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There must be some sort of misunderstanding, because Matt really IS blind. He is! And Foggy used to honor that, he was one of the few people Matt had ever met that understood what the unseeing man needed, and met those needs without complaint.
Foggy would offer his elbow when walking through busy streets or unfamiliar areas, being a guide coming like second nature to him. Foggy would describe photos being shown to the pair of lawyers by clients, no matter how gruesome or odd they were. Foggy would help, always, without a second thought.
That was until that night. The one that felt so long ago, yet burned Matt’s heart like it happened yesterday. Matt fought with Foggy. Matt fought with his best friend. They cried, yelled, said things they didn’t mean, and hurt each other. Matt knew it was all his own fault, obviously. Daredevil had done this to their relationship, and every day Matthew Murdock felt a little bit more like the crime-fighting vigilante was his true persona, rather than the mild mannered lawyer. It felt like penance, it felt deserved. Why should Matt have an average life, a normal and peaceful one, when he had so brutally taken that option from his friends?
He doesn’t deserve one. And that’s just the plain truth.
Okay, so maybe there wasn’t a misunderstanding. Maybe Foggy realized, through the curtain that is his heartbreakingly kind soul, that Matt doesn't deserve extra care. The extra thought in day to day life. Because ever since the fiasco that was Matt’s vigilante reveal, the ensuing fight, and uneasy reunion of the two law partners, Foggy has been treating Matt like any other person. Scratch that, actually. Foggy had been treating Matt like a seeing person.
‘Are you even really blind?’
The words had hurt, just like all the other things said in those days. But Matt holds none of it against Foggy, no. He knows that it was deserved. But after they had calmed down, made up (as much as the situation allowed) Matt supposes that he had still hoped- or, well, somewhat expected -that Foggy would continue to help him as he had done for so many years.
Selfish, selfish Murdock. Always taking, always expecting more. Needy. (Pathetic. Can't even walk down the street with a headache? How are you meant to function like that!)
So Matt notices that the help has gone away, and he doesn’t mention it. He lived just fine before he met Foggy, he can function when the man isn’t around, and he jumps between the roofs of Hell’s Kitchen every night for crying out loud! Matt Murdock is many things, but he is not helpless, so even though the simple things are more complicated now, he does not complain.
Even when all the extra effort it takes to be concentrated on his surroundings at times when Foggy used to take over starts to come with a toll.
Matt is no stranger to headaches. Ever since his accident, all those years ago, the pains have been common in the lawyer’s day-to-day life. Concentrating on all the stimuli that builds Matt’s “world on fire” is no simple feat. Smells coming from rotting dumpsters two blocks away, the neighboring building’s elevator chiming, people chatting on the street. It is all a constant flood for Matt’s brain to sort through, having to focus on what information is actually coming from the immediate surroundings, rather than all the nonsense elsewhere. It takes a lot of energy, and when Matt has no reprieve from that effort (sometimes in the form of a guiding elbow, allowing Matt to focus only on his friend's voice, rather than if he was walking into oncoming traffic) combined with a lack of sleep (the nights have been busy- or maybe Matt is just pushing himself more than before) the headaches come on in full force. Like they have today.
Work has been busy. Foggy and Matt, desperate for clients, have bit off more than they can chew. But it’s fine, the duo is known for their commitment. Sure, they may have taken on way too many cases at one time, for way too little payment, but at least they can achieve what they've always wanted. They're helping people, making a difference.
It doesn’t matter that Matt can hardly make out the text on his braille-reader, so overwhelmed by the pang in his head that the words seem to blur under his fingertips.
It doesn’t matter that Foggy asks Matt to be the one to pick up lunch today, because he’s currently going over the crime scene photos from the (wrongfully accused) breaking and entering case, and Karen is out surveying a disgruntled tenants apartment for the damages the landlord refuses to fix.
It doesn’t matter, because Matt may be blind, but of course he can walk down the street on his own. It’s just a block or two away, the deli that they agree on.
And it certainly doesn’t matter that Foggy doesn’t even think about waiting until they can go together, so that he can help Matt navigate the street, because Matt spends his nights backflipping off of buildings. Obviously, this task is much easier.
A headache does not make him incapable. It does not.
So Matt is standing on the street outside of Nelson and Murdock, attempting to orient himself past the pain in his head. Cars buzz past, a man bumps into his shoulder, a little girl cries over spilled ice cream.
He starts walking, makes it a few feet, and realizes the deli is in the other direction. Right.
Tapping his cane as he turns, Matt hopes nobody notices his mistake. Then he runs right into a street pole.
