Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

On the one hand, Foggy had to admit he was glad that Matt was no longer keeping about three secrets that were going to get them all (in order: possibly, probably, almost certainly) killed.

On the other hand, he really didn't want to know. It meant that now he watched the news religiously, keeping a count of the people Matt saved against the people he was (undoubtedly) putting in the hospital. Didn't say anything to Matt about it, because Matt for sure kept his own count. It wasn't Foggy's job to be his conscience: nah, this was a count for him, because he knew what Matt was doing. As long as he stayed quiet about it, he was part of it. Wasn't dumb enough to think that he got credit for people saved, but people hurt?

Well.

On the third hand (look, Foggy had apparently been living in a world where chemical exposure gave people superpowers, he was no longer ruling third hands out of the equation) he had a best friend with superpowers, which sometimes led to an unequal division of labor. For example,if he and Matt happened to be grocery shopping, and some idiot teenager with a gun happened to pull said gun on the teenager at the cash register and start demanding things in a panicked way, Foggy was apparently the one assigned to pulling the little old lady behind him and saying "whoah, hey, everyone can get what they want and nobody needs to get hurt." Matt was the one who immediately faded back to the canned goods (honestly faded, like Foggy didn't notice him leave until he was gone) and from three aisles away chucked a can of creamed corn at the kid with the gun. Did he hit him? Of course. Did he somehow manage to knock the gun out of the kid's hand without setting it off? Obviously. At which point the kid (along with everyone else in the store) became confused and freaked out enough to bolt.

Leaving two conclusions to be drawn: a) Matt was wholly bizarre, foolhardy, and ridiculously brave, and almost certainly going to get himself killed, and also b) he no longer could give Foggy any excuses about the softball team, that was going to happen as soon as Foggy was done yelling at him.

"C'mon, let's get out of here," Matt said, coming up to Foggy's elbow (and scaring the shit out of him). "The manager called the police, they're a couple of blocks away, if we stay we're gonna get caught up in the drama."

"Right," Foggy said, "okay, sure," because the division of labor also meant that Matt, as the one who spent twenty hours a week going out and illegally stopping petty crime, functioned as the reigning authority on the proper moment to book it.

**

"Okay, so," Foggy said, "two things: oh my god that was fucking amazing, next time you have to tell me so I can be sure to get a video on my phone -"

"Missing the point of the anonymous vigilante," Matt said, dryly, but he wanted to smile, Foggy could tell. His mouth was twitching. He was proud of himself; good, Foggy was too, because it had been an awesome shot, but:

" - which brings me to point two: do that again and I'll pop you in the nose, holy shit anybody could've seen you, Matt, you could've gotten shot! You don't have to save everybody in the city, we have a police force and at least half of them are good at their jobs -"

"I didn't really think about it," Matt said, honestly, and it was then, at 6:43pm on a Thursday, that they started down the path that Foggy would eventually name Now I've Gotta Beat Up A Blind Ninja. "Hey, take your best shot, it's fine."

That was surprising, honestly, but sure, maybe this was a secret vigilante bonding ritual that Foggy just didn't know about. Foggy caught Matt around the shoulders with one arm and brought his outside arm around to gently bop Matt's nose with his two knuckles. He did the same stuff to his nieces and nephews, honestly: not a big deal. "There," he said. "Go and sin no more. Think before Matt Murdock does-" he lowered his voice - "daredevil stuff in public."

Matt adjusted his stride so they were walking in sync, because ever since they'd had The Big Fight, he'd stopped initiating hugs and fistbumps. Every time Foggy hugged him or took his elbow or touched him, he'd cuddled up, though. "Yeah, yeah, father," he said, and there it was, Matt could somehow both be the most adorable boy you wanted to bring home to Mom and three seconds later a shining example of why society needed CPS - probably what Taylor Swift had meant with all that nightmare dressed like a daydream nonsense, no, Foggy was not ashamed: "no, you really can, though, I can take it."

