Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Foggy has always had an approachable essence about him. As long as he can remember, he’s had people coming his way for help or comfort, or even just as someone to talk to. And he enjoys it. He likes to help people; he likes to know that people feel safe around him.

Matt has never been able to say the same. His memories involve defensive stances and aggressive glasses that have had people running the other way. He likes helping people – his whole livelihood is helping people – but he has never had people willingly approach him for help in a social setting, and he certainly doesn’t plan on that starting now.

“Not a chance,” he tells Karen.

Karen’s jaw drops, air parting from her lips as she does so, and she looks to Foggy for help. He occupies himself by finding interest in re-organising the K section of the filing cabinet.

“But Matt,” she says, exasperated, “you’re a defence attorney, protector of the innocent. And we’re struggling for clients because people are scared of you! If you just presented a little bit more open-”

Matt’s knuckles turn white around his cane. Behind him, Foggy sucks in a breath and steps in before Matt has chance to reply. “Karen,” he says, “Matt is a respectable lawyer with a stack of cases proving the good work we’ve done. People will come to the office for help if they need it; it doesn’t require fundamental personality changes, especially outside of office hours.”

“Foggy,” she sighs, “there are so many potential clients who-”

“That’s their prerogative,” Matt interrupts.

“Matt’s right, Karen,” Foggy says. “They will either choose our firm, or another. We can only do our best.”

That evening Matt and Foggy sit in silence at the kitchen table with half eaten plates of food between them. At least, Foggy’s is half eaten while he’s sure Matt has done little more than push the food around on his plate.

“Karen means well,” Foggy sighs.

Matt stops pretending to eat and puts his fork down. “I don’t need to be friendly to help people,” he says. “I’m good at my job, and not wanting people to get close to me doesn’t mean I care about them any less.”

“I know,” Foggy says, “and that’s perfectly acceptable. You choose your own boundaries.”

“She does have a point, though.”

Matt knows that when he met Karen, he was charming and open in a way that was all lies but inviting. It helped her trust him. But that was a circumstance. That was a singular circumstance after a childhood of fighting, and college years of struggling against Stick’s indoctrination and meeting Foggy, and an internship of hell that had him cursing his own profession.

And in other circumstances, Matt’s sure that he would be able to replicate the manners and charm (he was raised by nuns, after all) but for everyday life? Being open, looking kind; it’s dangerous. It attracts too many people. And coming by someone trustworthy is a rarity.

That’s why Foggy has a baseball bat by the apartment door. Why he carries it on his person when walking alone at night. Because people know Foggy Nelson, know that he has a warm heart and unmatched generosity, and they see that as weakness. Matt saw that as weakness too, but Foggy has always been there to strangle Matt’s misconceptions about being soft into something akin to love. Still, there are people out there who haven’t learnt, so Foggy keeps a bat by the door.

Regardless of his own opinions on the matter, presenting as kind and welcoming like Foggy would help business.

“Never judge a book by its cover,” Foggy counters. “It’s what’s on the inside that counts, Matt. You don’t need to start smiling at everyone just because Karen thinks we might get a couple more clients.”

Foggy approaches Karen privately one night much later, when Matt is occupied with patrol to not be listening in to their conversation. They sit in the far corner of Josie’s bar, away from the crowd as much as possible.

“There is a reason why Matt keeps walls up the way he does,” Foggy says. Karen looks up from her beer to meet his eyes. “He can turn on the charm in a second; in college, you wouldn’t believe the number of girls crooning over him. You don’t have to worry about Matt scaring off the clients we have.”

“But-”

“But Matt trusts people will come to ask for help when they really need it. Because those people will have bigger fears than an ill-tempered blind man.” Karen looks like she’s about to interrupt again, so Foggy ploughs on. “Matt takes no bull, Karen, and if people see that, it limits the wrong clientele that approach us. People who we would be better off prosecuting than defending.”

“We defended Frank Castle.”

“Yeah, well, Matt has always been a bleeding heart.”

Matt lost his parents and Castle lost his kids; they both want protect others where no one was there to protect them. Foggy had been aware of the parallels from the start, and while he had been against defending Castle, he had still tried his hardest because he saw what Matt didn’t say.

“That’s my point, Foggy: Matt cares about people. If he would only show it…”

“As I said, there is a reason.” Foggy takes a drink of his beer. “Think of it as a trauma response.”

After a pause, “Oh, I didn’t… shit. Sorry.”