How had he missed that with his cane? With his senses?
His head pounds.
Matt brushes it off, runs a hand over his eyes, and realizes he forgot his glasses in the office. He hates going out without them.
God, his head hurts.
“Sir, are you alright?” The voice is like a megaphone directly into Matt’s eardrum, he hadn’t even noticed that there was a woman on the sidewalk beside him.
Completely embarrassed, Matt can feel heat rise to his face, “Yes! Sorry, I just wasn’t paying attention. I’ll be fine!” Cars whip past, disturbing the air and releasing the smell of gasoline. The fumes are nauseating, and Matt can feel his stomach turn. Perhaps he would only be grabbing lunch for Foggy today, unsure if he can handle anything more than a drink.
“-a hand?” Oh, the woman had continued speaking. Matt lost track of her voice among the surroundings.
“Sorry, what was that?” The lawyer tries to plaster on his kindest smile, unable to know if he succeeds. Now that he is focussing, Matt is easily able to make out the tone of worry in the stranger's voice.
“I was just asking if you need a hand? To get somewhere or- I don’t know, hail a cab?”
How embarrassing. Matt doesn't need help to get down the street. He doesn’t need a stranger worrying about him, he doesn't-
His head pounds. A car alarm goes off down the avenue. The wind rubs his suit coat the wrong way.
Matt hardly contains a groan of pain, continues to smile, and turns from the woman.
“Thank you so much, but I’m sure I'll be alright! Just got confused, for a second there.”
And Matt doesn’t wait to hear a response, tunes it out if there even is one. He focuses solely on his path ahead, determined to get to the deli, to buy Foggy his lunch. Because Matt Murdock is fine, and he doesn’t need help.
..
..
..
When Matt allows the office door to fall shut behind him, the resulting bang is like a gunshot. At least it is to him.
“I got your sandwich, Fog.” Matt just barely manages to call out, hoping his law partner can hear his strained voice carry through the space. He honestly has no idea how loud he says it, whether too much volume or too little. His brain is taking in far too much information to focus on something pointless like that.
Making his way to the small coffee bar that Karen had so kindly set up for the office, Matt doesn’t pay attention to Foggy’s response. He just wants something to drink, maybe some tea. He thinks that Karen stocked something herbal on the lower shelf, but Matt can hardly remember at the moment, and he doesn’t dare try sorting through the smells coming from the cabinet.
His short journey to the drink station is interrupted, though, by a misplaced chair. Matt stumbles when his leg hits the furniture, and he loses his footing, just for a moment.
But it was enough of a stumble for the newly appeared Foggy to notice, apparently.
“Woah! You alright, buddy?” Foggy grabs his friend by the shoulder, helping to right the blind man. Matt can hear the confusion in his voice, it burns in his ears.
Attempting to brush the hand off (the extra pressure pushing the seams of his dress shirt into his shoulder, scratching and tearing at sensitive skin), Matt steps to the side. He tries to look confident. Capable. Foggy is confused because Matt should have noticed the misplaced chair, it's obvious. But he didn’t, and his head feels like it is being split in two, and Foggy doesn’t think Matt needs help. Deserves help.
‘Are you even really blind?’
When Matt realizes that Foggy is still just standing there, waiting for a response, he feels his face blush with heat. Clearing his throat, he juts his hand out, still holding Foggy’s sandwich in a paper bag.
“Fine, Fogs!” He tries to sound chipper. He has no idea if he succeeds. “Heres the food, hopefully I got it right.”
He did. Matt knows Foggy’s order like the back of his hand- or, well, the texture on the back of his hand.
Foggy doesn't respond for a moment, but eventually turns away. Matt can hear the rustle of the paper bag as his friend reaches for the food.
Matt returns to his task, reaching a hand out to feel for the coffee station. He feels along the countertop, stopping when he reaches the far end. Slowly leaning down (the movement makes his mind spin), Matt reaches for the closed cabinet that he knows houses all the random drink mixes. Hot chocolate packets, old coffee that nobody really likes, and hopefully some tea. Fumbling around in the cabinet, Matt finds one box, and pulls it under his nose to take a sniff.
He nearly loses what little food remains in his stomach from the day before.
Matt throws the box back into the mess of a cabinet with too much force, falling back from his crouch into a fully seated position, coughing from the stench.
“Matty? You okay?” Foggy is once again rushing over, “What’s going on with you?” He crouches down to be eye level with his friend.
Matt wishes he could just go home. The sound of Foggy’s heartbeat began cutting through Matt’s other stimulus, loud and too fast. He was worrying Foggy.
