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He'd really done it this time.
Matt clutched his ribs the entire way to the emergency room, also noting the damp spot on his dress shirt above his hip. Blood, most likely. Your basic knife wound. Claire wouldn't have even hesitated.
Claire wasn't in Hell's Kitchen anymore, though, and it would be just Matt's luck that he'd get a newbie who was still a bit squeamish yet overly attentive. This in mind, Matt had tried to be careful, but it was as if the city knew he no longer had a friendly nurse sworn to secrecy.
The receptionist seemed entirely unimpressed by Matt as she guided his free hand over a clipboard to sign and monotonously asked him about his medical history. Then all he could do was wait, doing his best to tune out the amplified noise in the hospital waiting room.
It must have been hours before, "Murdock! Matthew Murdock?" Matt stood and followed the other male's voice. "You're Mr. Murdock?"
"Matt, yes," he hissed in pain.
"Well, Matt, let's get to it." This man (the doctor?) had a nice voice with an endearing chuckle hitched onto every other word. He didn't seem new, squeamish, or bored. In fact, he seemed downright cheery, calling out greetings left and right as he led Matt to a bed. The curtain whooshed around them and Matt felt the mattress sink in where the doctor leaned beside him.
"I'm Dr. Nelson, by the way," he chirped, and papers were shuffled. "What seems to be the problem-- rogue lawnmower, angry wife?"
"No mowing, n-no wife." He winced, unfastening the button of his jacket to show Dr. Nelson the damage. "I broke my ribs and I have a small, uh--"
"Small!" Nelson repeated, laughing. "If that's your definition of small, then--" He stopped abruptly and continued to snicker. "All right. Can you take your shirt off? I'll treat the wound first."
Dr. Nelson went about his business and Matt only winced once more under his touch. "Sorry for the cold hands," Nelson had apologized. Once both his ribs and wound were treated, Matt sat back up and redressed. "So, change the dressing at least once a day, if you can. Keep it clean. Go easy on those ribs, too. Do you need a visiting nurse at all?"
"No, no," Matt said quickly.
"All right. Lay off the monkey bars." And off he went.
Matt lasted three days before acquiring a slice on his thigh that was really starting to affect his walking.
He had figured out a comfortable way to sit at his desk at the firm so as not to irritate his ribs and his wound had been healing nicely. Now this.
"Matt, hello," Dr. Nelson greeted, sounding surprised. "The ribs okay? Your side?"
"It's my leg, actually," he sighed.
"Come on back." Again, Dr. Nelson's charisma filled the hallways, pairing nicely with his loud laugh. "So, bowling gone bad? Knife fight?"
"Knife fight?" Matt blurted out tensely. "I've never gotten into a knife fight."
"Good!" Nelson praised. "I don't recommend it." Matt had to agree. "My first name's Franklin. Everyone calls me Foggy." While stitching up his leg, Foggy seemed to think this was important to add.
"That's-- that's good." Matt wasn't sure what to say.
"I'm all right with it." Dr. N-- Foggy seemed hyper-focused, but talked as though he were relaxing with a beer at Josie's. A doctor probably wouldn't be caught dead at Josie's, though. "What do you do for work?"
"I'm a lawyer."
"Ah," said Foggy. "Dated a lawyer once. Crazy. She's the one that made me consider guys instead."
"Oh." Foggy didn't seem to be bothered by Matt's lack of response, which was good, because Matt had no idea what to say.
"All right, that'll do it." Dr. N-- Foggy led him back to the waiting room. "Nice talking with you, Matt."
It was a Tuesday when Matt stumbled back to the emergency room, wiping the trail of blood trickling from his forehead before it reached his eye. It must not have been very busy, because Foggy was there to greet him immediately.
"Oh, Matt!" Foggy called in surprise. "Jesus," he murmured under his breath and Matt tensed. He should have stopped coming, eased up, but the thing was that he really didn't want to. "Come on back."
"Sorry for—"
"For your run in with a porcupine? Cupcake frosting fiasco?" Matt couldn't help but crack a smile. Foggy's outlandish theories were one of his favorite parts of the visits.
If he was being honest, which he really shouldn't be, he liked Foggy. He liked his warmth, his booming voice, his corny jokes, and he especially liked the excuse to talk to someone else even under these circumstances. Karen was nice, but Karen tended to hover. Claire was gone. His apartment was empty. He paused, imagining Foggy in his apartment, which didn't seem so empty in his head after that.