“I’m not going to disclose anything Matt wouldn’t want me to,” Foggy says, “but his childhood was harder on him than he lets on. His relationship with people isn’t the same as mine, and it won’t be the same as yours. Still, he helps people. The masks he wears for both suits shouldn’t matter.”

Karen nods. “I shouldn’t have pressed.”

“No,” Foggy agrees. “But you didn’t know. Baseball bat, gun… resting eff off face. They make us feel safe, and that’s what’s important.”

Chapter Text

They have been invited to a party – Nelson, Murdock, and Page. A work party at Hogarth’s new firm, and with Foggy being an ex-employee, he received an invite for their start-up. It’s good for making connections and good for meeting rich, potential clients to keep the lights on in their office, now that they have one.

And as it’s Hogarth’s party, there’re glasses of champagne circling and a buffet full of food. Karen is quick to dive for the free food, leaving Matt and Foggy to make the first rounds. Foggy greets people with wide smiles and professional laughter, while Matt stands by him and introduces himself and their firm and pointedly ignores handshakes.

An hour or so in, though, Matt sways on his feet and tightens his grip around Foggy’s arm with a slight hiss. Concerned, Foggy turns to him and says, “are you OK?”

“Yeah, I ah, I’m going to step out.”

“Let me ask Jeri if there’s somewhere quiet to sit,” he says. “Can you wait just for a minute?”

Matt nods, forehead creasing as he does and Foggy helps him to the nearest wall for support before leaving to find Hogarth. Crowds have never been Matt’s strong suit and the overstimulation is hitting him quickly. Eventually Foggy returns and guides Matt out of the room to a nearby office. He all but collapses into a chair.

“Have you eaten anything since breakfast?” Foggy asks him quietly. He thinks about it for a moment before shaking his head. “OK, let’s get your energy levels up a little. It might help.”

“Thanks, Fogs,” Matt says quietly.

“I’ll be back in a minute. Lights on or off?”

“Off please,” he says. With a flick, the overhead buzzing stops just before Foggy steps out of the room.

Foggy finds Karen still near the buffet, although she isn’t eating now; instead, she’s mid-conversation with somebody tall and handsome that Foggy hasn’t seen before. He feels guilty stepping up to them and interrupting.

“Hi, excuse me,” he says.

“Oh! Foggy, this is Will, Hogarth’s newest paralegal; Will, this is one of my work partners, Franklin Nelson.”

“Nice to meet you,” Foggy says quickly, then, “Karen, Matt’s had to step out for a moment. I’m going to take him some food, but… would you be OK to take over the work-related side of things for a bit?”

Karen nods, worry creases beginning to show. “Is he OK?”

Foggy offers her a smile. “He will be,” he says. “I’m going to sit with him, though, if you’re OK out here on your own.”

“Yes, of course. Get your food and go! I’ve got things covered,” she says, and with a nod for Karen and a smile for the paralegal, Foggy leaves her to it and picks up a couple of paper plates.

He fills his own plate up with everything he likes, and Matt’s, he picks out foods that look to be less testing. A couple of pieces of cheese, some carefully extracted cucumber from the salad, some mini crackers that will probably go to waste from having touched feta and salmon which he scrapes onto his own plate, and some grapes which Foggy hopes still have pits in otherwise Matt will complain about tasting machinery for days.

As he helps himself to the food, he can feel judging eyes on his back and here muttered disgust and tacked on tuts that have him abandoning his search for safety foods quickly. Foggy is very aware of his size; he knows that he’s overweight, but he’s strong and happy in his body. Most of the time, he’s happy in his body.

Sure, sometimes he thinks he should lose weight, be more angular like Matt, but… Matt’s eating habits are unhealthy. He eats little and rarely, likely started from an early childhood of free school meals and soup kitchens and uncertainty about having food available to him in his own home. Foggy was lucky. He grew up in Hell’s Kitchen too, but his family own a butcher shop. His mom loves food and cooking, and that was the one thing they had never had a shortage of.

Foggy enjoys food, and he’s happy with his body. He’s all soft and round curves and for a lot of people, that looks like safety. He likes being safe and welcoming. Matt likes him being soft and safe, and that’s not something he wants to change.

The looks of disgust still hurt.

Karen watches Foggy flee the room with wide eyes and a comforting call lost in the background noise of the party. Anger flares inside her. Not even weeks ago, Foggy had pulled her into Josie’s to talk Matt deserving the right to feel safe. The right to feel comfortable as himself in front of others; that he shouldn’t have to cater to their standards.

And a person as sweet and bubbly as Foggy shouldn’t have to feel that way either. Her glare towards the offending people harshens as her thoughts run.