That’s the last thing Matt ever wants to do.
“Yes-” a wheezing cough, “yeah. Fine. Just, whatever's in that box,” Matt vaguely gestures to where he threw the disgusting smell, “has a really strong smell. Disgusting.”
Foggy turns and reaches into the cabinet, his seeing eyes able to immediately find the displaced item. He pulls it out, Matt strains away from the smell wafting into the air.
“It’s just plain black coffee, Matt.” Foggy sounds confused again. “Is something wrong with you?”
Matt can practically feel the judging gaze wash over him, Foggy surveying his shaky form. He can hear the moment that his friend comes to a conclusion by the pattern of his heart.
“Jesus, Matt.” And now Foggy sounds angry, which, what? What did Matt do?
Oh, right. He was in the way. He was being needy. Being useless, helpless.
“You got hurt last night, didn’t you?” The question was accusatory, which stings Matt. (If the lawyer hadn’t had a headache at the moment, he would have been able to hear the underlying worry in the voice, but he doesn’t)
Matt moves to close the cabinet, giving up on tea, he goes to stand up. Foggy doesn’t offer a hand.
Because Matt doesn't need one, anyway. He doesn’t.
“No, no Foggy, I didn’t get hurt,” And that was true. Last night had been tame, just long, and tiring. But Matt hadn’t taken a single hit. “I’m just tired, is all. I promise.”
Foggy just scoffs. “So, what? You and your fancy way of seeing suddenly can’t make out an obvious obstacle just… because? You're running into things for shits and giggles? You just now decide that you can’t stand the smell of coffee? I’m not stupid, Matt. Where are you hurt?”
Matt fumbles with his sleeves, Foggy’s raised voice pounding into his head like a jackhammer, “I’m not hurt, Foggy, I swear. I’m just tired.” He sounds like he’s begging. In some ways, he is.
Matt just wants to go home.
Somewhere down the street, a police siren goes off, and Matt flinches. Foggy notices. Of course he notices.
“Bull. Shit.” And suddenly Foggy is walking away, stepping away from Matt. (Leaving Matt behind. Leaving his best friend alone, hurting, scared)
Matt suddenly finds himself scrambling across the room, hands slamming onto the back of the stupid chair, using it as a guide to stay upright as his world spins. “Wait- wait, Foggy! Where are you going?”
He’s desperate.
“I’m sorry, okay! I know I'm in the way, I just, I’m trying. Please don’t leave!”
Foggy’s heart spikes, Matt worries that he’s said something wrong.
“Jesus, Matty.” Oh, Matt has definitely said something wrong. “What? I’m just going to get my phone, so I can call Claire, because clearly you're not okay! And you're not… what? You're not in my way! What are you talking about?” Foggy exclaims, and it’s loud. To Matt, incredibly loud. He flinches again, and fails once more to hear the concern.
Matt understands only the volume, and takes the words as anger.
“Right, sorry. Right.” The lawyer fumbles forwards more, leaving behind his island of safety that was the back of the chair, wading through the room blind. Literally. But he feels this desperate need to get closer to Foggy, to make sure his friend doesn’t leave. “But I'm fine, I swear it.You don’t need to call Claire, I’m not hurt. Foggy, I promise. I don’t lie to you anymore.”
Matt’s world spins, he tries to focus on just putting one foot in front of the other. There's a ringing in his ears. He passes the office trash can, and the smell hits him like a truck.
But Matt hears Foggy take a deep breath, feels the vibrations on the floor as his friend steps forward. Towards Matt, not away.
Thank god.
“Okay, Matt. I believe you.” Matt could cry tears of relief. “But what’s wrong, then? Because clearly you're not functioning at full speed.”
And that’s not good. Because Matt doesn't want Foggy to know he’s feeling weak, because Foggy doesn’t want to help Matt anymore, and Matt has to show that he’s capable.
He’s not a nuisance, he can stay out of the way. Function on his own. He can. He can.
“And tell me the truth, Matt. You promised.”
Matt can’t lie to Foggy anymore, he can’t risk that. It ended so terribly last time, and Foggy already seems like he has one foot out of the door. Matt can’t lose his best friend again. He doesn’t think he could live through that a second time.
So Matt takes a moment to calibrate himself, still floating in his void of chaos, unable to focus on the proper stimuli. Dogs bark, cars honk, Foggy’s heart runs fast.
“I just have a headache.” Is what Matt settles on.
Foggy snorts, and turns on his heel. “Bull. Shit! I’m calling Claire.”
