Archive of Our Own

Image description:  A digital drawing in the style of a harlequin book cover. The image is from the perspective of someone looking upwards at a rooftop at night where Daredevil and Foggy nelson are standing on a fire escape. Daredevil is in full costume while Foggy is wrapped in a green bedsheet. Both are posed dramatically, Foggy being dipped slightly back if Daredevils arms as if they are about to kiss. A spotlight is on them illuminating them and causing a harsh shadow on the building behind them. The text on the cover is done in cursive with a metallic sheen and reads “Stirfbot” at the top and “Daredevil is into me (sexually)” at the bottom and, below this in one corner “Art by: BlueBioluminescence”

***

"Can you tell us, Mister Nelson, why you and Daredevil were seen together on the roof of your building two nights ago?”

“Um,” Foggy says, knee jiggling nervously under the metal interrogation room table. “I would guess, just from context, that maybe someone was watching the roof of my building? And saw us there?” 

The detective sitting across from him does not look amused. He taps his little notepad with his dinky plastic pen and stares.

Foggy gives him a little smile. “If you’re wondering why I was hanging out with Daredevil on the roof of my building two nights ago, you could always ask that question.” Words are important. Foggy knows this. He’s a lawyer. Specificity is key. 

“Tell us why you were with Daredevil two nights ago on the roof of your building,” the detective says, knuckles going pale around the pen in his hand. Foggy nods.

“Well he didn’t want to meet on the street. I was thinking The Landmark or McQuaid’s, you know, coupla drinks, some good pub food, nice conversation. Apparently he doesn’t do too well in public places. Gets nervous.” 

“Mr. Nelson,” the detective says. Foggy can see the vein in his forehead pop out a little, and the pen in his hand creaks ominously. “Why. Were you. With Daredevil.”

“Two nights ago?” Foggy clarifies.

The pen snaps, and Foggy ducks as a tiny piece of plastic goes pinging past his ear.

“Woah, dude, here,” Foggy says, reaching into his breast pocket and handing over the pen he keeps there. It’s relatively nice, one of a box he'd helped himself to from H C and B years ago. Foggy sets it down on the table with a click after the detective just sort of stares at it. 

Leaning back in his uncomfortable chair, Foggy sniffs and folds his hands together on his stomach with a little shrug, finally taking pity on the man. “He asked me to meet.”

It takes the detective a moment, and a deep, trembling inhale, to speak again. “And why did he want to meet with you?”

“Why?” Foggy repeats, stalling. It’s a decent question, and the real answer is slightly dumb and has to do with needing to buy toner for the office copier and Matt forgetting to drop off the business credit card before he left to go out vigilante-ing, so he really can’t tell the detective the true reason behind their late night rendezvous. Which is why, after a second’s hesitation and a deep, irrational moment of the fuck-its, Foggy shrugs and says, “Because Daredevil is into me.” And then, when the detective blinks rapidly and fails to respond, Foggy specifies, “Sexually.”

***

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Brett says, slamming the door to his office with a look on his face that makes Foggy actually feel a little bad.

“I don’t think that’s his middle name. We could ask Matt to double check, since that’s definitely more his wheelhouse, but-”

“What on earth possessed you to say you were fucking Daredevil?” Brett whisper-yells, rounding his desk to lean over it menacingly. 

“I didn’t say that!” Foggy exclaims, flopping into the chair opposite Brett’s desk. “I just said he was into me, sexually.” 

“Foggy,” Brett sighs. The sigh is packed to the brim with despair and disappointment. Foggy winces. 

“I panicked,” he admits. 

Brett opens his mouth and then shuts it, letting out a deep breath and lowering himself deliberately slowly down into his chair. “I am not, in any way, shape, or form, helping you out with this. You dug your little hole, now you can wallow in it.”

“Wallow?” Foggy says, a little offended. “So it’s a mudhole?”

“It’s a shithole,” Brett tells him, eyes cold and dead like an unfeeling shark. His words are relentless and without mercy and Foggy is slightly impressed. “A hole full of shit. Bullshit. The bullshit that comes outta your mouth. We are no longer friends.”

"Aha!! I knew we were friends. I knew it." 

"Were." Brett reiterates with a look.

Scoffing, Foggy flicks at the edge of Brett’s desk and sinks back into the chair. It’s much more comfortable than the metal interrogation room chair. “Whatever,” Foggy says. “At least Daredevil still likes me.”

“Don’t,” Brett warns.

Foggy inhales through his nose and meets Brett’s shark eyes with defiance. “Sexually.”

“Get out of my office.”

***

“You told them what?” Matt asks, and he’s taking it much better than anyone else has so far, judging by the incredulous laughter in his voice. 

“That uh, that Daredevil is into me.”

“Sexually,” Matt says, and Foggy nods. 