“Karen? Are you OK?” Will asks, and Karen turns to him with a forced smile.

“I’m fine, but… could you excuse me for just a moment?” She steps out of the conversation and walks over to the small group of people, still talking about Foggy’s weight.

“Two plates? He didn’t even need one.”

“It’s such a shame how people treat their bodies; there should be some sort of limit-”

Karen clears her throat. “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation,” she says, and before any of them open their mouths and presume her intentions wrong, she continues. “Mr Nelson was getting food for himself and his partner, Mr Murdock.” Their eyes widen at that; they know who Matt is, then. “And Mr Nelson is regarded very highly by Ms Hogarth, having worked for her before and now having his own, successful, firm. It wouldn’t be hard to jade her impressions of you.”

She turns, leaving them ashamed and threatened with a devilish smirk on her face.

Chapter Text

Looking at Matt and Foggy, it’s clear who believes in the supernatural and who doesn’t. According to Karen, they fit the stereotypes nicely.

There’s Foggy, who takes any excuse to dress up (themed parties, Halloween, Christmas) in full costume and face paint and even a wig if the occasion calls. And Foggy has been known to check his horoscope every now and then, and he’s never shied away from tarot readings and crystal balls.

Then there’s Matt, who will wear little more than a pullover that reads “costume” across the chest, and potentially a pair of devil horns on Halloween if he can be tempted. He’ll stand to the side of things with thinned lips and forced smiles and judgemental eyebrows at the mention of ghosts.

Looking at Matt and Foggy, it’s easy to assume that the colourful and talkative of the pair believes in the supernatural, and that the poised and reclusive of the pair doesn’t. Karen’s so certain that she puts money on it. It’s money quickly lost.

“We’re still talking pre-alien invasion, right?” Karen checks, disbelief heavy in her voice.

“Yep!” Foggy pops the p.

“And you’re not just doing this to get my twenty bucks?”

“He’s not lying,” Matt says with a soft smile and leans back in his chair. “Foggy didn’t believe in any supernatural, and even after the Chitauri he still had doubts.”

“Aliens don’t prove the existence of witches, Matt!”

“I suppose not,” he says, then shrugs. “Didn’t matter. Dr Strange became famous soon after, and then the Scarlet Witch has kept cropping up in the news every few years since Sokovia. And I got a few drinks out of Foggy for it.”

“I still find it hard to believe you actually thought all of this stuff was real.”

“I still find it hard to believe that you didn’t.”

Matt’s smile turns into a something of a twisted grin then. “Different upbringings, I suppose.”

In the privacy of their flat that evening, the two lawyers are doing work on the couch. Foggy sat reading over printed witness statements, and Matt listening to some files Karen had emailed earlier that afternoon. Foggy’s finding it hard to concentrate though; their conversation from lunch plays over in their head.

“What did you mean earlier?” Foggy asks.

“Hmm?”

“About different upbringings,” he clarifies. Matt shifts, sitting up straighter; Foggy’s shoulder suddenly feels cold from where Matt had his head.

Matt’s eyebrows furrow above his glasses before he says, “Stick trained me for a cause, Foggy. I grew up with tales of immortal ninjas and heavenly cities.” After a pause, he adds, “Don’t tell Danny I said that; he’s still under the impression that I know nothing about K’un-Lun and chi energy, and I’d rather keep it that way.”

“You grew up in a cult, Matt. Why would you believe anything Stick had to say?”

That was definitely the wrong thing to say; Matt moves again, creating more distance between them on the sofa. “I was a child, Foggy, and when I met Stick I was struggling with relatively new superpowers that were going to get me institutionalised.” It’s a good reason.

“Sorry,” Foggy says, “I shouldn’t belittle your beliefs like that.”

Matt sighs, leaning back into the sofa. “It wasn’t just that; my grandmother used to take me for exorcisms before she died. I believe in the Devil because I’m Catholic, but on Halloween, the Devil was tied to witches and zombies and if the Devil was real, it was easy to jump to conclusions as a kid.”

“Yeah,” he nods, “that makes sense.”

In the end, Foggy decides that he never grew up believing in any of this stuff because he was a theatre kid. He learnt about costumes and stage make-up and invisible wires at an early age; everything had a logical explanation.

He enjoys reading his horoscope because he likes finding similarities or seeing how badly wrong the writer got it wrong on certain particular days. But he checks rarely because he doesn’t believe in it. To him, it’s a source of entertainment but maybe now New York is filled with so many superheroes and New Asgard is literally a seaside town of alien refugees, he should reconsider his opinion on this too.

