Archive of Our Own

Elektra’s death is a cold abscess, like someone carved a piece from his soul; something taken from him.  

Foggy’s absence in his life isn’t cold. It’s a constant ache, a pounding. He feels it throbbing and heavy under his skin like a bad bruise. He didn’t realize how much he relied on Foggy as a touchstone until he couldn’t anymore.

For months, he does the only thing that feels right; he lives the life he and Elektra imagined together. The stability of the real world slides away. He has no responsibilities now. No mundane events to structure the days around. Time passes abnormally, and his life becomes untethered. His nights are spent drifting around a city that should feel more familiar than it does.  

All he has left are back alleys and the smell of old blood. He measures weeks by the number of bodies sent to the steps of the precinct. Each morning he slopes home; knuckles bruised and heart heavy. There are less people who worry about him now. Less people who expect him to be dressed and unwounded.

So, he catches a fist to the eye and breaks four ribs in retribution. So, he dodges a knife and snaps a femur, feels the bone poke out from the skin and swallows down the taste of blood.

Climbing through his roof access, he can feel the warmth of the sun streaming through his apartment windows. He closes himself in his bedroom and lies there, unmoving. Outside, he can hear cars driving down the roads, coffee shops opening for their morning rush; the overflowing combination of heartbeats and voices and blood pumping and life.

Inside, everything is still. The front door never opens. No one laughs at his jokes. No one brings him a bagel from the 5 Brothers on 47th and 10th. No one asks how he slept.

No one calls him by his name.

*

Matt keeps going. Saving lives; cleaning up the streets; helping the people of Hell’s Kitchen.  

None of it feels like it matters.

Without the thin veneer of a shared office and quick, cheap meals. Without pastries and hot coffee and constant, stupid laughter –

Without Foggy, there’s nothing left to drag him back to a world beyond the mask.

*

“You could call him,” Karen says.

She reinitiated contact two weeks ago. Turned up at his apartment with her spine straight as steel. She asked if he was sorry for lying to her. She asked if there was any of the Matt Murdock she thought she knew underneath the mask. She asked if he regretted the way he handled things.

He said he was sorry for lying. Said he wasn’t sure about the Matt Murdock she thought she knew, but she should let him know if she sees him. Said he regretted it all.

He cried like a baby. Karen let him, then she pressed her palm to his cheek. It was the first gentle touch to Matt's skin in months, and it felt like Communion placed in his unworthy palm. It felt like something holy.

Now, Matt has a clean shirt on. Now, Matt has combed his hair and hidden as many bruises as possible. Now, Matt has sat himself across a table from someone he loves.

Karen picked a low budget restaurant that holds no memories for either of them. Together they try and pretend this is how things always were. The stretches of silence last longer than conversations. They sit across from each other like two people on a bad first date, more uncomfortable than the actual date they shared months ago. Neither of them can seem to fill the spaces Foggy’s easy conversation used to lie.

Still.

“Call who?” Matt asks.

Karen leans forwards, the heat of her body growing closer. Matt hears both her palms press flat to the table, the sound of her skin touching the cheap wood. He feels the shift in air as she breathes in, but she doesn’t say anything.

Matt sighs, deflating down until he’s small. Pathetically mortal.

“He wouldn’t pick up.”  

He may not be able to see the details of Karen’s expression, but the unimpressed breath she lets out through her nose is loud, even without enhanced senses. She still says nothing.

Matt touches the frames of his glasses, tilting his head down so his face is angled towards the table. “Okay. I don’t know if he would pick up or not, but it doesn’t matter. He shouldn’t pick up. Not with everything I did. Karen, his life is better off without me in it.”

Karen lifts one of her hands from the table to tuck some hair behind her ear. He hears the strands moving together, the twisting of the bones in her wrist. “Matt, did it occurr to you the reason everyone’s so mad is because you keep making decisions for us? Foggy’s an adult. If he doesn’t want to pick up the phone, then he won’t, but I don’t think the possibility of rejection means you should never try. You’ve known each other so long. You spend most holidays with his family. You’re – you’re best friends.”

“I knew him, but I never gave him a chance to know me,” Matt says. He feels uncomfortable, too aware they’re in public. He clenches the cheap paper napkin between his hands. “I don’t even know if I should have. Ever since he found out everything, things have fallen apart.”  

Karen crosses her legs under the table. The pump on her right foot hangs off her heel, Matt feels the movement of it as she bounces her foot, subtle but consistent.

“Matt,” she says. “I’m not going to say Foggy doesn’t hold any of the blame between you two, but he found out you lied to him for a long time, for years. Then you turned around and lied some more. I think he’s allowed to be upset with you. God knows I was.”  

“Exactly.” Matt’s tearing the napkin to pieces in his hands. “Karen, not calling him, not speaking to him, I’m not – It’s not a decision. You’re right. I lied to him for a long time. I did a lot of things that put him in danger, professionally and personally. He had every right to walk away from me. He doesn’t deserve what I bring to the table. He was shot, Karen! I can’t be someone who puts him in danger any more than I already have.”

“You weren’t the one who shot him.”

“It doesn’t matter who shot the gun, Karen! He wouldn’t have been in Reyes’ office, wouldn’t have even taken the Castle case if I – if we – hadn’t pushed him to. It doesn’t matter who shot the gun. I should have protected him better. I should have stepped in, I should have –”

Matt’s aware of how high his shoulders have risen; how close his voice is coming to raising. Embarrassed, he goes silent, sinking back into his seat.

Karen snorts. “I don’t get it. It’s obvious how much you miss him. You're miserable! You never struck me as the sort of person who gave up easily, Matt. What, for your oldest friendship, you’re not even going to try?”

“I told you Karen, it’s better this way,” Matt grits out. “I hurt him.”