“I nodded.”

“Wh-” Matt huffs out a laugh through his nose and tips his head back, grinning at the sky as they make their way down West 47th. “Why did you tell them that?”

“Because someone saw us together on the roof that night I needed the company credit card. And also I panicked.” 

Matt readjusts his grip on Foggy’s elbow. “And now they’re going to, what...do a sting?"

“I don't know, that one try-hard guy, he might make me sting ya,” Foggy says apologetically. “Prepare to get stung.”

“I’ll… gird my loins, I guess,” Matt says, still smiling a little. 

“Good,” Foggy says, and then frowns, “But not too well. You are, after all, super into me. Sexually. If your loins are too-well girded…” he trails off meaningfully and Matt "accidentally" whacks Foggy in the shin with his cane.  

“So," Matt says after half a block or so. "You're now officially linked to Daredevil."

“I guess,” Foggy says with a shrug, slowing to a stop. “Red light. I mean, we kind of already were. Just now it's, you know, pleasure, instead of business.”

“Right, of course,” Matt nods. 

“Just make sure to be, you know, suitably breathless and enchanted next time we meet up on a rooftop in the middle of the night, in case the NYPD is stalking me.” 

“Naturally.”

“Naturally,” Foggy agrees. The light flicks over to green and they start to walk once more. “Hey Matt.”

“Yeah?”

“What’s Jesus’s middle name?”

***

The NYPD is definitely stalking him. 

He sees two separate dudes with cop hair and cop shoes loitering at his favorite bodega in the next week, shooting him little glances as they peruse the ethnic snacks aisle and never actually buy anything. 

Foggy sniffs indignantly the second time and brushes close to the guy to grab a bag of spicy bhujia. "Officer," Foggy acknowledges pointedly.

The next day, Matt comes home with him after work to discuss a case and pauses as he steps through the door of the apartment. 

Foggy goes on for a sentence or two, already at the fridge with the necks of two beers between the fingers of one hand, before he turns around and sees him frozen at the threshold. "Matt?"

Matt has his head cocked slightly, and he makes a please continue sort of motion to Foggy as he steps slowly into the apartment, eyebrows drawn up and tense. 

Foggy continues, not really paying much attention to what he’s saying. He sets the beers down with a muted click on the countertop and watches as Matt drifts across the apartment, coming to a stop next to the window that faces the street. Matt’s mouth pulls up at the corner in a tight smile and he turns his jaw towards Foggy, making a motion with his hand like he’s writing a note. 

Foggy grabs the little magnetic notepad off his fridge, tears the half-assed grocery list from the top, and then pats his pockets until he finds a pen, bringing them over to Matt. He continues to talk absolute bullshit about copyright law as he walks the pad over to Matt, thankful he’d remembered to pull the curtains that morning. 

Matt grabs the pad and scribbles across it, tearing the top page off and handing it over. He keeps writing as Foggy reads the first note. 

The writing is messy, chicken scratch, but Foggy’s had a decade of practice deciphering it. T wo cops listening from the roof across the street. Recording. 

Foggy makes a noise of disbelief. Matt scrunches his nose up and turns the pad around with a hum. We should mess with them.

“Mmn,” Foggy hedges, unsure of the wisdom of provoking the police officers, lest they escalate again.

Matt listens to him, eyebrows up, and goes back to the pad, sucking at his teeth. 

My place? It says when he turns it around again. 

“Yeah, okay, yeah,” Foggy agrees, sighing in relief. “Lemme just-” he heads to the bedroom, grabbing something to sleep in and something to wear the next day, uncomfortable with the idea of cops listening to him sleep. Although it would serve them right to have to listen to him snore and fart all night long. Foggy huffs a laugh and thumps the drawer closed. He yelps as he turns around, Matt’s grinning face only a few feet away. He’s holding up the pad and Foggy squints close to read it. 

We stopped talking. They think we’re having sex.

“Oh god,” Foggy mutters, straightening up.  

Matt snorts and makes a lewd gesture with his hand. "Oh yeah," he says, purposefully lowering his voice.

Foggy rolls his eyes and grabs his duffel from the closet, dropping everything on the bed and shoving his clothes into it. Matt plops down on the bed as Foggy goes to grab his toothbrush from the bathroom. He ignores the extra squeaks from the mattress caused by Matt's extended bouncing, but groans when Matt starts shoving at the headboard, bumping it into the wall. 

"Can you not?" Foggy hisses, stabbing his toothbrush into his clothes and zipping the duffel up.

"Aw, you don't like that?" Matt asks, voice solicitous and grin sharp as he gives up on the headboard and stands up from the bed.

"Come on," Foggy says tiredly, dragging his duffel from the bed and heading back to the living room. 