“You’re not still thinking about this, are you?” Matt asks, bringing Foggy a takeaway coffee into his office the next morning. It’s a kind gesture; it means he doesn’t have to face Karen’s butchered drink so early on in the day.

Foggy groans. “Don’t tell me you can read minds too.” There’s a deliberating pause that sets alarm bells ringing. “Matt?”

“No; no, I can’t read minds,” he says and there’s another pause that gives Foggy enough time to prematurely sigh, “but Stick was certain to train some telepathic tendencies.”

“What?!” Foggy’s just grateful he’s yet to pick up his coffee.

“Very minor tendencies, nothing interesting,” Matt waves him off, and he heads back towards the door. There are horns in Matt’s shadow. Maybe it’s the lighting, but Foggy is certain that he sees two triangle shapes protruding from shadow Matt’s head.

“Matt?”

“Yeah?”

Foggy blinks, and the horns are gone. “Never mind,” he says, “it’s nothing.”

For hours, he tries to convince himself that it’s nothing. Karen’s never mentioned it, and he hasn’t noticed it before. Except he has, back in law school, lining up to round about the first time Matt’s first outing in the mask. Matt had woken him up after “getting water” and Foggy had turned the light on to see him properly.

And in that moment, before he had blinked the sleep out of his eyes, he remembers seeing devil horns silhouetted in Matt’s shadow with nothing to replicate the shape on his person.

Still, a blink and it was gone. Just like now in the office.

“The Murdock boys have the devil in them,” Foggy mutters into his coffee. He briefly considers mentioning it, but in the end decides not to. Sometimes, ignorance is bliss.

Chapter Text

Foggy is loved by a lot of people. He’s kind and caring and well known among the Kitchen. He’s safe and inviting and soft and curved and every inch of him is filled with love. Matt is respected by a lot of people. He’s polite and considerate and well-spoken, but he’s intimidating and sharp and angular.

Sometimes, Foggy’s mother wonders how they stayed friends for so long. She absolutely adores Matt (Foggy would joke more than him) but he’s hard to get along with. He can be absolutely charming, of course, but only in a surface level, conscious effort.

“That was lovely, thank you, Mrs Nelson,” he says.

“Anna, please dear. It’s been years now.” Over a decade, even. And yet, playing games later in the evening, it’s still “Mrs Nelson”. And when she attempts conversation with him later that night, Matt is nothing more than perfectly polite and closed-lipped smiles.

She pulls Foggy aside later that night. “Matt is still calling me Mrs Nelson; I told you to have a word with him.”

“I have,” Foggy pinches a chip out of the bowl she’s preparing, “and I doubt it’ll ever change, Mom. He loves you too much.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” Foggy says. “He likes to pretend that you’re not close; it’s protection in the form of distancing.” Anna can’t keep the wonder from her eyes as she watches her son for a moment. “It’s also a defence mechanism for crippling abandonment issues, but for the time being I’m trying to spin it in a positive light otherwise I worry too much.”

Anna pulls Foggy into a hug and doesn’t let him go for a long moment. “You have such a kind soul, Franklin. Now, you keep caring for Matthew when he won’t let me, capiche?” Foggy doesn’t so much agree as he does mutter complaints under his breath, but it’s acquiescence all the same.

“Your mom keeps trying to hug me,” Matt says. His bed’s set up on the floor of Foggy’s childhood bedroom – silk sheets on a foldout mattress cube. They’ve discovered that to be a manageable combination over the years, with roll mats not protective enough and blow-up mattresses agonisingly loud.

Foggy sighs. “I was worried she might,” he says, “do you want her to stop?” Matt’s quiet for a little too long, not sure what it is he wants exactly wants. Foggy recognises the pause. “No pressure, Matt; take some time to think about it.”

“Thanks, Fog.”

Matt wakes up in the middle of the night, heart pounding, chest heaving, and the ghost feeling of his dad’s blood coating his fingers. He gets up to get himself some water from the kitchen. His fingers trail along the side of the walls.

Matt drinks one glass of water, then a second, then a third, and he’s on his fourth, leaning on the kitchen counter when the light flickers on. He drops the glass and grabs a knife.

“Matthew!”

“Shit,” he drops the knife then: it clatters as it hits the floor, barely an inch from his bare foot. “Mrs Nelson, I’m so sorry.”

