Work Text:
Over, I'm so over you
The way that you laugh at everything that I do
Over, I'm so over you
The way that you said that you'd always be true
And maybe if I tell myself enough, maybe if I do
I'll get over you...
Matt found his muscles relaxing, his teeth unclenching as he listened to Foggy's sweet, low voice filter through the roof of the club. He liked to stop here sometimes, when he needed a break, needed the rage to seep out of his vision and his humanity to reassert itself. He looked forward to this diversion, always on Thursday and Friday nights, when Foggy took the late shift and sang the drunks below into a sentimental stupor.
Foggy had been so embarrassed to tell him, cheeks warm and hands fidgeting. But they had a policy of total honesty now, and listening to Foggy's quiet explanation, his dance around the fact that they weren't making enough money, had made the latent guilt in Matt's belly twinge. Matt had heard him sing before, of course, countless times in the dorm room, from the shower down the hall, in a drunken shout, so he just smiled and told him it was a good idea, that he knew he'd make a killing in tips. Foggy's bright, pleased laugh at that had chased the last of the guilt away.
The end of the song was Matt's signal, and with some reluctance he released his focus on Foggy's voice, allowing his senses to slowly take in information in an ever-widening circle around him. Finally, he heard the screech of car tires and angry voices. With just the smallest bit of regret, he jumped off the roof of the lounge and into his city.
On his way from the fight (over before it began, when the men saw his silhouette, he was only a little disappointed), he passed near the lounge again and reached out for Foggy's voice. Instead, he caught a woman's shrill scream,
"He's got a gun! Watch out!"
Still blocks away, Matt swung towards them, heart beating loudly in his chest. There were lots of screams now, and the stampeding of feet, and it was hard for him to pick out Foggy, to hear him in the crowd.
"Hey man, there's no need for that! Come on, j-just put it away, nobody has to get hur-"
A gunshot.
There he was.
Matt's breath had started coming in pants as he kicked in a back window of the lounge, scaring a group of already petrified people crouching beneath it. The bar patrons were streaming out the front door, only a few left inside now. He had no time for them, frantically searching the surging crowd -
There, on the floor. Unmoving. Matt couldn't hear, couldn't parse the avalanche of noise invading his ears, the screams and crying and Foggy's heart, where was it?
Someone grabbed his elbow, someone holding a gun, and Matt whipped around, fist connecting solidly with his face. He could hear the gun clatter to the floor and the man was already collapsing to the floor, the coward, the glassjaw, but Matt couldn't stop, reigning blows down on him, because Foggy - his Foggy-
There was another hand on his back, and the sound of harsh, pained breaths. Familiar breaths.
"Matt, stop. Please." The smallest whisper, a plea. Matt dropped his fists and carefully turned his head, breath rasping harshly in his ears.
"Come on, you've gotta get out of here. I'm alright, okay?"
Foggy. His Foggy. Matt's hands reached out, gently but swiftly running over his face, his chest, his arms. Foggy grabbed his fingers, slowly led them to the top of his shoulder.
"Just grazed here. A lot- oh man, sure is a lot of blood, but there's no bullet in there. It's going to be okay."
"Foggy," Matt breathed, feeling tears prickle at the back of his eyes. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against his friend's. "I thought-"
He could hear Foggy's shaky smile, hear it in his voice.
"I"m going to be alright. I need you to do something for me, please." Foggy murmured.
"Anything," Matt said, immediately.
"I need you to go home-" Foggy put his finger on Matt's lips at his sound of protest. "No. Go home, put on real people clothes, and wait. You're my emergency contact, and I'm going to want my friend to be there when they stitch this up. Please."
Matt shook his head automatically, petrified to walk away from Foggy, to get out of range. But sirens were just around the corner now, and he could hear Foggy's heartbeat, a little fast, but steady and strong. Finally, he sighed.
"Okay. But can you do one thing for me?"
With a smile again, "Anything."
"I feel like I can always hear you singing, no matter how far away I get. Can you - can you sing?"
Foggy's fingers lingered on his jawline for a long moment.
"Yeah. I can sing for you."