"You could sound a little bit more enthusiastic, you know," Matt tells him as he trails after, pen scribbling.

"I'll be enthusiastic when you start doing something I like."

"Ouch," Matt laughs, and taps him on the shoulder as Foggy moves towards the sweating beers still side-by-side on the counter. Foggy squints at the note.

Still have that obnoxious sound system? Very sensitive equipment + very loud volume = ??

"Hmm," Foggy pauses, thoughtful. 

"C'mon," Matt wheedles, batting his eyes behind his glasses, the slant of his smile wicked and sharp.

"What about you? You're not too… sensitive?"

"I can handle it," Matt ensures him, voice dark as he tilts his head and starts toward the sound system. "Here?"

"Right there, yeah," Foggy agrees.

Matt reaches a hand out, fingers ghosting gently over the buttons and knobs of Foggy’s ancient sound system. His fingertips touch the volume knob and he cocks his head, raising an eyebrow. 

"You've got it," Foggy tells him, voice breathy with a suppressed laugh. Matt twists the knob. "Just like that."

Matt grins and twists it all the way up, feeling his way back across the face of the stereo. He stops at one of the square buttons, eyebrow up again.

"Mm," Foggy shakes his head, leaning against the counter. "Little to the left."

Matt slides his fingers over to the power button, grin getting wider and more wicked.

Rolling his eyes, Foggy huffs out a laugh. "Oh just do it already."

Matt presses the button and the speakers click as they connect, and then Foggy's heart drops into his stomach when he remembers the song he'd been listening to as he left that morning. 

SINCE U BEEN GOO-OONE! Kelly Clarkson wails at full volume through the speakers.

"Fuck," Foggy squeaks, rushing over to the radio and slapping the power button. The sudden silence leaves a ringing in Foggy's ears. He checks on Matt briefly and then rolls his eyes, heading back to return the beers to the fridge, ignoring the urge to down one.

Matt is bent over by the radio, not in pain but in laughter. 

"Okay," Foggy says, grabbing his duffel and moving to stand by the door. "You can be done now."

"Foggy-" Matt starts, straightening up and wiping the tears from his eyes with the backs of his thumbs.

"Shut up."

***

They make their way to Matt’s apartment, stopping on the way for dinner. Most of the walk is quiet. Foggy swings the plastic bag of takeout, the handle twisting up tight around his fingers before it starts back spinning in the other direction. Matt walks with his head half-cocked and a distracted look on his face, hand just a little too tight at Foggy's elbow, hip occasionally bumping into the duffel bag that hangs between them. The smile on his face, so bright back in Foggy’s apartment, disappears slowly as they walk. Foggy does his best not to worry.

Foggy stops Matt as he goes to unlock the door. "Any uh, unwanted listeners, here?" he whispers as softly as he can.

Matt pauses and cocks his head, eyebrows drawing up above the rims of his glasses. "...No," he says after a few moments, and continues to open the door. 

"Good. Those guys were dicks." Foggy follows Matt inside and drops his duffel unceremoniously by the end of the couch, kicking it as close as it will go, until it's halfway underneath. He flops down onto the couch with a sigh and listens as Matt opens the fridge, bottles clinking. The takeout gets set on the coffee table, and Foggy unpacks the bag, setting Matt’s container neatly next to his own.

The living room, which had been bathed in a deep, unsettling red, flickers over to a pale blue with the changing of the billboard. Foggy stares at his hands, milk-white in the strange light, until Matt shuffles by him and wiggles a beer in his direction. 

“Thanks.” Foggy says, taking it and tipping his head back for a swallow.

They eat without talking much. Foggy barely tastes his Pad Thai, watching Matt stab absently at his rice, glasses off and eyes wandering as he listens to something Foggy can’t hear. 

Foggy eventually finishes his beer and, with a sigh, reaches over to pluck Matt’s from unresisting fingers. It’s still full up to the neck, glass wet with condensation and label picked and curling at the edges. 

“Hey,” Matt says half-heartedly. Foggy snorts and takes a swig. 

“Probably shouldn’t drink if you’re going out tonight,” Foggy points out. Matt scrunches his face up in apology but doesn’t argue. He turns his face toward the window and lets his shoulders slump a little. “What’s going on?” Foggy asks. “What are you hearing?”

“Not sure. There’s- People are getting ready for something. I can’t tell what.”

“It’s big?” Foggy asks, trying not to let his voice give away what his heart probably already is. 

“Maybe not big,” Matt tells him, turning back to face him. “More like... significant.”  

“Right,” Foggy says, looking down at the bottle in his hand. The billboard changes abruptly to a grating yellow and Foggy takes a deep breath. “Okay.”

“I’ll be careful.” 

“You’d better. If you disappear and they find me at your place I’m the number one suspect.”