She makes a hot drink. It gives Matt time to gather himself, and Anna time to think about how to approach the situation. When the tea is ready, she picks up the knife and warns Matt before guiding him around the broken glass. They sit at the kitchen island.

“Can’t sleep?” she asks him.

“An old nightmare,” he says. She hums, fishing for more but Matt doesn’t give it. Foggy might open up; not Matt. Instead, they drink their teas in silence, interrupted only by the distinct scent of burning.

It’s obvious that Matt isn’t planning on sharing any more, and Anna is torn about asking if he wants to talk or not. She knows Matt hasn’t had many people there to talk to over the years, but now he has Foggy, at least, and she doesn’t want to scare him off.

In the end, it doesn’t matter; Matt puts down his coffee and tilts his head to the side. “Do you smell that?” he asks.

“Smell what, dear?” she asks.

Then he’s running out of the room, shoulder hitting the doorframe on his way out. Anna abandons her own drink and follows quickly after, stepping into slippers and grabbing two sweaters on her way out of the front door.

“Matthew!” she calls after him, only for him to start running. She follows behind in a slower jog. They reach an apartment block three streets down, with the residents standing outside on the sidewalk.

A woman is sobbing. “My nephew’s in there! Let go of me! He’s still in there!” Two men are holding her back. The upper floors of the building are on fire; sirens can be heard faint in the distance. They’re not close.

Anna watches as Matt steps up to the group. “Keep her there,” he growls, then turns on his feet. She barely has time to breathe before he’s snatched the spare sweater from her arms and ran into the burning building, wrapping the fabric around his face.

“Matt!” she yells. Others try to stop him from running in, to no avail. Time stands still.

The sirens slowly closing in and the woman’s sobs are only background noise as Anna watches the building. There’s movement on top of the building, gone before she has time to properly process it, but seconds later, Matt appears at the bottom of the fire escape with a boy slung over his shoulder.

The woman let’s out a relieved sob and runs forward to Matt. “Thank you, thank you!” He says nothing, just nods his head before returning back to Anna’s side.

He wordlessly reaches for her elbow. “I burnt my feet,” he tells her quietly on the way back.

“I’m not surprised,” she retorts. It makes him chuckle.

Matt may not be caring in the same way as Foggy, but that doesn’t mean he’s not. It’s no surprise that they’ve been friends for so long.

Chapter Text

“I want to get married,” Foggy says one evening. It isn’t a proposal. A proposal would shift the decision entirely onto Matt, leaving a power imbalance in any future discussion the question would entail. It would also prolong the discussion by weeks or months, and Foggy wants to have the conversation now.

Matt, who is stretched out across the couch like a tired puppy with too many limbs, tilts his head in Foggy’s direction. “Fifty percent of marriages end in divorce.”

Foggy hums. “I want to try, anyway.”

Matt nods, then sits up properly. “To me or to Marci?”

Because what they have going on is an unorthodox relationship. It’s not as simple as dating each other. They love each other, yes, but the question of being in love is a completely different matter.

For Foggy, he thinks that he is in love with Matt. Has been since college. He wants to spend the rest of his life with Matt, grow old together, maybe start a little family of their own one day. He’s under no illusion that Matt’s happy to have kids. In fact, Matt’s made his stance perfectly clear; he doesn’t want children. Not with Daredevil. Not with his childhood being what it was. But older kids? Adopting someone who needs help getting their feet off the ground?

It’s not completely out of the question; Matt has always wanted to help people. Still, Foggy’s tabling the discussion for now. Probably for quite a few years if he’s being honest with himself.

For Matt, he loves Foggy. He loves Foggy more than anyone. But he isn’t in love with Foggy. He doesn’t think he’s really been in love with anyone, maybe besides Elektra. That was different, though; for a long time before Matt came to love Elektra in the way he did, he was in love with the idea of her. Of someone who knew exactly who he was and didn’t give a shit. They had a bond so strong they could speak without words.

In hindsight, Matt should have connected the phenomenon to his training with Stick. He was too swept up in the magic of it all that he was too close to see it.

But in time, Matt has lived through other failed relationships. So many failed attempts at connecting with people. Maybe some of it’s down to trauma and C-PTSD, but when Foggy read out to him the description of aromantic, he had never felt such weight lifted off his shoulders. So, Matt’s somewhere between grey-romantic and aro, and what he feels for Foggy is close enough to love to call it that.

Still, this doesn’t stop Foggy hooking up with Marci regularly or Matt with the occasional stranger.

“With you, Matt,” Foggy clarifies.

“OK then,” Matt says. “We can get married.”