“You hurt me too,” Karen says.

Matt’s sure his balled-up pieces of napkin are leaving a mess on the table. He places the remnaints down, clenching his now empty fists.

“I never wanted to hurt either of you. All I wanted - all I want - is for you both to be safe. I would have stayed away from you too, Karen, but you came looking for me. So, I’m trying, okay? I’m trying to be someone who doesn’t hurt you anymore.”

There’s silence. If Karen’s expression changes, the nuances are too subtle for Matt to pick up.

“Okay, Matt,” she says, eventually. “I’m glad you’re trying, but it doesn't matter. Since you’ve stopped spending time with Foggy, I feel like I don’t see you, anymore.”

Matt feels his mouth pull up at the corner. He pushes his glasses further up his nose. “I can’t say I understand what it was like to see myself to begin with.”

Karen laughs. Matt hears the journey it takes from her stomach to her throat; the way it bursts out of her mouth. He smiles, helpless against it.

“You know that wasn’t what I meant,” Karen says. “You seem different now. I mean, even more than before. There’s something –” Matt senses the movement in the air; Karen’s hand arching up to gesture between them. “The way you move, the way you talk. I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s – it’s like something’s shifted.”

“Something has shifted,” Matt says, before he can think better of it.

He hears the movement of Karen’s hair as she tips her head to the side, like a dog presented with a treat.

“Oh? So, we don’t have to keep pretending everything is the same anymore, then?”

“I’m not trying to pretend. I’m – I – Elektra died, Karen.”

Karen takes a sharp breath in. Her hands drum on the table in a quick, nervous rhythm. “Matt, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

Matt closes his eyes. “I know. It – I know she wasn’t. She wasn’t good, for me. We were a mess, and the way I behaved when she came back into my life, I know it’s a big part of why you and I, why Foggy and I –”

“Does Foggy know? About Elektra?” Karen interrupts.

“I doubt it.” Matt says, licking his lips. “We were already in a bad place when it happened. Nelson and Murdock was already over, and I didn’t want to – I was trying to stay away. So. So, yes. Things have shifted. With me. I mean, with Elektra gone, and with Foggy, too. I – I mean, it’s a big change to – to not see him anymore. You know Foggy and I met in undergrad?”

“He told me,” Karen says. Her tone is gentler now. 

“Yeah. Karen, we were eighteen when we met. I spent my whole life in an orphanage, and he was – Foggy was the first person since my dad died who saw me. He saw Matt Murdock, not the blind Catholic orphan. Or some,” he drops his voice. “Soldier for a cause, useful because of my senses, not because of who I am. Foggy didn’t even know about my senses, and he still wanted –”

Matt clenches his jaw, shaking his head. “I’d not had that in so long. Someone who wanted to talk to me. He was – Foggy’s the only family I have – or, had. You know as well as anybody, Karen, I’m not good at keeping people in my life. I’m a liar, I’m reckless. I didn’t – I don’t deserve him. Of course I’m different without him, of course something’s shifted. I don’t –”

He stops, aware he said too much. He sniffs, embarrassed.

“You don’t what, Matt?” 

Matt blinks, he feels a tear track down his cheek. He resists the urge to brush it away. Instead, he plants his feet on the floor and braces himself to say words he’s never said before.

“Foggy was the most important person in my life for a long time. I don’t know how to be – I lost Elektra, but I've lost her before. With Foggy, I don’t know how to keep going, as – as a person without him. I’ve not had to try before.”

Matt hears the click of Karen’s jaw shutting; her teeth locking together, the flood of her spit as she swallows. He hears the way her blood moves quicker under her skin, in time with the uptick in her heart. He can feel the subtle change of heat in her body, knows the words are coming before they’re said aloud.

“Oh, Matt,” she breathes.

Matt twists his hands together on his lap, hanging his head. Were it anyone else, he would leave the restaurant and never turn back. Were it anyone else, he would have left before the conversation even started – but Karen is all he has, right now and she’s not the sort to let something go. No matter where he might try to hide, she'll find him; she’s already uncovered more of him than he ever wanted to reveal.

“It’s nothing,” he says.

“It’s not nothing,” Karen snaps.

“Okay, Karen. It’s not nothing. What do you think it is?”

Matt licks his dry lips and counts to five. His spine is straight, body bracing for a hit. Karen lets out a laugh, but there’s no amusement. He can hear her uncross her legs, the sound of her shoe fitting back onto the heel of her foot. She moves closer, leaning across the table so he can feel the wetness of her breath as she exhales, her breath smells like stale coffee and the terrible restaurant food.

“You’re in love with Foggy,” she says. 

At once, the restaurant seating is too enclosed; Matt pushes himself to stand, desperate for a little extra space. He can feel the heads of the other diners in the restaurant turn to look at them, can hear the spike of curiosity in their heartbeats and the air displacing. He feels flayed, exposed.

He feels like his last secret has been forced from him, dragged into the open to die a public humiliation.

“I’m not talking about this,” he says. There’s the sound of Karen’s mouth opening, and Matt gestures at the people around them, cutting her off. “Not here.”

“Okay, Matt.” Her voice stays calm, breathing even. “Let’s get the check, okay? We can talk about it somewhere else.”  

Karen stands too, the fabric of her clothes rustling. She reaches out to hold his hand, her skin warm. He focuses on the steady beat of her heart, the way she smells like her usual shampoo, the food they shared, and the familiar exhaust fumes of Hell’s Kitchen.

“Okay,” he agrees.

*

Matt’s apartment block is one street over from the restaurant. Matt’s cane hangs loose from his right wrist, his other arm tucked into the crook of Karen’s elbow. It isn’t often they walk like this together and they keep falling out of sync.