“No, Foggy! I’m serious!” Matt desperately scrambles for Foggy, snagging his hand on his friend's shoulder, and promptly losing his balance with the move. Suddenly Matt is plummeting to the floor, and he can’t even tell which way is up or down.
But just before the floor hits, he’s caught in an entirely graceless embrace, by Foggy. Together the friends fall, Matt hitting Foggy’s chest with a groaned oomph, Foggy yelping his confusion.
And that must be the last straw for Matt, because suddenly his head is hurting so much that his hands are reaching for his hair, rubbing his temples. The lawyer begins muttering, and tears start to wet his eyes from where he rests his head atop Foggy’s chest, “I’m sorry Fog. I’m sorry, but I just- I can’t do it. I’m weak and I haven’t gone this long without help, and I can’t, I am-”
Foggy seems to finally understand the state his friend is in, because his heart pangs with guilt. Leaning forward and cradling his best friend, Foggy takes Matt’s hands from where they tear through his short hair, replacing them with his own. “Okay, okay.” He whispers. And, shit! What is Foggy supposed to do, right now? Because Matthew Murdock (the badass vigilante, his best friend, a total crazy person!) is crying in Foggy’s arms, muttering nonsense. “You can’t what, Matty? What’s wrong?’
And that must be the wrong question, because Matt tries to push himself away from Foggy with a heartbreaking hiccup, “I can’t SEE, Foggy! I can’t!”
Foggy is confused, because, well, duh. “Uhh-?”
“No, no, Fog. I can’t see! I can’t make sense of anything right now, I haven’t been able to all day!” Matt is fully crying now, and he drops his forehead against Foggy once more, letting the tears fall. “When you sent me to get lunch earlier, I only made it out of the building before I started walking the wrong way to the deli, then I ran into a pole! Who does that? It was so- so pathetic! And this woman saw the whole thing, and she-” Matt hiccups, “She tried to help me. But I shouldn’t need help, not from strangers! I run around on rooftops at night, Fog, but I can’t even get to the deli down the street? What kind of helpless person am I?”
Foggy tries to come up with something to say, in the short pause, as he rubs Matt’s back. But his friend continues on before he can, and Foggy resigns himself to listening and letting his heart break some more.
“And I had been so hungry, I really was. I haven’t eaten all day, Fog, but I was walking and every smell was hitting me and it was just too much! And I was being pathetic, and useless, and I can’t even find the tea in the cabinet without getting nauseous, and it’s all because of this stupid headache. I haven’t had one like this for so long, Fog, and I know it’s my own fault. I should be able to focus on my own, to live on my own. But I just haven't had to in so long! So I'm sorry for getting in the way, for being helpless, and I'm trying to learn how to live without you again, but it’s just so exhausting sometimes! And so I get the headaches, and it just makes everything worse, because suddenly I can’t understand the world around me, and-”
“Woah, buddy!” Foggy has to force his way into the one sided conversation, because, well, what the fuck? “What do you mean, you're getting headaches from ‘living without’ me? I’m right here?” Is the first question off of his tongue, even though Foggy currently has so many. Like how Matt says he can’t understand the world around him, how he’s been confused all day. Isn’t Matt supposed to be, like, extra good at those things?
Matt sniffles, lifting his head off of Foggy’s chest to meet his friend's gaze, or, as close as he can get. Foggy’s heart breaks a little more seeing the wet tears streaming from those delicate brown eyes, looking so lost.
“No, Foggy, you're not here anymore.” Matt sounds so broken, so sad, and Foggy wants to hit himself for whatever it is that he did to make his friend sound like that. “I lied to you, and you realized I don’t deserve your help, so you're not here anymore!” Matt’s voice is quiet, and it trembles with the rest of his body. The man looks completely exhausted.
Foggy moves to wipe some of the tears away, and nearly cries himself when he feels Matt lean into the touch. “I don’t know what you mean, Matt.” He feels so clueless, all Foggy wants to do is help, but he doesn’t understand. “I’m right here, I’ll help you with whatever I can, I promise!”
Matt just seems to cry harder. “No, Fog! You realized I was lying to you, and that I don’t actually need your help, so you stopped! And I just need to learn how to deal with that, because you had every right to stop!” He sounds like he’s convincing himself as much as he’s explaining to Foggy.
“Matty, buddy, I’m so sorry. I don’t understand. What did I stop doing?”