"I know I can kick your ass, Matt," Foggy said, because there was no way in hell, but bravado worked well. (The kid had had a gun and he'd been less than twenty feet from Foggy; somebody could've gotten shot.) "I don't need to prove it."

"It's okay," Matt said, and whoops, there they went, down the rabbithole, because he suddenly sounded unsure and a little worried. "You said - that night, you said you'd kick my ass if I wasn't. And now you - I just mean, if you have some aggression you need to get out, I get it? Whoah - " because yeah, whoah, Foggy was sure that his heart had just thumped extra hard in his chest, what the hell kind of Fight Club shit was coming out of Matt's mouth? " - whoah, first hit's free, don't worry."

He managed to shut up thank god, instead of blurting out his first three or four responses: no, and also no, and just kidding, my bad, this is obviously not the thing we make jokes about ever again don't worry, and why would you say that, Matt - but his silence apparently made Matt nervous.

"Forget it, sorry, shouldn't've brought it up," he said, uncertainly.

Chapter Text

He left it alone for a couple of weeks, because Matt got distant. (Foggy had clearly fucked up in some way, although he had no idea how and was afraid to ask: suggesting that he wanted to hit Matt? Suggesting that he wanted to hit Matt and not following up on the threat? Suggesting that hitting at all was weird? not immediately swinging at Matt and shaking his hand out, now we're square, pal. Even imagining it had the vague flavor of some cartoonish film about masculinity from the 50's, but Matt was actually living the plot of the Karate Kid's life, after all. Maybe he felt embarrassed.)

**

"Hey, when do I get to meet the wise old blind man who taught you to fight crime," Foggy said, during that period when Matt was weaseling away from him. He'd - well, he'd watched Matt chuck that can of peas, and he'd realized that if Matt was good, whoever had taught Matt would be better. Not like Foggy would ever win any prize-fighting competitions, but he'd like to be able to hold his own.

"Oh," Matt said, "Uh."

"Shit, man, he's not dead, is he? That's - I'm sorry, I'm an ass - "

"No," Matt said. "He's still. Alive. I just don't." He smiled. "It's probably not a good idea?"

"Okay," Foggy said, because Matt had gone from "really relaxed" to "the way he thought relaxed people looked like," and it was maybe a pretty good cover if you didn't know Matt well, but Foggy had it figured out pretty well. "Well, no big. Just wanted him to teach me some sweet ninja moves too, pumpkin pie."

"I'll pumpkin pie you," Matt said, lazily. It was hot, and nobody really wanted to move.

"No, seriously."

"I could - I don't think I'd be a good teacher," Matt said. "You and Karen should learn, maybe Brett's gotta know somebody."

**

Still.

"Is Tuesday a particularly crime-ridden night?" Foggy asked, because he'd been offering to feed Matt beer and give him a place to crash for the last few weekends and Matt had kept coming up with perfectly legitimate, serious reasons to refuse.

"I gotta finish some stuff up," Matt said, vaguely, which was code for "needed to punch some people."

"Okay, so come by after," Foggy demanded, getting impatient enough to forgo courtesy. Sometimes it was still necessary to remind Matt that people didn't just put up with him, they did indeed honestly seek out his company.

"Might be late," Matt said.

**

Matt spent half an hour picking at the label on his beer.

"I just - thought it might clear the air," he said. "If the air needed to be cleared."

"What part of that thirteen-hour Hell Day where I was drunk or hungover and you were half-dead did you think didn't count as a real fight?" Foggy asked.

Matt shrugged. "I was wrong," he said. "Forget it, let it go, it's not a big deal."

**

"So I gotta ask: is it a sex thing?" Foggy asked, being very careful to keep judgement and condemnation out of his voice, and also to avoid adjectives.