“I always thought it looked so easy,” Karen says, laughing as Matt steps down a curb ahead of her and she’s forced to jog to catch up. “When you and Foggy walk together, it always seems so effortless.”

Matt smiles, shrugging. “Lots of practice, I guess. He used to be as bad as you.”

“Why the practice?” she asks. “I mean, um. With your senses, you don’t need this, do you?”

“Depends on what you mean by needing it. I can get around without being guided, but it involves a specific kind of focus. With my senses, I’m always making an active effort to filter information in. So, when I’m walking with someone –” Matt squeezes Karen’s arm. “It means I’m not spending energy thinking about when traffic lights are changing, or whether there’s a curb. I just need to focus on the conversation. It keeps things simpler.”

“Makes sense,” Karen says.  

“Yeah. Also, most people expect a blind guy to need some guidance. Gotta keep up appearances, right?” he smiles. Karen scoffs.

When they get to Matt’s building, Matt unlocks the door and holds it open for Karen. They take the stairs to Matt’s apartment without speaking.  

Once inside, Karen goes straight to the couch. Matt takes two beers from the fridge, passing one to Karen before taking a seat on the couch next to her.   

“So,” she says. “How long have you been in love with Foggy?”

Matt snorts, taking a long drink from his beer. “Wow, Karen. Straight into it, huh?”

“You’d find a way to change the subject, otherwise.” She sways into his space until her shoulder presses against his arm, a flash of warmth. “Seriously. How long?”

“I don’t know, Karen. Since the start?” Matt slumps into the couch cushions. He lets out an uneven laugh, shaking his head. “You know how Foggy is. He’s got this – this presence about him.”  

Karen laughs. “He is charming. When he wants to be.”

“No, no – it’s not. Okay, he is charming, but only because he’s worked on it. When we met believe me. It was much more, um. Unrefined?” Matt fiddles with the label on his beer bottle and shakes his head. “Y’know, he was loud, and he smoked pot way more than he’ll ever admit to now, and he stuck his foot in it so often – but none of it ever mattered, because people flocked to him anyway. I’m – Karen, you know that’s not me. When I spend too much time with someone, they usually start feeling like they’ve gotta get away. But Foggy - people wanna be around him. When he chooses you, it feels important.”

He takes another gulp of beer. “In college, he got invited to all these parties. Invites for every night of the week, sometimes. He could'a asked anyone to go with him and they all would have said yes. For whatever reason, it didn't matter. He always asked to spend time with me.”

“Mm,” Karen shifts until her head is leaning on Matt’s shoulder. “I’m sure eighteen-year-old Matt was very sweet, but I have to say it’s hard to imagine you partying, Murdock.”

Matt smiles. “I don’t know if I was ever as good at it as Foggy is. I can, uh, find it hard to let go.”

“But you tried anyway.”

“I tried anyway,” he agrees. He rubs his jaw. “I tried, because Foggy asked me to come, and I wanted to spend time with him. Like I said, he’s– he’s someone people want to be around. I – I’m not too different from anyone else.”

“I think in your case it’s more than just wanting to be around him,” Karen says.

“Until – until we stopped speaking, I didn’t think about it much. I didn’t have to. It was – there, but it's a fact of life, you know? As much a part of me as my senses. I knew I loved him. It – it was enough. Sometimes it feels like I’ve loved him forever.” He wipes a sweaty palm on his knee and laughs, though nothing about the situation is humorous. “Sometimes I think part of me loved him before I even knew him.”

Karen’s heart beats quicker, but she doesn’t pull away. Her head stays resting on his shoulder; the warmth of her breath lingering on his shirt every time she exhales.

“You know, when you guys had your big fight, after Elena died, I didn’t know what it was about,” she says. “It’s not like I had any reason to suspect you were the man in the mask, and you were beaten up six ways to Sunday and all Foggy would say was it was personal, and all you'd say is it was your fault. At first, I don't know what I thought. You got hit by a car trying to sleep with someone Foggy was interested in?”

Matt snorts, shaking his head. “You think so little of me.”

There’s the stretch of Karen’s lips across her teeth; a smile. “I’ve heard Foggy’s stories, Matt. I know it wouldn’t be the first time.”

“What, you think it never happened the other way around?”

There’s a beat of silence. “Did it?”

“Couple times.” Matt shrugs his shoulders, dislodging Karen’s head. He hears her face react, the muscles stretching under skin; he can’t pick up the nuances of the expression, and she doesn’t narrate it.

“Your penchant for competing over women aside, I figured it wasn’t the case this time. You were both so upset, and something so stupid didn’t seem like it would be something you couldn’t tell me. I mean, maybe you wouldn’t have said anything, but Foggy doesn’t like secrets. So, then I thought maybe you getting hurt pushed one of you to confessing romantic feelings, except the other didn’t take it well.”

Matt licks his lips. “Did, uh. Did you have a theory on which one of us it was? Who confessed?”

Karen chews the inside of her cheek, he hears the shift of teeth and the wet movement of her flesh. Her head jostles against Matt’s shoulder. She takes in a long breath.

“Well, yes. In all honesty, back then, it seemed more likely Foggy was the one who – who had feelings for you. The way he talks about you, Matt; you’re so important to him.”

“He’s important to me too,” Matt says.

“I know. Matt, I know how important you are to each other, but you. You keep things much closer to your chest. Someday I’ll stop being surprised by it, but I didn’t – I can’t say I saw this coming.”

Matt shakes his head, snorting. “I wish I could say the same.”

He dislodges Karen’s head from his shoulder, leaning forwards to put his beer bottle on the floor beside his feet. He hears the movement of her straightening up on the couch, the rippling of her vertebrae.

