Chapter Text
It's cold this evening. Far too cold. Despite the many layers of clothing, Matt could still feel the snow falling around him. He's not wearing his mittens today, and his hand is practically frozen to his cane. Maybe he should have picked a different time, but if the lead he had begun to pull last week is a sound one, Matt would likely be out of town for a while, hopefully with Elektra.
He pushes the metal gate of the graveyard, his cane tapping the rougher ground. He knows his way around this graveyard - he has put far too many people in its soil. He reaches the grave - row seven, column six. He stops in front of it and crouches in front of it, gently trailing over the name.
Franklin Nelson. He always found it jarring to be reminded that Foggy wasn't his actual name. Franklin sounded so formal.
He brushes the snow off the grave, not wanting it to be covered. A very stupid part of him doesn't want him to be cold. He has to remind himself that the grave is not Foggy. It is just a cold slab of stone. A slab of stone that is all Matt has left of Foggy, but that's not the point - Foggy is dead, he can't get cold.
And yet, Matt still hopes he is warm.
"Hey, Fogs." He's been talking to the grave as of late, just so he can almost imagine Foggy replying. It's stupid, but it gives him some comfort. "It's Christmas Eve tomorrow. I... you'll laugh, but I went to buy you a Christmas present. I..."
He chuckles sadly and tilts his head up to the sky, picturing Foggy laughing softly in amusement. 'Oh really? What did you nearly get me?' He hears Foggy say. He sounds... well, he sounds like he always did in life - kind, cheery, though with obvious amusement in his tone.
"A box of your favourite chocolates. It was..." Matt has to take a breath so his voice doesn't waver or catch. "It was a big box. Heavy. One hundred pieces, at least." He sniffles, and if anyone asks, it is due to the cold and snow. "I went to the till to get it for you, but I had to remind myself that... well." Matt gestures around the graveyard before he discreetly wipes his eyes. He needs to change the course of the conversation now before he starts crying. "The flowers I left are still here. I hope you like them." He says, although he feels stupid even more. Yes, Matt, the dead man loves daffodils. "I... I'm sorry, buddy."
Sorry for what? Matt, you have nothing to be sorry about.
Matt shakes his head as he laughs decisively. "I miss you so much. I... I don't know how I'm meant to be merry without you." He says as he sits beside the grave, using his coat to make sure he doesn't soak his trousers. His hand trails over the many flowers left by the grave, and he smiles. His friend had been so loved. Even in death, he is loved. That brings a lot of comfort to Matt.
"Karen misses you, too. I got her a scarf for Christmas... from both of us. It's floral... apparently." Matt had struggled slightly with getting Karen and the present. He had enlisted Peter's help, and Peter seemed eager as always, happy to help, probably happy Matt is distracted from thinking about Foggy and Elektra. He picked a scarf that Peter said was a floral one. The kid even wrote on the card for Matt. "I also got Jessica a pair of combat boots. She loved them." She had kissed him on the cheek as thanks, which had been nice after a long time of no friendly affection.
"I... I haven't put my tree up." Putting up the tree had been a tradition of Matt and Foggy. They'd do it together, taking turns to put the star on the tree, and, when they met Karen, they included her too. Karen had offered to put a tree up with Matt, but the idea of doing it without Foggy made Matt want to crawl into a hole and break down.
"But I..." Matt’s hand shakes as he pulls out their tree topper - a star that had once belonged to Matt’s father, Jack. He had kept it for years, hiding it from Stick, who would have likely destroyed it in front of him before beating him for 'showing sentimentality'. He and Foggy had put it on top of their tree in their college dorm room, and Matt now lays it amongst the flowers. "I thought you might like this."
He gently pats the grave before he feels his phone vibrate. He pulls it out and flips it open. 'Unknown Number - Stop looking or come fine me already, Matthew.' Despite the text to speech sounding as robotic and American as usual, he can still imagine her voice, as soft and British as it had been the last time he had heard it. He smiles and flips the phone closed, leaning against the grave.
"You'd tell me I'm doing the wrong thing. You'd sigh and shake your head and tell me I'm crazy." He huffs, tilting his head back, his useless eyes staring up at where he assumes stars are. "Well, you're right. I am crazy. But you aren't here to stop me." His tone is blunt, but it hides pain.
He hears footsteps, and he redirects his useless eyes to where he can hear the gravel shifting. "Mr. Murdock, it's time to go." He signs and nods, standing up. His hand trails over Foggy's grave before he makes his way down the path. He'll pack a really small bag and be away for a short time, where (hopefully), Elektra would be. He had to be back by January ninth for a court case, but that gave them a while together.
It won't make you feel better forever. You'll have a short burst of happiness and then you'll be depressed again.
Matt knew that annoyingly reasonable voice that sounds just like Foggy is right, and it caused an ache in his chest to be away from Foggy. Yes, it is just a grave, but it has to count for something.
Once he reaches the gate, he turns his head to look in the direction of the grave. He sighs, ducks his head and leaves, not before whispering one more time "Merry Christmas, Fogs."
He then leaves, his cane tapping against the gravel.