"What? No," Matt looked surprised, although it was hard to read him: he was slouched length-wise across Foggy's couch, his feet hooked over the edge, nearly upside down. From here, he could've meant no, Foggy, it's a different kind of weird violent thing I ask from my loved ones, or no, Foggy, I am genuinely not interested in kink, or no, Foggy, I am interested in the idea and it freaks me out so I'm acting extra surprised to cover it. "Is it a weird sex thing for you?"

"It's a sex thing, sometimes," Foggy said. The key was to be very calm and keep them away from words like weird. "Yeah. Not for you, though," because that felt important to say.

"Huh," Matt said, and Foggy could not on his life told anyone if that was a contemplative huh or a guilty huh or a confused or grossed out huh. He wasn't the one running around with the built-in involuntary polygraph.

"What huh?" he asked, because it was important to model the behavior you wanted to see, and he wanted to see Matt - maybe asking more questions, and making less assumptions.

"Just never pictured you for a dungeon master," Matt said, solemnly. "Do you have a secret identity, too?"

So Foggy grabbed him by the feet and shoved him off the couch - but Matt, being the acrobat that he was, caught himself on his hands before gravity took over. Managed three or four swaying, tipsy steps on his hands, holding a near-perfect handstand, before he lost his balance and tipped over into a backflip.

"Rude," he said, from the floor.

Foggy started to go with "you deserved it," and changed his mind, and changed his mind again, goddamnit, Matt had probably heard that. "You deserved it," he said, hoping that it wouldn't be too - on point, or - traumatic, or - like he was coddling Matt, shit -

"No, your floor," Matt said. "Why do you use Windex to mop, this is awful."

"They're all the same thing, sunshine," because they were, honestly, and he'd been making more of an effort to clean regularly since Matt fessed up that he sometimes didn't come over to Foggy's place because Foggy hadn't been in the habit of taking out the trash every day and the smell bugged him. He didn't need additional criticism about his cleaning habits.

"No, though," Matt said. "I do lemon juice. Water." He grabbed Foggy's hand and Foggy pulled him to his feet.

"Motherfuck, you're heavy," Foggy said. Piled them both on the couch, this time with Matt's head towards the ceiling and his feet on the coffee table. His body was loose, but he hadn't let go of Foggy's hand; he was bending Foggy's fingers back and forth, casually, just fiddling. Foggy decided he'd be the one to let Matt let go of their hands.

**

"All I really know is the scene from Miss Congeniality," Karen admitted, "how does it go? Sandra Bullock was awesome in that, I loved her, it was - solar plexus, instep, nose, groin - fuck, Matt, I'm gonna put a bell on you."

He was already smiling, and his face was (for once) bruise-free: Foggy was going to count it a good day, even though they'd been busted.

"Sorry," he said, "I wasn't trying to listen, but - you had me worried."

"It's just in case," Karen assured him. "Nobody's trying to become a ninja and fight crime - unless you are, Foggy?"

"No," he admitted, "I'm benched. Someone has to be ready to post bail and provide excellent legal defense for you two."

It was kind of funny to watch the two of them get upset, honestly.

"So," Karen said, after that particular scuffle, "you're not a Bullock fan?"

Matt paused. "I can teach you guys some - some stuff," he said, hesitantly. "At my place? In a week or so, maybe? Just - not so you get the wrong idea," and it was funny how stern he got, all of a sudden, "it wouldn't make you - you shouldn't go out and think you'll be - but it might help, I guess?"

"Yeah," Karen sighed, "don't worry, I quit gymnastics when I turned thirteen and grew boobs, there is no way I'll ever fight like you," and she sounded a little wistful and a little admiring. Matt blushed. Foggy wondered if Matt could - aw, sure, he could hear typing, but there was no way that he could identify which keys were being hit, so he was surely safe in adding a point to Karen to his running tally.

**

"If it's a sex thing," Matt said, another couple of weeks later. Foggy had started the night by accidentally hitting on Kelsey, who was not single, had a girlfriend ( bad), but needed a lawyer, (good). Matt had sat there laughing into his shotglass from thirty feet away, clearly listening to every word from across the bar, great, Foggy was glad Matt got dinner and a show tonight: "for you, is it - do you do it to people you like?"