“Can I ask why you haven’t told Foggy?” Her palms smooth down the fabric of her skirt.

“I – Foggy was – is – one of the most important things in my life.” Matt runs a hand through his hair. “The most important. You see how much of a mess I am without him, Karen. I – I couldn’t afford to lose him, not if he didn’t feel the same way. Besides, I was keeping my senses from him, I was lying to him every day. It wouldn’t have been fair.”

“What makes you so sure he doesn’t feel the same way?”

“I think I’d be able to tell. With attraction – I don’t have the visual aids everyone else does, it’s not like I can see the look in someone’s eyes, but I can hear when people’s hearts beat faster, or the pitch of someone’s voice. I can still pick up on body language. With Foggy, I’ve never – he’s always the same with me as he is with anyone else.”  

“Are you sure?” Karen sounds disbelieving.

“I’m sure.” Matt tries to keep the bitterness out of his tone. “There’s nothing. He’s always had partners, too. Female, long-term partners. You’ve met Marci. Before her, there was Deborah.”

Karen exhales. “He never mentioned a Deborah.”

“They dated for most of undergrad. I never liked her and she hated me. It was – uh. It was one of the reasons their relationship didn’t work out.” Matt sighs. “Marci didn’t like me either, but she was better at hiding it around Foggy.”

“Does Marci like anyone?” Karen asks. “From my limited impression, I can’t say she’s the warmest person.”

“She likes Foggy. I imagine she wasn’t the nicest to you because she can, uh. She can get territorial. Over him.”

“Are you saying she was jealous of me?”

“From what I gather, you’re his type.”

Karen snorts. “Okay. If I’m Foggy’s type, why didn’t she like you?”

Matt raises his eyebrows. “I think, uh. I know she figured out how I felt about him. I was – I spent a lot of time following him around.”

“I guess I can see why Foggy’s girlfriends might be jealous how much time you two spend together.”  

There’s a pause. Matt sucks in a quick breath. Karen’s hand finds the spot where Matt’s spine meets his neck; she touches him gently.

“Well. How much time you spent together.”

Matt bends down to pick up his beer again. He finishes what’s left in one long swallow. “Yeah. We did.”

Neither of them speak for a few moments, though the silence doesn’t feel as fraught anymore. He can feel the warmth from Karen’s skin, a flash of heat in his quiet apartment. The sirens and noises of Hell’s Kitchen seem further away than usual.

“Matt?” Karen moves, heat angling in Matt’s direction. In response, Matt turns his head away from the ceiling, pointing his face towards her.

“Yeah?”

Karen’s hand touches his arm. “I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to be honest.”  

Cross my heart, Matt doesn’t say. Instead, he nods.  

“You kissed me,” she says. “We went on dates, you called me your girlfriend, and then there was –”

“Elektra.” Matt’s voice wobbles on her name.

“Elektra.” Karen nods. “Look, Matt. I don’t think you or I would have worked out. For a lot of reasons, not just her. But it doesn’t mean I don’t want to understand. Why – if you feel the way you do about Foggy, then – then why?”

Matt sits up straighter. He clenches his hand into a fist, then loosens it.

“I never. I wasn’t trying to – by the time I met Elektra I was sure Foggy didn’t return my feelings, and she –” his coughs, trying to hide the cracking of his voice. “She was so – Elektra isn’t like anyone else. She knew about my senses, about what I could do. She always knew. With her, I didn’t have to hide this huge part of myself, I didn’t have to explain it, not like I do with Foggy. So, I’ll always – I did love her. I can’t, I won’t regret her.”  

“If there had been a choice,” Karen says. “Between Foggy and Elektra, who would it be?”

“It isn’t a choice,” Matt says.

“I know she’s –”

“No, there isn’t a choice. If Foggy was – if we could,” he shakes his head. “I loved Elektra, but it couldn’t be anyone else, Karen. Foggy’s the only person who makes me feel real. He gave me a life. A regular life with structure and meaning and. Losing him has been – hard.”

Karen sways back a little. “And – and me? Where did I fit into all of this?”

“Karen, you,” he fumbles across the couch, clumsy in his haste to reach for Karen’s hand. She lets him take it, fingers curling into his. “You’re an amazing person, I love being around you. I always have. When we kissed, when we were dating, I – I knew you were attracted to me. Foggy doesn’t reciprocate how I feel – my feelings for him weren’t a consideration. Then, with Elektra – the timing was terrible, and the whole situation was a mess. I am so sorry, for not talking to you. For how I hurt you.”

“Matt, saying you knew I was attracted to you doesn’t answer how you felt about me.”

Matt hangs his head. “I – I wasn’t in love yet, but I love you. I could have been – if Elektra hadn’t come back – I thought we could’ve been something.”

Karen lets him tighten his fingers around her hand, then she extracts herself.

“I thought we could have too,” she says. “But now, I - I think we were kidding ourselves to imagine it would have worked out. I love you too, Matt, but loving each other doesn’t mean we work together. We have people we’re both better suited for.”

Matt’s mouth quirks. “Is this your way of telling me about Frank?”

Karen sucks in a surprised breath, then laughs. “Of course you know about Frank.” She rests her hand on his knee. “I – Frank and I, it’s complicated.”

Matt snorts. “He’s not a good person, Karen.”

“Matt, I –” Karen exhales. Then, her shoulders click as she straightens her back. “I don't want to do this with you right now. This isn’t about me. This is about you. I think you should talk to Foggy. About how you feel.”

Matt’s shoulders tighten. “Karen. I can’t.”

“Why not? You don’t have any excuses anymore, Matt.”

“I –” Matt’s tongue feels too thick for his mouth.