"What?" Foggy asked over a laugh.
"What?" Matt nearly squawked, his hand jumping to his forehead.
"No, nothing! You were just real quiet for a minute." He paused. "Not that you're not always quiet, b—"
"Are you the only doctor here?"
"Oh, uh, no... I can grab Dr. Andrews for you. She's just right—"
"No, that's not— that's not what I meant. I want you." After too long of a pause, he added, "To be my doctor."
"Well." Foggy cleared his throat. "Good, then."
Matt wasn't sure how he knew, but he could tell Foggy was smiling. As he stitched, Matt zeroed in on his heartbeat, nearly ear-level with Foggy this close.
It was a concussion the next time. Matt's head had collided with a brick wall and he figured it better safe than sorry. A concussion, after all, was easier to excuse.
Despite this, "I fell," Matt blurted out defensively before Foggy could even suggest a few of his wacky theories.
"Fell, huh? You sure you don't have any angry girlfriends? Boyfriends? Keep forgetting to put the seat down?" Foggy seemed almost eager.
"No." Matt shifted uncomfortably. "No girlfriend. No boyfriend."
"A shame, really," said Foggy thoughtfully. "Though if I didn't know better, I might say you were slapping yourself around just to see me."
"Oh, I'm not... I'm not faking it." Matt was glad Foggy couldn't hear his heart. Even though he wasn't lying, the fast rate at which it was thumping away seemed to disagree.
"Right," Foggy chuckled, but it was a little forced this time. "I know you're not." A minute later, he recovered, "I mean, clearly!"
"Clearly," Matt mumbled. If he was anyone else, he would have moved forward just to see if Foggy tasted better than he smelled, but he wasn't anyone else. He was Matt— Daredevil. He was dangerous.
"Good news. It's not a concussion, but you should still rest up. Don't get caught in any car chases or cat fights."
"It's a crazy world out there." Foggy laughed loudly.
"He has jokes," he added in approval.
Matt grinned the whole way home.
When he came in on Saturday, Foggy wasn't there to greet him. The emergency room was packed. He fought his way to the receptionist, a hand cupped over his nose.
"I neeb do see Foggy," he told the woman who greeted him.
"Dr. Nelson?" No, Foggy. "Dr. Nelson" had become too stuffy, too professional. "He's with a patient, but Dr. Andrews can—"
"No, I'll waib." He trudged back out of the way.
It seemed as though all of Hell's Kitchen was ailing. It took nearly two hours for the room to clear some. Matt's nose had stopped bleeding. At the two hour mark, Foggy fell into the seat beside him, slouching down. Of course Matt knew it was him.
"Heard I was specially requested," Foggy said, voice thick. He must have been tired.
"I don't know Dr. Andrews." Matt swiped at his nose in vain. He probably looked like something out of a horror movie, coated in dried blood.
"She's nice. Pretty voice."
"You're nice with a pretty voice. Might as well go to you," said Matt defensively.
"I'm not complaining." Foggy laughed around the groan that came out when he stood. "Here, you'll be my last patient today. Best for last."
Foggy put a hand on Matt's shoulder as if to lead him, but it lingered. Matt, like Foggy, wasn't complaining.
"How many patients have you had today?" Matt asked politely as Foggy got his materials ready.
"A million," he said lazily. "I don't know, but I've been here for... 18 hours?"
"When do you sleep? Or eat?" Calm down, Matt. He's a grown man, after all.
"Between patients. Slept right here this morning, actually. Changed the sheets after, though. No worries." As if Matt cared. "Nose, surprisingly, is not broken. You bleed like it's your job."
Ha.
"Thanks," Matt said as Foggy wiped away the last of the blood.
"Good enough to kiss."
Matt lunged at Foggy mid-chuckle and his laughter filled up his mouth. He basically had permission, right? Foggy fell beside Matt as he lifted his hand to Matt's cheek. His fingers nearly reached the wound on Matt's forehead. When they broke apart, neither moved until Foggy cleared his throat.
"If you think I won't bill you, you're wrong," Foggy said at last and Matt laughed so hard that his ribs ached. "And I don't do house calls."
"Do you do coffee?"
"I do coffee."