"No, I have a lot of sex with people I hate," Foggy said. Oops. He'd been trying to avoid sarcasm. "Yeah, Matt, I do it with people I like and trust. If it's gonna get rough I gotta like the person more than usual, honestly."

"So it's the same," Matt said, with that honest and sincere smile that meant he thought he was winning the point, "see, no big deal."

And then he said "hey, don't get mad at me, it is," and why why why did he keep saying terrible things, Foggy was never talking about hitting Matt ever again but he was going to hunt down whoever had instilled this weird belief in Matt's head and hit them, that was for goddamn sure.

Still. Matt had made it pretty clear that he didn't think it was a big deal, and also that he would be more than happy to eel out of spending time with Foggy if Foggy tried to - to pretend that it was a big deal, so Foggy dropped it again. Matt wasn't going anywhere. Foggy had time.

"You're the one running around at night in -" cue whisper used for vigilante activities in public - "in bright red full-body leather, how am I the kinky one?"

"The heart wants what it wants," Matt said, philosophically, and then: "oh, and Kelsey really wants - tall redheaded women, sorry, man."

"How did you do that," Foggy said, after he checked, because there was no fucking way, "you can't hear the color of somebody's hair, I refuse to -"

"Nah," Matt said, never let him stop looking this proud and relaxed, "nah, but she - she colors her hair, I smelled that, she did it earlier today, and then I just took a shot in the dark, I was right? Redhead?"

"Hot redhead," Foggy confirmed. "You're a menace."

**

"Good job, you trapped me to ask about my traumatic past, sorry it's pretty boring," Matt said, and curled his and Foggy's index fingers together, "give me another beer."

"The last time I didn't ask questions you took on like, three different mobs by yourself and decided that "gun, fist, knife," was a game that could be won with fists, Matty, sue me."

"aiughh," Matt said, because he was fine with jokes about seeing but he'd gotten sick of all of Foggy's lawyer jokes about six months in. Foggy bumped him with a shoulder, gentle and friendly, and he bumped back.

"Also how did you not spontaneously combust with irony when you yelled at me and Karen about safety," he threw in, just for good measure.

**

"Oh my god," Matt told the ceiling in what sounded like pure exasperation. "People cannot get over the idea that nuns hit people, no, man, it was fine, I liked all the nuns, they were good people. You've met a couple of 'em."

**

"No," Matt said, a week later, "it doesn't matter what you hit me with, Karen - elbow, shoulder, fist, palm, whatever, you just gotta - you're charging me, you can't keep stopping two feet away and extending your arm, you gotta get up in my space -"

"Maybe?" she said. She was lying on her back, on the gym mats that Matt had mysteriously come up with. She always looked gorgeous, but like this - in yoga pants and a loose tshirt and dark circles under her eyes because she'd clearly gone without makeup - she looked weirdly, ridiculously hot. Foggy had no idea what was wrong with him. "You need to quit holding back, Matt, if the wrong people come at me they're not going to be - you're hitting Foggy."

"I am not," Matt said indignantly, and oops, well, that was pretty much what Foggy had figured, but it was also embarrassing as hell. "He's just bigger than you, but I'm still not going all out on him, that would be - dangerous."

"Hit me for reals," she said. "How else will I learn?"

She was lying on her back, and Foggy was slumped over the couch, recovering from his first twenty-minute lesson with Matt, which is why she missed the moment when Matt stiffened. It wasn't terribly noticable, honestly; if Foggy hadn't been watching them very closely in an effort to figure out how Matt had kept flipping him, he might not have caught it. And then Matt shook his head, said "sorry: car alarm a couple of blocks away," which - was a lie? Was that a lie? weird - "no, Karen. I hit people to put them on the ground and knock them out; I can't hit you for reals. This is just - I'm not hitting Foggy, either. You'll pick it up, c'mon, get - I mean, let me help you up."