“No, I don’t want to hear it, Matt. You couldn’t tell him before because he didn’t know about your senses? Well, he knows now. You couldn’t tell him because you didn’t want to ruin the friendship? Well, from where I’m sitting it’s already ruined! I don’t – Frank’s trial and everything else that happened last year, we can move forwards, but only if you try. C’mon, Matt. How could you make things worse? At least this way you’re laying all your cards on the table.” There’s a pause. “You don’t have any more cards, do you?”

Matt laughs. “I hope not.”

Karen claps her hands together. “Well, there you go then! You’ve gotta tell Foggy.”

Matt rubs his fingers together. His heart feels somewhere near his stomach. “I’ll think about it,” he says.

“It’s all I ask,” Karen says. She sounds satisfied; they both know she’s won.

*

Foggy has a new apartment. He moved sometime in the last month, the paycheques from HB&C clearly treating him well.

Matt shouldn’t know where it is, but Foggy’s new place is only three blocks away from Matt’s apartment. Matt didn’t try to listen in. He pushed for the dissolution of Nelson and Murdock, so the onus of separation is on him. Except –

Sometimes, he struggles.

Sometimes, nights are long, and mornings are cold. Sometimes, when he’s trying to meditate, he hears Foggy moving in his new apartment and zones into the rhythm of Foggy’s breathing, the quiet putter of him living his life.

So, Matt knows where the new apartment is.

He doesn’t call in advance. Talking through a phone makes things so much harder. He doesn’t want to decipher Foggy’s emotions with any distance between them. He wants the smell of Foggy’s breath, the taste of his sweat. He wants to hear Foggy’s heartbeat in high definition.

He’s standing at the apartment building’s doorway when he realizes knowing the building doesn’t mean he knows the apartment number. The block is nicer than Foggy’s old one, but it’s not fancy enough to have a concierge. He could text Karen, maybe. Or –

Out of habit, he runs his fingers over the buzzer system; at his old apartment, Foggy had a braille tile ‘F’ beside his buzzer for Matt.

Here, now, Matt’s fingers trace along the familiar three dots.

His hand falters. He didn’t expect Foggy to still leave space for him to come back. The consideration makes him feel lightheaded, off-kilter with surprise. Before he can talk himself out of it, he buzzes the doorbell. In the seconds he waits for Foggy to answer, Matt listens to the cars passing on the street, the movement of bodies, the rattle of the subway cars below his feet.

“Hello?” the intercom crackles.

Matt licks his top teeth, swallows once. “Hey, Fog.”  

There’s a moment of silence, then a loud sigh. “Hey, Matt. I’m on the fourth floor.”

A click, and the door buzzes open.

*

By the time Matt reaches the third floor, he can hear the hang of Foggy’s hair; un-gelled and looser than he wears it in the office. From the strength of his shampoo’s smell, he washed it today. It’s probably soft.  

On the fourth floor Matt can make out the shape of Foggy, feel the way the air bends to make room for him. He’s leaning on his open doorframe, waiting for Matt. His heartbeat is louder than usual, but his breathing is even.

“Hey,” Matt says.

He wants to reach forward and feel Foggy’s skin under his fingertips. He wants to fling his arm over Foggy’s shoulders and keep their bodies close together. He wants to rewind time, set the clocks back to when everything revolved around parties and studying and drinking in their dorm room, when Foggy made up his whole world and everything was so much easier.

“Am I in danger?” Foggy asks.

There’s no warmth to his tone and Matt’s stomach twists. The four feet of distance between them feels carnivorous.

“I wouldn’t – I’ve been patrolling, but things have been quiet. I don’t – I wouldn’t have come here if I thought it would put you in danger.”

“So why are you here?” Foggy asks. “Nelson and Murdock’s been shuttered for months. You’ve been doing your own thing.”

Matt steps into the circle of Foggy’s space. He can smell the toothpaste from this morning on Foggy’s breath; the coffee he drank earlier; the faint remains of aftershave clinging to his freshly shaved cheeks. He can smell the mould from the back of Foggy’s closet and the sweat under Foggy’s armpits. He can hear the hitch in Foggy’s breathing, the single stutter of his heart as Matt closes in.

“I’ve been talking to Karen,” Matt says.

“I know,” Foggy’s voice gives so little away. “Karen’s my friend. We meet up and she tells me things about her life. You know, the way it goes when you care about someone and enjoy spending time with them.”

“I’m sorry,” Matt says. “For everything, Foggy. Look. Um, I know I have no right anymore, but can you let me in? There’s – there’s some stuff we need to talk about.”

Foggy sighs. “Okay, Matt.”

He steps into his apartment, holding the door open. Foggy touches a quick hand to Matt’s lower back – guiding him through the small corridor into a relatively large lounge. Once they’re both in the room, Foggy drops his hand.

“Take a seat,” Foggy says. “I’m sure you can figure out where the couch is.”

Matt’s mouth twists. Already he misses the easy press of Foggy’s hand to his back, misses the way Foggy used to tow him around every new space.  

He walks forwards silently, sinking onto the couch. It’s same corduroy one they shared while interning at Landman and Zack. It smells like feet and sweat and Foggy’s shampoo and laundry detergent. If Matt could see, he could pinpoint a stain on the right cushion where he spilled a glass of red wine years ago.

“Thanks for letting me in,” Matt says. He runs a finger over the couch fabric’s familiar texture, hands trembling.

“Sure. You gonna tell me why you’re here?”

Matt’s throat works. He isn’t sure what he’s going to say, until he opens his mouth and spits out, “Elektra’s dead.”

“She’s – what?”

“She died.” Matt takes his glasses off, folding the frames and resting them on the arm of Foggy’s couch. “She died not long after Nelson and Murdock closed, but I – it doesn’t matter. I couldn’t save her.”

