Chapter Text
The afternoon sun was streaming through the dusty blinds of the office, catching the slow, lazy drift of dust motes in the air. For once, the Nelson & Murdock law offices were relatively peaceful. There were no mobsters threatening their lives, no corrupt cops lurking in the hallway, and the only sound was the familiar, comforting rustle of Foggy shuffling through a stack of court filings at his desk.
To Matt, who spent his life drowning in a constant, overwhelming sea of sensory input, Foggy's presence was always the quietest harbor. He listened to the steady, strong beat of Foggy’s heart—a rhythm he had memorized years ago in a dusty Columbia dorm room, a rhythm he cherished far more than he would ever dare to admit.
He loved the way Foggy’s pulse picked up slightly when he was passionate about a case, and the soft, warm scent of wool and cheap cologne that clung to him. It was a stupid, painful thing to carry around, this silent pining, but Matt kept it locked tightly behind his ribs, right alongside his mask.
"Okay, Murdock," Foggy muttered, tossing a manila folder onto his desk with a heavy sigh. "If we don't get the judge to throw out the prosecution's third-party witness by Friday, we're going to be living on instant ramen for the next three months. I'm talking the kind that tastes like salty cardboard."
"I have faith in you, Foggy," Matt said smoothly, leaning back in his desk chair with a small, fond smile. "You're spectacular in front of Judge Carter."
"Flattery won't pay the electric bill, buddy, but I appreciate the sentiment."
Before Matt could respond, the office landline phone on Foggy’s desk let out a shrill, jarring ring.
Foggy groaned, reaching for the receiver. "Nelson and Murdock, attorneys at—"
"Hello? Is this Nelson and Murdock?"
The voice on the other end of the line was crisp, highly energetic, and projecting so loudly from the receiver that Matt didn't even need his enhanced hearing to catch every word. It belonged to a woman. Her heart rate was slightly elevated, humming with a protective, no-nonsense protective energy.
"Yes, it is," Foggy said, switching to his professional lawyer voice. "This is Franklin Nelson speaking. How can I help you today, ma'am?"
"Oh, thank goodness," the woman sighed. "My name is May Parker. I'm calling to verify something. I'm Peter's aunt."
At the mention of the name Peter, Matt’s entire body went rigid. His hand froze inches above his coffee mug.
"I'm just calling to confirm his after-school program," May continued, her tone turning slightly suspicious. "Peter told me he was hired as an unpaid legal intern at your firm. He says he's working directly under a Mr. Matthew Murdock on Tuesday and Thursday evenings?"
Foggy blinked, his brow furrowing in absolute, complete bewilderment. He looked over at Matt, his phone still pressed to his ear. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Parker, did you say... an intern? Named Peter?"
"Yes, Peter Parker. He's a high school student. He said he’s helping with filing and basic office tasks?" May’s pulse spiked a little higher over the phone. "Look, Mr. Nelson, Peter is a good kid, but he's been coming home incredibly late, smelling like... I don't even know, some kind of weird ozone and industrial glue? And when I asked him about it, he panicked and gave me this number. I just want to make sure my nephew actually has a job there, and isn't out getting into trouble."
Foggy opened his mouth, already drawing in a breath to say, Ma'am, we don't have an intern, we can barely afford coffee, and who the hell is Peter?
But before a single syllable could leave Foggy’s mouth, Matt lunged across the space between their desks with entirely un-blind-like speed.
He practically threw himself over the edge of Foggy's desk, his hand coming down firmly over the receiver, cutting off Foggy's microphone.
Foggy let out a startled gasp, his eyes widening in shock as Matt stared blindly in his direction, his jaw clenched in a silent, desperate plea.
"Hello? Mr. Nelson?" May's voice tinny and confused from the speaker. "Are you still there?"
"Matt, what the actual—" Foggy whispered furiously, trying to pry Matt's hand off the phone.
"Don't," Matt hissed back, his voice a frantic whisper. "Just... let me have the phone, Foggy. Please."
Foggy glared at him, his heart rate spiking with a mix of utter confusion and sharp annoyance. But seeing the sheer, uncharacteristic panic tight in the line of Matt’s shoulders, Foggy slowly let go of the receiver, giving him a look that promised a very long, very loud interrogation the second this was over.
