrow. Or later today, whatever. You’re the best.”
As Foggy hung up the phone was knocked out of his hand and he heard the crunch of plastic as it hit the floor and he was pushed into an alley by man who’d been following him. There was a wall and a dumpster in front of him as he turned two larger, casually angry looking men melted out of the shadows behind his attacker. Foggy felt his blood actually run cold. These were some serious looking gentlemen, if you were using ‘gentlemen’ in a totally sarcastic way of course.
“So I should imagine you work for Alaidine Industries then?” said Foggy letting his mouth run on as his brain desperately tried to figure a way out. Maybe The Daredevil would even hear him. “I should let you know that you are welcome to drop in to our offices anytime during office hours. Generally 9 til 5. We’re traditional like that. I’d give you my phone number but I seem to have misplaced my phone. Perhaps you could give me yours and I’ll get my secretary to call your secretary (Shit! Shouldn't have mentioned Karen, keep talking cover it up) and we can arrange a meeting, over lunch perhaps? The new deli just round the corner from here is really…”
The guy closest took a step forward grabbing the front of Foggy’s shirt, cutting his babbling off and pulling him into the fist headed for his face. Foggy’s left eye exploded in pain, the guy hit him again, letting him go so he stumbled backwards. “You talk too much,” said his attacker. “And you mess in stuff that’s none of your business.”
“Sounds like me,” said Foggy weakly. “Character flaw I gu…”
“Shut up,” said the guy hitting Foggy in the stomach. Foggy doubled over and fell to the floor. There was a lump of wood, a chair leg or something, on the floor beside him he scrambled for it and swung it in the direction of his attacker who… wasn't there.
He was passed out a little further away, Foggy struggled to his feet. The other two men were fighting with a newcomer. Dressed in black, long sleeves, long hair, and combat boots. He hit one of the man with his left arm, and even though it was obvious that he pulled the punch – even to Foggy – his opponent went down like a sack of potatoes. The other man saw this and took off into the main street. Then the scary black clad… vigilante? Hero? Crazy person? Was heading back towards Foggy, Foggy took an unconscious step back. The man in black (part of Foggy’s brain giggles at that, because this is certainly not Matt) stopped and held his gloved hands out as if calming a child or a spooked horse and suddenly Foggy is more angry than scared and still more tired than both.
“You okay?” the man asked gently. “You've got a nasty cut above your eye, probably bruised ribs. You wanna go to a hospital?”
The man had a New York accent, (but more Brooklyn than Hells Kitchen) and a stupid black scarf tied across the bottom of his face. “No,” said Foggy pulling himself up straight, wincing slightly as the soft tissue in his side complained. “I need to go home and get some sleep.”
“Right,” said the man looking weirdly uncomfortable. “You… you got someone you can call, or...?” he trailed off.
“You’re not good at this are you?” asked Foggy, unsure of why but feeling a bit sorry for the guy.
“Outta practice,” mumbled the man and suddenly he just looked so terribly lost and it tugged at Foggy’s heartstrings.
This was a bad idea, hell it was probably the worst idea he’d ever had and that was a statement, but as usual Foggy’s mouth ploughed ahead without much input from his brain. “Listen I got first aid stuff at home. You wanna come with me and make sure I use it, fine. But I am going home now. It is so long past my bedtime it’s not even funny.”
Foggy started walking past the man, there was just silence as Foggy walked out of the alleyway. His pride made him get out into the street proper and therefore out of the man’s eye line before he lent heavily against a wall to catch his breath.
“Need some help walking?” asked a newly familiar accent behind him.
“Not from you,” said Foggy grumpily. “Gonna get you a damn bell.” The man just chuckled as Foggy started walking again, the man keeping pace with him. “Do you have a name?” he asked for something to say feeling uncomfortable with the killer shadow.
“Меня зовут Джеймс” said the man in (what sounded to Foggy) perfectly accented Russian.
Foggy stopped and turned to the man, heartbeat speeding up a little remembering what Matt had told him (tried not to tell him) about the Russians. “Are you Russian?” he asked trying not to look scared but knowing that he probably did.
The man looked confused for a second then shook his head, pulling the scarf off his face. “No, not… not originally. I don’t think I've even been there for a while. I… My name is James. I meant to say. James Barnes.”
Foggy stood there eyes wide for a long second then suddenly decided he was too tired to second guess himself, he (completely crazily) kinda liked this guy, and if he wanted to kill Foggy he probably would have done it already.
“Nice to meet you Jamie,” he said holding out his hand. James shook it carefully, like it would break, or no… more like he was scared he would break it.
“I could probably use a little help with the walking thing actually,” admitted Foggy.