Work Text:
Phoebe "Foggy" Nelson was not still in love with her ex. It's just that Mary Murdock was a gorgeous woman. A gorgeous, dangerous woman, which is something she'd known meeting her, what with her boxing champion dad. Now she knew the full extent of that danger and just how reckless and stupid it would be to be in love with her. So no, Foggy was not in love with Mary. She was however in deeply unfortunate lust with her. In her defense, Mary was a gorgeous, potentially deadly redhead. She also had this unfairly smooth voice and when she was absolutely sure they’d swayed the jury, she got this grin on her face and it was just so unfairly attractive. So really, who could blame her?
The job at Hogarth and Associates took some getting used to. But it was a much bigger adjustment to get used to not seeing Mary every day. They’d been best friends for over a decade, and for a bit they’d been more. She had honestly thought they were good together. Fuck, she thought they were fantastic together. Not perfect, because no one can be perfect. It wasn’t that they didn’t argue. Mary had always been big on playing the martyr, probably a catholic thing. Or, she now suspected, an “Abusive Dickwad taught baby Mary she had no value” thing.
Foggy hadn’t realized just how much Mary had hid from her, and it fucking hurt to process. She thought Mary trusted her, and she understood being afraid of disappointing someone you love, but this was in so many ways bigger than that. Though to Mary, who hadn’t had someone permanent since her dad died, Foggy could see why it was that simple. That didn’t make it feel any better, because really, she’d spent so much time trying to get the proverbial wild animal that was Mary to trust her, and finding out about Daredevil made her feel like it was all worth nothing after all.
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Getting her ass saved by the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen after a long, hard night of overtime to wrap up a Jessica Jones style disaster of a case before they went to trial, was not how Foggy wanted her reunion with the woman she wishes she could stop loving to go. Though, staring down the barrel of the gun an unfortunate man attempting to mug her had pulled out, the possibility occurred to her. Just after the traditional ‘Oh god is this how I die?’ panic. The way Mary dropped down, red like the first drop of blood signaling a detrimental wound, ready to wreck the would-be mugger, made Foggy wonder if she might be some sort of telepath.'It wouldn't be the first thing she hid from you,' A cruel little voice in the back of her head whispered. Mary fought like she was tearing her way from hell itself, wildly, desperately, furiously clawing her way through the hoards. It wasn’t Foggy’s first time seeing her in costume, but it was her first sign seeing her in action.
She was mesmerizing as Mary grappled the gun from the man’s hands. Her hair whipped around her like it was alive and angry as she took the man to the ground, and righteous fury was always an expression she wore well, it went well with the crimson lip she’d paint on for court, like war paint, and it went just as well with the armor she wore now. It took Foggy an embarrassingly long moment to stop ogling and realize Mary hadn’t stopped swinging, even though the man was on the ground. It took another moment to find her voice, finding herself choked up with fear now. It was so stupid, this was still Mary. Mary who laughed at her awful pickup lines. Mary who ran a hand through her hair when she had a breakdown while studying for the bar, tilted her chin so she met unseeing eyes, and told her the bangs Foggy’d impulsively cut looked great to her. This was still Mary fucking Murdock who she loved, and despite the lies, she knew loved her. So there was no reason to be afraid of her. Foggy found her voice.
“Hey, hey, I’m okay. He didn’t hurt me.”
Mary paused, fist hovering above the man she’d pinned. The poor fucker was shaking like a leaf and making wet, pained noises. His nose was for sure broken, and god knows what else, because there was a terrifying amount of blood. Foggy felt a little unsteady, honestly. Maybe Mary could sense her shaken center, because she lowered her fist.
“He almost-”
She sounded so raw, and scared. This, this cemented Foggy’s certainty that Mary loved her. Because this was the part of Mary she’d never seen, and even this Mary was utterly terrified to lose Foggy, like she'd lost her dad. This was the whole truth, and while Foggy was still afraid for her, she could love this side of Mary too. When she replied, her voice came out much stronger than she felt. A crisp church bell in the ever buzzing, yet toneless night.
“Yeah, he almost hurt me, but he didn’t. You got here in time, you saved me. It’s okay, except honestly I really need help getting home because, I won’t lie, I’m pretty shaken and I can’t find my pepper spray.”
“Okay, okay, I can do that. I can get you home. Just give me a minute. I just need a minute.”
“How about you get off that dude first, I don’t think he’s getting up for a while.”
Slowly, bracing herself against the wall, Mary rose. She stood for a while longer than a moment, letting her breathing steady out. Foggy took a step towards her, and then another, and then another. It wasn’t the first time she’d held Mary, and it wouldn’t be the last.
“Are you hurt?”
It was a sudden and electrifying fear. Because there was a very real possibility Mary was hurt. Fuck she’d been hurt so many times and Foggy just never noticed it. Mary interrupted this line of panic, sounding much more steady.
“No, just…I realized just how easy it could be to lose you. Fogs, I love you so much, I can’t lose you. I know you’re mad at me. I know I lied to you, you could never know just how much I regret that, but I’d live with you hating me forever if it meant you were safe.”
A silence stretched between them in the wake of Mary’s outburst. Relief that she wasn't hurt warred with her struggle to find a response. It took a minute to find words, and when she did, they weren't exactly delicate.
“You know, sometimes I wonder why you didn’t go into theater. I can’t hate you. I love you too much. Come on you dramatic Martyr. Walk me home.”