Foggy asks Brett to be his best man. Matt asks Claire and Jessica to be his.

“You can’t have two best women,” Foggy says.

Matt shrugs. “Jessica will lose the ring,” he says, “and she won’t care about people dressing up nice.”

“You don’t care about people dressing up nice,” Foggy says, which is true but not helpful.

“That’s why I asked Claire.”

“What am I?” Karen asks from her desk. “Chopped liver?”

Karen is delighted to have such a major role in planning the wedding. Foggy and Matt are happy she wants to help, with neither having a good eye for style between them. The ketchup and mustard theme of Matt’s new suit is a primary example (as his friends keep reminding him), regardless of his insistence that it’s a tribute to his dad.

“Can there be red in the scheme, though?” Matt asks. Apparently, that went without saying.

It turns out asking a cop to plan a bachelor party was not one of Foggy’s finest moments. Comparatively, asking Jessica to plan a bachelor party was one of Matt’s bests, in the way that she gets him access to a room with a trapeze and ropes, then gets him pissed enough that he drunk dials Foggy until he and Brett arrive at the gym, and he fulfils the stripper quota of the night himself.

“Where’s,” Matt hiccups, “my suit?” he asks Foggy, whilst hanging upside down with his legs wrapped professionally around a rope. Foggy just giggles, which is no help.

Claire shakes her head at the pair of them and holds out Matt’s shirt. Jessica steps in simultaneously, holding out another beer. Matt clicks his tongue at them a couple of times before unwrapping himself and reaching for the beer.

“You should at least put your shirt on, Matt,” Claire says, “unless you want Mahoney to sober up enough to question your scars.” Like a child, he sticks his tongue out at Claire before taking the shirt with a cheeky grin and pulling it on haphazardly.

Then, Claire lets him take the beer.

Foggy goes shopping for his suit with Marci.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” she asks, hands on her hips and eyebrows raised. Foggy takes another look in the mirror and nods. It’s a wonderfully androgynous suit: white flowing trousers, a beautiful pink shirt, and a white suit jacket with rose pink and red stitches as subtle highlights.

“It’s perfect,” he says.

“Not your suit, God,” she sighs with an eyeroll, “I meant marrying Matt.”

“Oh,” Foggy says, “yeah, I’m sure. I love him.”

“I know you do. That’s why I’m worried.”

“Marce, you don’t have to worry.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. Matt has left you time and time again, lied to you in ways you said yourself should’ve been unforgivable. And every time he hurts you, you come to me, and I see the damage it does. Are you sure this is what you want?”

Foggy looks at Marci, the sincerity in her eyes, and smiles. “I’ve hurt Matt in the past too. But we’ve learnt how to be better. I love him, Marci.” Then, Foggy grins. “So, you do have a heart, after all.”

Chapter Text

Where Foggy’s scared of a lot of things (spiders, heights, clowns) he’s brave in the way that he’s open about it. He’s not afraid of laughing about his irrational fear of spiders with Karen around the office – though, only after jumping onto his chair, screaming for Karen, his knight in shining armour, to rid the office of the eight-legged beast.

“It’s tiny, Foggy,” Karen will say, showing him the miniscule monster trapped under the glass, but Foggy’s not having it. A spider’s a spider, with too many eyes and legs… and they crawl around like something out of a Tim Burton movie.

He shivers and Karen chuckles and drops the arachnid out of the window.

“Come on, Karen,” he says, after sharing a laugh, “you must have some pretty irrational fears too.”

She hums, draping herself into a seat opposite Foggy and taking up as much space in it as possible. “I’m scared of fire, but that’s pretty rational,” she says, “but I used to be scared of the dark as a kid.”

“So did I,” Matt says, making himself known in the doorway, “wasn’t very practical.”

Karen snorts and Foggy raises his eyebrows at Matt, not having heard this before. “Please say that’s a fear you got over before you lost your sight.”

Matt laughs. “Nope; I’m sure my dad loved that first month. But hey, it’s not so much darkness anymore as it is just not sight. Like trying to look at something out of your knee.”

“Huh,” Foggy says, “the more you know. So, Matty, I take it you’re not scared of spiders.”

Matt laughs. “You don’t want to know how many spiders are in this office right now, Fogs. But it would definitely be an impracticality if I was.”

Foggy shudders and both Matt and Karen laugh at him. “Right! Spider dealt with! Get back to work people!” Still laughing, they leave his office, Karen taking the trapped spider with her.