**

So Foggy'd had a few ideas about who was owed, like, a full-on horrible CPS investigation, so when he came over to Matt's place unexpectedly to find a skinny, gnarled up old blind guy in Matt's apartment, sneering and drinking Matt's beer, and - whoah -

He flicked his cane against Foggy's chest.

"Get away from him," Matt said, deadly fucking serious, and then: "Foggy, come back in a minute," faux-casual.

Which was weird, and alarming, but Matt looked very much like Daredevil (which was a feat in his sweatpants and oldest Columbia t-shirt) about how much he wanted Foggy out of the apartment, so Foggy went to wait in the hallway.

And thought, for a minute, about how Matt hardly ever hung out with other blind people. And how he'd said that he'd been taught all his ridiculous karate acrobatic moves by an old blind ninja, kind of like - well, Foggy had assumed someone more Mr. Miyagi, less "angry old gnome," but.

So he maybe put a couple points together, reg: Matt thought nuns hitting people was ridiculous, and Matt obviously thought that the closer your friendship was, the more likely it would turn violent (which might just be because he punched people as a side job, but - maybe, but maybe not) and Matt was weirdly defensive and skittish about the topic, and - maybe Foggy had had an unformed suspicion in the back of his head, but it was now a giant fucking warning neon light.

"Stop panicking, everything is fine," Matt yelled through the door.

Right. This was the club of blind people who could read your heart from a block away, right, he probably didn't sound very zen right now.

"I don't care anymore, dude, your creepy kung fu master has two minutes to wrap it up before I call the cops," Foggy said. Muttered, really, because he was outside Matt's door and Matt's neighbor sort of hated him.

It turned out to be too late, because Mrs. Sonrio opened the door and glared at him - even though! he'd asked his cousin Carl to replace the thermostat on her husband's truck! as a thank-you for putting up with Matt! - and hissed "if you don't call the police or shut up in five minutes I will, my husband works in the morning."

**

Awful Human Being stalked out the door one minute and forty-three seconds later, by Foggy's phone, and got him a good whack with the cane as he went down the hallway.

He also went with loudly telling Matt to "hide behind your boyfriend all you want, you know I'm right."

Matt didn't follow him out.

Foggy went back in, though, and the door wasn't locked, and Matt was leaning on his counter with his head down. He didn't tell Foggy to get out, which was promising, at this point.

All of the things that he wanted to say were things that would make Matt curl up like a hermit crab.

He couldn't think of one joke to save his life.

"He hit you," Matt said.

No, Foggy thought, not quite right: he hit you said Daredevil.

Foggy had never fucking known what to say to Daredevil.

"Little tap," he said, finally, because it was true, and because he and Matt didn't lie to each other anymore.

"He shouldn't have done that," Matt said, and this time it was Matt, not Daredevil. Foggy had no idea how to tell. He couldn't have put it into words himself.

"Not a big deal," he said, finally.

"It is, though," Matt said. He scrubbed both hands through his hair. "Christ."

It sounded like a prayer.

"So," Foggy said, and he saw how Matt tensed up, and Matt looked both guilty and ashamed: if he could ever figure out this Blind Asshole's legal name he was for sure going to get Brett to help him trump up a warrant. Bess still liked Foggy best; he had an in, he was living proof that you didn't need to be an insane ripped ninja to succeed in the world. "I'm glad you're the one who taught me how to block a punch, not him," because that was honest, at least. Matt looked embarrassed, so Foggy threw a sloppy jab at him; Matt blocked it, and then Matt let Foggy get him in a loose headlock. Foggy rubbed his head, just like Matt was his six-year-old nephew. "We gotta worry about more blind ninjas popping out of the woodwork?"

"No," Matt said, and then, more confidently, "no, it's - I don't have time for it, I've got my hands full with you and Karen."

"Damn right you do," Foggy said, easily.