“Shit, Matt,” Foggy says. He walks towards Matt and hovers, standing above him. “Of course it matters. I’m sorry, buddy.”

“Why? You never liked her.”

“What’s it matter if I liked her?” Foggy asks. “She mattered to you. You had to lose someone you loved. I’m gonna be sorry, because that’s always gonna be awful. Give me some credit here, Matt. I’m not a complete asshole.”

Matt’s tearing up, but he makes no effort to hide it; Foggy has seen him cry before. He sniffs. “I did love her. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you when she came back, Foggy, but – but you don’t understand.”

Foggy places a hand on Matt’s shoulder. His palm heats Matt’s skin even through the layers of clothes. When he moves away, he will leave his fingerprints on the shirt’s fabric, the oils of his skin behind. No matter what else happens, Matt will always have this impression of him.

“I’m not gonna pretend I ever understood your relationship, but I know she meant something important to you. Hell, Matt, she was your first love. She was gonna fuck you up a little bit. That’s what first loves are for.”

Matt clenches his hands into fists, balling them into the fabric of his pants. He’s still sitting down while Foggy towers over him, taking up all the airspace. Matt can’t remember how he used to survive so long being the sole focus of Foggy’s attention.

Every time he breathes in, he can taste Foggy’s sweat.

Matt twists his hands into the soft, worn fabric of the t-shirt Foggy’s wearing. Foggy’s throat clicks with a startled intake of breath, but he doesn’t push Matt’s hands away.

“That’s – I’m sorry, Fog. I - I thought it would be easier to talk to you about this.” The thin fabric stretches under his hold. “I didn’t, um. I didn’t come here to tell you about Elektra.”

Foggy puts his hands over Matt’s own. “Hey, okay. I’m – God help me, Murdock. I’m here, okay? What is it?”

The lump in Matt’s throat feels impossibly large. He swallows. “When you found out about Daredevil, you asked me to tell you everything, I didn’t. I mean, there’s still – there’s one more thing I didn’t tell you.”

Foggy’s whole body seems to shutter. He untangles Matt’s hands from his t-shirt, stepping away until the back of his knees hit the coffee table.

“You lied about something else?”

“I – I’m not sure.”

“You’re not sure if you lied?” Foggy asks. He’s getting snippier, voice raising in pitch.

“It’s complicated. I, um. Foggy, I visited you in hospital.”  

“I’m trying to follow the thread of this conversation, Matt, but you’re losing me here.” Foggy falters. His arm comes up then drops down, like a puppet on a string.

Matt clenches his jaw. “I’m trying to tell you everything, but it’s – it’s hard. When you got shot, I – I did visit you in the hospital.”

“Define visit,” Foggy says. His throat sounds dry, the words scraping out rougher than usual.

Matt takes a small breath in. “I was on the roof, listening. I could hear your heartbeat, the TV you were watching. I know Marci came to see you, and I knew where you were. I knew you were safe. I knew you were okay.”

Foggy’s hand slaps against his face, muffling his breathing. He makes a noise somewhere between a sigh and a groan.

“That doesn’t count as visiting, Matt. When you visit someone, both parties tend to be aware of the situation. I know it may have seemed like a no brainer to you, but I don’t have the capability of hearing your heartbeat floors above me!” Foggy’s voice softens. “Matt, I – I’d have liked to know you were there.”

“You got shot, Foggy.” Matt’s voice can come out no louder than a whisper.

“I know. I’ve got the hospital bills to prove it.”  

“You didn’t want to take the Castle trial, and Karen and I dragged you in anyway. Then I let you down, I lied to you, and it ended with you in a room where you got shot. I – I can’t, I didn’t want to be someone who hurt you anymore. I won’t put you in danger.”

Foggy’s teeth grind. “You didn’t think about danger when you first started going out at night to punch people in the head?”

“That’s different–”

“You’re damn right it’s different, buddy! Christ, Matt, at least this time I was in danger because of a situation our names were tied to legally.”

“You got shot!” Matt yells. He’s standing before he can hold himself back, right up in Foggy’s space, pressing too close. He wants to grab Foggy by the shoulders and shake him. Wants to grab him and hold him in his life, keep him still and steady and safe.

“You got shot. Do you know what it was like for me? I could smell the blood, Foggy. I could –”

Foggy holds his ground. He plants his feet, letting Matt come even closer. Like this, Matt can taste the air Foggy exhales. Like this, Matt can swallow their shared breath.

Foggy senses his weakness. “So what, Murdock? I get a bullet to the shoulder and one night in hospital, so you torpedo our life? You walk away from everything we built together? It was you who hammered the last nail into Nelson and Murdock.”

“The first thing you asked when I got here was if you were in danger! I didn’t want to give up on us – on Nelson and Murdock, but Foggy, being close to me isn’t – I’m not safe.”

“Who made you the person who decides what’s safe for me? I’m not the one fighting ninja wars on the side.”

“I was putting you at risk,” Matt says. “Being near you puts you in jeopardy.”

“And what about Karen? You’ve been spending time with her.”

“She sought me out, Foggy! Anyway, she – she has Frank.”

The muscles in Foggy’s face move. Matt can hear them shifting under his skin, but he can’t even attempt to understand what expression is on his face.

“I’m surprised you –”

“Karen and I, we talked about it,” Matt interrupts. “We – Karen and I dating – we shouldn’t have tried. I can’t say I’m happy she’s spending time with Frank, but it’s not because I wish it was me instead. We agree we’re better off as friends.”

“But she’s allowed in your life because she has Frank to protect her?”

Matt falters. “I – no. Like I said, she sought me out. Frank or not, I would have stayed away if she didn’t made contact. I didn’t – I told Claire; I don’t want anyone else to get hurt. Not because of me.”