Matt took a breath, letting his posture soften instantly back into his gentle, harmless public persona. He lifted his hand from the microphone and brought the receiver to his ear.
"Mrs. Parker? Hello, my name is Matthew Murdock," Matt said, his voice instantly turning into a smooth, warm, reassuring baritone. "My apologies for the delay. My partner, Franklin, was just checking our physical calendar. Yes, Peter is indeed our new intern."
Over the line, Matt heard May's heart rate drop a fraction of an inch, the sharp, defensive edge of her posture instantly melting. "Oh, thank goodness. He really is there? I was starting to worry he was making the whole thing up."
"He is," Matt lied smoothly, ignoring the way Foggy crossed his arms and let out a dramatic, silent scoff from across the desk. "He's been incredibly helpful, actually. Though I must apologize for the late hours. I tend to lose track of time when we're digging through old case files, and since I can't drive, Peter has been helping me organize some of our physical Braille archives."
"Oh, that makes so much sense," May said, her voice completely softening. "He mentioned he was helping you specifically. But... what about the smell? He came home on Tuesday smelling like chemical exhaust and burnt plastic."
Matt didn't miss a beat. "Ah. Our building has some rather... ancient steam radiators, Mrs. Parker. They had a minor leak in the basement earlier this week, and the landlord's attempt to seal the pipes left the entire stairwell smelling of industrial adhesive. I'll make sure Peter leaves before the maintenance crew starts working next time."
"You are incredibly kind, Mr. Murdock," May said, her heart settling into a warm, completely trusting rhythm. "I’m so glad he’s working with someone so responsible. He really admires you."
"The feeling is mutual," Matt said, and for once, it wasn't entirely a lie. "He’s a very bright kid. We’ll see him this Thursday at five."
"Thank you so much, Mr. Murdock. Have a wonderful evening."
"You too, Mrs. Parker."
Matt slowly lowered the receiver, placing it back onto its cradle with a quiet, deliberate click.
The office fell dead silent.
Matt didn't even have to use his radar sense to know Foggy was staring at him. He could feel the sheer, heavy weight of his partner's gaze, hot enough to burn through his red-tinted glasses. Foggy’s heartbeat was practically thundering against his ribs now, thrumming with an intense, demanding curiosity.
"So," Foggy began, his voice dripping with slow, dangerous sarcasm. "Matthew. Buddy. Pal. My dearest friend and partner in legal poverty."
"Foggy—"
"No, no, don't 'Foggy' me!" Foggy threw his hands up, the fabric of his suit jacket rustling loudly. "We have an intern? A high school intern? Since when do we have the budget for an intern? Matt, we don't even have the budget for two-ply toilet paper! And more importantly, who the hell is Peter Parker?!"
Matt rubbed his temples, a sigh slipping past his lips. He knew he couldn't tell Foggy the whole truth—not yet. He couldn't just say, 'Oh, he's a teenage superhero who fights aliens, and I've been physically throwing him out of Hell's Kitchen to keep him from getting murdered.'
"He's... a kid I met," Matt said lamely, keeping his voice quiet. "From Queens. He was in the neighborhood, got into a bit of trouble, and I realized he needed a safe place to go after school. Somewhere that would keep him off the streets."
Foggy’s heartbeat softened slightly, the anger instantly draining out of it, replaced by that deep, incredibly warm empathy that Matt loved so much. Foggy sighed, leaning his hip against the edge of the desk.
"Matt," Foggy said gently. "I get it. I know you have a soft spot for the neighborhood kids. But a fake legal internship? We're lawyers! If his aunt finds out we lied, or if the kid actually shows up here and has no idea how to file a motion—"
"I'll handle it," Matt promised, looking up. "I'll make sure he actually learns something. I'll have him organize the back room. I'll pay his stipend out of my own pocket, Foggy. Just... please. Let him stay."
Foggy stared at him for a long, quiet moment. He let out a heavy, defeated breath, but Matt could hear the tiny, affectionate smile in the corner of his mouth.
"Fine," Foggy muttered, tapping his knuckles against the desk. "But if this kid ends up accidentally shredding our tax returns, you're the one telling Karen. And Matt?"
"Yeah?"
"He better actually show up on Thursday. Because if a suspicious aunt shows up here demanding to see her nephew's desk, I'm telling her you're the one who kidnapped him."