Matt seems to break, because suddenly he is yelling. “You stopped helping me! With all the little things, the stupid things, but it made everything so much easier! You would offer your elbow to guide me around, which let me turn my brain off just a little bit, because I could trust you! You would guide me, keep me from running into oncoming traffic, and I could just focus on listening to your voice! And you used to make sure all the furniture was always in its right place, and I got so used to it, and I never expect anything else now. Which is fine! I just need to remember to be focused, to stay aware! It’s fine! But you stopped all the little things, like explaining photos to me, helping me print my documents in braille, walking with me to the deli, telling me when there's a curb. And it’s taken so much effort to do that on my own again, 24/7. It’s so exhausting, Foggy. I’m just so tired.” And Foggy can hear it in his friend's voice at the end of the rant, just how much energy Matt has in him. Hardly any at all. “And so I've been getting headaches again, so much worse than they've been in years, because I got too reliant on your help. I just need to learn again. I’m sorry for being in the way, Foggy. I promise I’m not useless. I’ll figure it out.”
Foggy is- well, he feels like a terrible person. Like a terrible friend.
Matt is slumped over once more, his arms wrapped around himself as if waiting for a blow. He’s stopped crying, and just looks so completely exhausted. Foggy hates himself a bit for putting that look on his best friend's face.
“Oh, Matty.” And then Matt is being scooped into Foggy’s arms, pulled close in a bear hug on their dirty office floor. “I am so, so sorry.”
Foggy doesn’t even know what to say because, wow, has he been an asshole. Of course, Matt is blind. How could he have possibly forgotten that when he found out about the whole vigilante thing? He knows he didn’t really forget, not in the actual sense. But Foggy now recognizes that he shoved that little fact away, in his anger.
Because Matt ran around rooftops, put bad guys in hospitals, and wore a weird suit. Foggy would like to think that anybody else would also find it reasonable to stop thinking that the man needed any sort of assistance.
But Foggy should have asked. Hell, he should have just noticed! What kind of a friend is he, if he can’t even tell when Matt is struggling?
So he pulls Matt closer, and rubs his hands down the man’s back.
“I never ever should have stopped helping you. I promise that I never meant to leave you behind, without help. I just- I just assumed, and I shouldn't have. I will always help you when you need me to, I never should have stopped, just because you see the world differently than I thought you did.”
Matt shakes his head from where it’s pressed against foggy, “No, Foggy, you're right. I don’t need help. I can make it work, I just need to try harder, to focus more often. I just got too lazy, too used to having you as a crutch-”
“No, Matt!” Foggy exclaims, Matt flinches. Okay, maybe he needs to tone it down. “No. Just no. You do not have to go through life all on your own, just because I have been too much of an asshole to offer you help lately. I know you're plenty capable, probably far more in tune with your surroundings than I ever will be. But if I can help you from getting overwhelmed by that, by your awesomeness, then I will. Because that’s what friends are for, and I am so sorry that you've been thinking I was purposefully taking that crutch away from you. All I ever want to do is help you, Matt. You're my best friend.”
Foggy listens to Matt sniffle, watches as he runs a hand over his eyes.
“I know you can hear my heart, Matt. You know that I mean it.” And that seems to finally make a small smile grace Matt’s lips, sad as it looks.
“I know, Foggy.”
Looking around, realizing that they're still sitting uncomfortably on the floor, Foggy takes Matt’s hands in his own, “Okay, let’s get you home, buddy.” He says as he helps his friend to his feet.
Matt tilts his head to the side, in that lost way he always does when confused, “We have so much work to do, Foggy-”
“No way are you working right now, Matt. You have a hell of a headache, and tears in your eyes.” Matt blushes. “So I’m going to get you home, find us some comfortable pajamas, and you can rest while I work the case files from your couch. That sound okay?”
Matt’s heart skips a beat at the idea, at spending quality time with Foggy. They haven't felt like best friends in so long, but in this moment, Matt feels his heart swell with Foggy’s adoration. “Yeah, Fog. That sounds amazing.” He realizes something, “What about Karen?”
Foggy just shrugs, looking at Karen's still empty desk. “I’ll shoot her a text, tell her to take the rest of the day off once she's done at the apartment. We could all use a short rest.”
It’s telling how truly exhausted Matt is that he doesn’t argue, just allows Foggy to retrieve a few items from around the office (including the long forgotten sandwich) and agree to the shortened work day.
And when Foggy has all his things collected in his bag, slung over his shoulder and arms mostly free, he offers his elbow to Matt without a word.
Matt grins, true and bright, and takes his best friend’s arm. Finally, he can focus on just the sounds of Foggy’s useless chatter, his heartbeat, and Matt’s own breathing. It feels like finally taking a deep breath after weeks of suffocating.
The pair walk, arm in arm, all the way to Matt’s apartment.