Where Foggy’s scared of a lot of things, Karen likes to think that she’s only scared of a few. She’s not sure whether that makes her brave, though.

She was scared of the dark as a child, she didn’t lie to Foggy about that, and to some extent she’s still scared of the dark now. But now it’s not because of the monster under her bed.

“Matt?” she asks. It’s Friday; she rescued the spider from Foggy’s office three days prior, and it’s still on her mind.

Matt hums, not turning to face her but his head twitches so Karen knows that she has his undivided attention. It’s kind of a nice feeling, especially knowing that the copier he’s trying to use is broken beyond repair and if you take your eyes off it for a second, it’s a death sentence for your copies.

“Are you scared of anything?”

Matt’s quiet for a moment, then he says, “not really.”

“Nothing?” She knows that the papers call Matt the “Man Without Fear”, but they don’t know him as a person. Matt has to have some fears. “There must be something.”

Matt still doesn’t turn to face her, but she sees his body tense. “Having fears is natural,” he says, and it sounds like a practiced answer, “they don’t make you any lesser.”

It’s a strange answer, somewhat strangled, but Karen takes it to heart anyway. She’s scared of the dark. She’s scared of fire. And maybe it’s different to Foggy because her fears are somewhat rational; they stem from trauma, and they are allowed to scare her. That doesn’t make her any less brave. Facing them make her brave.

“You’re right, Matt,” she says. “Thank you.” Matt’s still tense; the copier’s beeping a failure notice, yet Matt pays it no attention.

“Karen,” he says, then after a really long stretch of silence, he asks, “a little help, please?”

“I overheard your and Karen’s conversation earlier,” Foggy says that night. They’re sat in front of the TV, not really paying attention to whatever home-makeover show is on. “You did really well.”

“I thought you wouldn’t like the lying,” Matt says, carefully. He’s on the edge of his seat, all attention on Foggy, ready to bring up the defensive… but it doesn’t come to that. There are no tell-tale signs of anger coming from his partner, and no trace of any lies in his heart.

“I know I’m a big fan of the truth, but I’m also a big fan of you, Matty. I want you to feel safe, and I know you well enough by now, Murdock, to know that being open to other people scares you.”

“That’s not true.” That’s a lie too, and they both know it.

“Well,” Foggy says, “I still think you did really well. Asking for help with the copier was a big step.” Matt pulls his legs up onto the couch, holding them to his chest and he leans back, resting his head uncomfortably on the back of it. “And you remembered what I told you: that it’s OK to be scared of things.”

“Fears are weaknesses, and your enemy can use your weaknesses against you,” Matt says.

After a moment, Foggy asks quietly, “Is Stick why you’re not scared of the dark anymore?” And Matt struggles with the question because he can’t be. He lost his sight before meeting Stick; it was his Dad helping him through the change – he learnt to read braille before meeting Stick. But did he learn to read braille before he got over his fear?

“I don’t remember when I stopped being scared,” Matt says honestly. “I had a lot on my mind.” Adapting to being blind, having advanced senses, the loss of his dad, St Agnes, and training with Stick. It was a lot. “Maybe I just outgrew it.”

With a sigh, Foggy says, “Maybe.”

Where Foggy’s scared of a lot of things, Matt’s scared of concepts – like asking for help. But he’s working on it, and Foggy reckons that makes him brave too.

Chapter Text

Elektra’s back.

Matt finds out through Frank, of all people, shortly after stopping him from killing a mob goon for mistreating a dog. Matt does enough damage to the guy himself though, stopping short of causing any lasting damage. There’s a lot of blood and broken teeth, though – enough to satisfy Frank.

“Do you believe in zombies, Red?” he asks, apropos of nothing. Whether Frank knows his identity or not, Matt still doesn’t know, but he doesn’t care enough to find out. Frank once told him he didn’t care who was under the mask, and his heart never wavered.

“Sure,” Matt says. He has too. It would be hypocritical not to.

Frank nods, falling quiet for a moment. “Your girl,” he says, “tall, dark, and handsome, yeah?” Matt’s sure that’s how Foggy described Elektra.

“Yeah,” he breathes.

“Saw her doin’ some light blade work; got an address for you, if you want it.” Matt’s heart stutters, his breath hitches, his fingers twitch. “I know it’s farfetched, Red,” Frank grunts, “but I wouldn’t be treatin’ ya like this if I wasn’t sure, yeah. I ain’t that much of a jackass… I know how it feels.”

The “to lose someone” goes unsaid, but it’s heard anyway.