“What about yourself, Matt? Did you ever stop to consider what would happen to you in all of this? You lost Elektra and, what – since then you’ve been running around fighting criminals alone?”

“I can handle it,” Matt says. “I’ve been handling it.”

Foggy throws his arms up in exasperation. His elbow bone cracks, flecks of dust from his clothes disperse into the air around them.

“You’re not meant to handle everything alone, Matt! We were supposed to be partners. If there’s danger, if there’s stuff going down in Hell’s Kitchen, you were supposed to tell me so we could figure it out together. You promised you’d be careful. You crossed your heart!” Foggy jabs a finger into Matt’s chest, pressing hard.

“We took on Fisk together. If you were around during the trial, we might have handled Castle together, too. What, did you think I’d run away if you had a conversation with me? You think I wouldn’t have done anything to choose you, choose us? You think I didn’t keep choosing you every day since I found out about the mask? Newsflash Matt, we’ve both been wrapped up in dangerous things with or without Daredevil! Corruption in Hell’s Kitchen isn’t a problem unique to your vigilantism.”  

“I know,” Matt says. He hangs his head. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“We could have handled whatever it was, Matt, if you talked to me. But instead you – you fucked off with Elektra and didn’t tell me shit until it was too late. I can’t. I wish you wouldn’t keep lying to me!”

“I’m sorry,” Matt can’t stop repeating himself. “I know, I – I should have told you about Elektra earlier, but I didn’t want you on anyone’s radar. Not more than you already are. I can’t – when you’re hurt, Fog, I don’t know how to handle it. You don’t know what it’s like for me –”

“What, you think I don’t get just as worried about you? I found you on a rooftop with a bullet in your head!” Foggy’s voice cracks. He sways on his feet, the fight dropping out of him. “Ever since I found out about Daredevil, I’ve been so scared of losing you, and – and I lost you anyway. I lost you, but you’re still fucking here.”

Matt’s face crumples with tears. He hangs his head, letting them fall in lieu of trying to say anything. Foggy sighs. He steps closer into Matt’s space. His hand comes up slowly, until he’s cradling Matt’s face. The tips of his fingers graze Matt’s temple like Matt’s something precious, like he’s still something worthwhile.

Matt closes his eyes, held in place by nothing more than Foggy’s touch.

“I’m sorry.”

He can’t hold back; he twists his head so his lips press into the center of Foggy’s palm. The scent of Foggy’s skin is so strong, flooding his nose. He takes a deep breath in, tasting. Foggy lets out a shuddering breath. His thumb strokes once, twice, over Matt’s cheek.

“I’m so sorry,” Matt says again, through the tears. “I’m doing this all wrong. I’m – sorry. Foggy. I – can we sit down?”

“Okay, Matt,” Foggy whispers.

Matt sniffs, trying to wipe some of the tears away. He sits on the couch again, and Foggy takes the space beside him, close enough their thighs touch. Before he can second guess himself, Matt takes Foggy’s right hand between both of his. Foggy makes no effort to pull away.

“I loved Elektra and I’ll miss her forever, but – she was never going to be someone I could build a life around. Even if she lived, I – I know we wouldn’t have lasted.”

“Why not?”

Foggy’s hand is still between Matt’s own. Matt can feel Foggy’s pulse underneath his own fingers, it’s like holding the world between his hands. He focuses on the warm sensory input making up the shape of Foggy in front of him. The heat and sweat and blood and guts. The living, breathing mass of the only person who keeps him anchored.

“You think she was my first love?” Matt asks.

“Well, yeah. We three didn’t spend much time together, but it was obvious you loved her. You were so messed up when it ended. You walk off bullets like it’s no big deal, but whatever happened between you two took you out. I won’t do either of us the disservice of pretending I ever liked her, but I’m sorry she’s gone, buddy. She was important to you.”

“She was,” Matt agrees. “She – when I met her, I’d spent a long time hiding what I could do. She gave me a space to be myself. What we had in college, it was what I needed then.”

“And it wasn’t what you needed now?” Foggy sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I feel like a real asshole asking this, Matt, because I know she died, and I don’t want to make you feel like you can’t grieve her – but you dropped everything when she showed up again. You blew Karen off, you missed court. You lied. Matt, it was bad.”

Matt feels miserable. “I know. I never – I didn’t want to. I never wanted to give up on what we had, but things were – there was more going on than I could control.”

“So, if you could do it again?”

“If I could do it again, I’d still help her.”

“Of course.” Foggy doesn’t sound impressed, and Matt tightens his grip on Foggy’s hand.

“If I could do it again, I’d still help her, but I’d tell you and Karen first. I – I know I didn’t do everything perfectly, but I’m trying, okay? I don’t want there to be any more lies between us. Which is – it’s why I’m here.”

“So, you did lie. Again,” Foggy says.

“I don’t –” Matt chews the inside of his cheek. “It’s a lie of omission. It’s not related to Daredevil, and you never asked before, so I – I didn’t say anything. You think Elektra was my first love, but you’re wrong. She wasn’t my first love. You were. You are.”

Foggy’s palm sweats in Matt’s hands. His heart pounds. Matt can hear the movement of blood in his body, everything inside him taking in Matt’s words.

“I was – you. What?”  

He pulls his hand away from Matt’s, though their thighs remain pressed together. He brushes a strand of hair behind his ear, sending the smell of shampoo into Matt’s nose. Matt feels hedonistic, indulgent with the textures and tastes of Foggy so close.

“I loved you first. Foggy, I’ve been in love with you since the first year of undergrad.”

“You – you’re in love with me?” Foggy says. He sits up, back straightening like he’s about to make the opening statement in court. “You’re actively in love with me? Present tense?”

“Yeah.”