Matt shakes his head, some semblance of an answer forming. “It’s not farfetched, Frank. It’s starting to become a habit.”

“Something’s eating at you,” Foggy says. Matt’s doing pull ups on a bar they recently installed in their bedroom doorway, and Foggy’s lounging on the couch, book in hand. “Out with it.”

“Frank was there when Elektra died the first time,” he says.

“He found her?” Foggy asks. Matt slowly lowers himself to the floor. “Matty, I’m so sorry…”

“No, not as Pete… not her body. He gave me her address.”

“Oh,” Foggy says, and Matt bitterly thinks he could try to sound a little bit happier before hating himself for it. He knows Elektra’s a bad influence and he knows that she’s come between them before – Foggy has every right to worry. But Matt wishes he had a little more of his trust right now. “What are you going to do?”

Matt runs a hand through his hair, letting out a long sigh. “I’m going to the gym.”

There’s a moment before Foggy says, “OK.” And that’s all he says. Matt’s not sure whether it’s the trust he was just wishing for, or resigned acceptance.

Matt stops looking after himself. He doesn’t mean to, isn’t even aware of it until Foggy starts yelling.

“You need to eat something, Matt!” Matt remembers eating a cracker. “That was a week ago, Matt! You threw it up!” He doesn’t remember that. “I know you don’t! That’s why I’m worried, Matt. You haven’t been sleeping!” Matt’s sure he did. He isn’t hallucinating, yet. “OK, let me re-phrase. You haven’t been sleeping well. You’ve been screaming your throat raw, Matt!”

Matt yells back, then. “I’m fine, Foggy! I’m trained to be able to fight without food and sleep! A week is nothing to forty days! And I’ve always had nightmares, you know this!” Foggy’s right, his throat is sore – but Matt isn’t going to admit that.

“You haven’t had an episode like this in years, Matt. I’m worried, OK?! I’m worried!”

“Don’t be!”

“Then just tell me what she said! What happened to make… this… happen?!”

Matt tilts his head to the side. “What?”

“Elektra.” Matt frowns, and it takes all of three seconds for Foggy’s heart to change tune, from worried to alarmed, and then he’s all sad and wrapping Matt in a hug. “You never went to see her, did you?”

“No, Fogs.” Matt went to the gym. He never decided on what he wanted to do.

“Right,” Foggy says, clapping his hands, “shower, shave, dress. We’ve got things to do today, Matt.” Matt doesn’t remember having any pressing cases. “Bathroom. Go.”

Foggy takes the decision out of his hands. He calls Karen and gets the address from Frank, before contacting the Defenders of Elektra’s return. Luke, Jessica, and Danny all agree to meet them there, and Matt doesn’t pick up on any of this until he hears Elektra’s heartbeat and suddenly the whole world reboots.

“Woah,” he says, and Foggy steadies him. “Where… why… Jess?”

“Yep,” she says, “and Tweedledumb and Tweedledee.” Matt clocks Luke and Danny. “We’re here in case you need any back up and your ex is a manic zombie ninja again.” Matt nods slowly, only moving again when Jessica gives him a nudge.

“Jess,” Luke hisses quietly.

“Yeah, yeah, dissociation’s a bitch but he’ll live. Hurry it up, Murdock.”

Elektra isn’t in, so Matt picks the lock, and they all wait inside. It’s nothing she hasn’t done to him. They wait there for over an hour – Jessica helps herself to Elektra’s wine and shares the bottle with Matt, Luke instigated a game of charades, but Danny is horrific, and it’s been his turn for the past half hour and Foggy is the only one left guessing.

“I wasn’t expecting company,” Elektra says. Matt smirks at her entrance; she isn’t perturbed in the slightest.

“Hold it right there,” Foggy says, and whispers an aside, “how do we know she’s not brainwashed?”

Matt grins, “leave it to me, Fogs,” and turns to Elektra, falling silent and working on his breathing before projecting. “So, are you going to try to kill me again?”

“Don’t tempt me, Matthew.” Matt smirks in response. “Is that a wedding ring I see?”

Matt’s hand automatically reaches for the ring hanging around his neck. “You would have loved the bachelor party.”

“Oh?” she asks aloud.

“Yeah, I ah, I was the stripper.”

That night, back in their apartment, Matt is quietly cooking tea, listening to Foggy ramble about telepathy. But there’s a thought that’s bugging him. “Fogs… I thought… I thought you didn’t want me to see her.”

Foggy stops, turning to Matt in an air of sincerity. “All I want you to be safe and happy, Matt,” Foggy says, “always.”