“You never – what, you were never going to say anything? All those years, you kept it to yourself?”

“You didn’t feel the same way. You had Deborah or Marci. I was hiding my senses from you, and I didn’t want to ruin our friendship.” He snorts, runs a hand through his hair. “I mean, not any more than I already have by – by being me.”

“Matthew,” Foggy doesn’t sound amused. His heart is like a drum. “Do not fuck with me on this.”

“I’m not. I wouldn’t,” Matt shuts his eyes, taking a beat to structure the argument in his head. “Foggy, after my dad died, I didn’t have anyone until I met you. You were – you are – the best thing that happened to me. How could I not? How could I not love you?”

“Matt–”

There’s the sound of Foggy’s shoulders dropping, earlier court pose forgotten. The vertebrae in Foggy’s spine creak as he hunches in on himself. Matt puts a hand on Foggy’s thigh, holding them together.

“Sorry, Fog, but I’m – I need to – to finish saying this.”

Foggy moves even closer to Matt on the couch, body heat passing through their layers of clothes and right into the marrow of Matt’s bones. He inhales shaky breaths once, twice. He stays quiet.

Matt smiles without teeth, and takes a long breath in. “When we met, I didn’t – you weren’t the first man I was attracted to, but I never had someone I wanted to be around as much as I want to be around you. I wasn’t kidding when I said you were the heart of Nelson and Murdock. You’re so bright. People flock to you, Foggy, and I couldn’t – you’d already given me so much, I didn’t deserve anything more. So, I didn’t say anything. I was never going to say anything, not while I was lying to you. Except, you know who I am, now, and – Karen said you deserved to know, and Nelson and Murdock is over, anyway.” His voice cracks. He clenches his jaw. “I’ve already lost everything, so.”

Beside him, Foggy makes a movement Matt isn’t paying enough attention to decipher. He shakes his head to cut him off, and a beat of silence passes. Matt takes another shaky breath in.

“You keep me focused on what’s important, on the people of Hell’s Kitchen. You remind me who I want to be. I was wrong to lie to you, and I - I was wrong to push you out. Things are such a mess now, I figured – I can’t ruin things more than they already are with the full truth. You deserve the full truth, Foggy. So – so there it is. I don’t – there’s nothing left I can say.”

He feels like he’s holding his breath. Beside him, he hears the wet movement of Foggy’s tongue detaching from the roof of his mouth.

“Can I talk now?” he asks.

Matt shrugs, hanging his head. He picks up his glasses from the arm of the couch, trying to put them back on his face. Foggy stops him, catching his wrists and holding Matt in place. They both freeze. 

Foggy must know Matt could break his grasp if he wanted.

He doesn’t want to.

“Um. Are you – are you going to talk?” Matt asks. It comes out breathier than he’d like.

“I’m preparing my arguments,” Foggy says. He’s still holding Matt’s wrists.

He leans in, breath fanning warm against Matt’s face. His tongue licks over his teeth, the slow slide of it all Matt can hear when they’re this close to each other.

“Fog –” Matt starts to say, but he’s cut off by Foggy lips against his own.

The rumors following Foggy in Columbia weren’t exaggerating; Foggy kisses like he was made to do it. His mouth moves on Matt’s with startling precision, as though he, too, can hear the subtle hitches in Matt’s breathing, feel the pounding of Matt’s heart. Without breaking them apart, Foggy takes the glasses back out of Matt’s hands and places them on the coffee table. With their hands now free, Foggy grasps Matt’s face, holding him still so Foggy can keep kissing him, and kissing him, and kissing him. He pushes them further into the couch, climbing half on top of Matt.

Matt breaks the kiss to catch his breath. He feels like Foggy’s unpeeled him, taken his skin right off the bone. Tilting his head back so his neck is exposed, he lies there, panting. Foggy is a press of heat above him. Devastating.  

“Oh my god,” Matt says.

Foggy laughs, part disbelief and part genuine joy. “Considering you managed to miss how pathetic I get when it comes to you, I figure I need to make my points compelling. I’ve constructed a three-prong approach to convince you. That was argument one.”

His voice rumbles through Matt; he can feel it travelling through Foggy’s body to all the points they’re pressed together. He groans.

“What’s argument two?” he asks.

He feels like he’s going to crack apart, like the joy in him is too big to be contained inside his body. He can’t believe he gets this. He can’t believe he’s allowed this.  

“Argument two is this,” Foggy says.

He leans back in. This time, the kiss is filthy: tongue touching tongue. Matt opens his mouth, eagerly accepting the taste. He gets to have this, gets to feel Foggy on him, around him. They both smell like sweat and sex, and Matt uses the opportunity to drag his hands under Foggy’s t-shirt, rucking it up so he can scrape his fingers along the soft skin of his back, his sides. Foggy lets out a quiet grunt, lining their bodies even closer together. Matt’s hands pass over as much of Foggy as he can; he wants to get Foggy’s cells under his fingernails, wants to carry the evidence with him long after this moment ends.

This time, when they break apart, Matt isn’t the only one trying to catch his breath. Foggy’s hands are in his hair, on his neck, touching his face. He’s touching Matt like he’s worried he’ll never get the chance to again, mapping over scars and bruises and muscles. Matt feels trapped in glass; held in place.

“Argument three?” he whispers into the nonexistent space between their bodies.

“Argument three requires more logic than I can give you right now,” Foggy says. He leans down and kisses Matt again, like he can’t bear to stop. “Argument three is I love you too. I’ve also loved you for years. You’re stupid if you ever thought otherwise, and we’re going to talk more about Nelson and Murdock, and your penchant for self-punishment, and everything else, but –” Another kiss. “Later.”

“Sustained,” Matt replies.

It’s the last coherent thing he manages to say for some time.