Matt huffs out a laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He knocks a shoulder into Foggy’s. “We’re partners. You’re the number one suspect anyway.”

“Great, thanks,” Foggy huffs, and takes another swig. He watches Matt, the way his smile slowly fades and his eyes drift, face tensing as he listens. “Alright,” Foggy says. “You better get going. You got any spare fancy sheets for this old couch?”

“Don’t be- just, uh, just take the bed,” Matt says, standing and rubbing his hands up and down the sides of his thighs. “I won’t be back 'til late.” 

Foggy blinks, setting the bottle down on the coffee table. “You’ll wake me up when you get back?”

"'Course."

Foggy watches him for a moment, taking in the stark shadows cast across his face. The curl of his shoulders. He sighs. "Well. Go suit up, then. Save the world."

Matt takes a step towards the bedroom and then pauses, turning back slightly. "I'll be careful."

"You already said that," Foggy points out, mouth dry and heart heavy.

"You're still worried."

Foggy shrugs, sinking back into the couch. "I'll stop worrying once you're back safe and sound."

The corner of Matt’s mouth flickers upward into a fleeting smile. "No you won't."

"No, I won't," Foggy agrees.

Matt disappears into the bedroom and comes out a little while later wearing reinforced leather, hair disheveled and mask in hand.

"You creak when you walk," Foggy points out. 

Matt bounces on his knees a little and smiles as the costume squeaks. "Needs to warm up."

"Well come here, then," Foggy says, pushing himself up from the couch and holding his arms open.

Matt shuffles closer, chin tilted up and eyes crinkled. He leans into Foggy, solid and heavy, and Foggy pulls him even closer. "Sorry," Foggy whispers as Matt's arms snake around his back, "I know you do this like, all the time, and I'm being dramatic."

"Don't be sorry," Matt says, swaying them a little. "It's kinda nice."

Foggy drags his cheek up to rest against Matt's temple. "Hugs?" 

"Just… someone. Here. That cares."

Foggy sighs. "You're such a fucking orphan."

Matt snorts, his head falling back, and grins at the ceiling. "Dick."

"A dick who cares."

"Right."

"And who is always there for you when you need him."

Sighing, Matt lowers his head, knocking his forehead against Foggy's. "Yeah."

Foggy sniffs. "Your suit kinda smells."

"Mm. Can't exactly take it to the laundromat."

"Gross. Get outta here."

"Don't wait up."

Matt backs up and tugs his mask on, giving Foggy one last grin before he heads up the stairs and out to the roof. Foggy watches him go, knowing he can't do a thing about his pounding heart.

The billboard flickers back over to red, and Foggy starts picking up the remains of dinner.

He stays up for a few more hours, dicking around on his phone and half-heartedly composing emails, before he gives up and gets ready for bed. 

He slips under the covers a little after midnight, kicking his depleted duffel bag mostly under the bed and disparaging Matt's charger as he tries to plug his phone in. He punches the pillow into place a little more violently than necessary, and slumps to the mattress in defeat.

The sheets smell like Matt, Foggy realizes as he stares up at the ceiling. He wonders if he should have showered before bed. Now the sheets will smell like him. Maybe not to Foggy but definitely to Matt. Probably lots of things smell, though, and worse than Foggy. Matt must be used to it. Foggy breathes deeply though his nose, the smell of Matt all at once familiar and strange, and begins to nod off. 

***

Foggy wakes up to a thud and a swear, blinking blearily into the dark to see a horned silhouette knock into the dresser and curse again.

"Matt?" Foggy yawns, sitting up to rub his eyes. 

"Go back to sleep," Matt whispers, and Foggy watches as he pulls the cowl off, messy hair backlit by ghostly remnants of the billboard sneaking in through the bedroom door. 

"You okay?" Foggy asks, slumping back against the pillows. 

"Fine," Matt says, and Foggy doesn't think he's lying. "Sweaty. Gonna take a shower."

"Coming t'bed after?" Foggy confirms, already closing his eyes. 

"Sure."

"Mmkay."

Foggy wakes again to the mattress shifting beneath him, startling and gasping only to hear Matt shush him. 

"Sh, it's okay. Don't move. Go back to sleep."

"Yer alrigh'," Foggy tells him, blinking and lifting the edge of the blanket for him to crawl under. 

"I'm alright," Matt confirms, crawling over Foggy to collapse on the other side of him. He's warm and damp from the shower, a whole atmosphere unto himself as he wiggles under the covers. 

Foggy reaches out a foot and sets the pad of his big toe gently against Matt's shin, stilling his restless movements. "Find out anything?"

"Not much." Matt's head slumps dejectedly into the pillow. "No one's talking."

"Afraid?"

"Apprehensive."

"Mm," Foggy says, dripping his hand down to rest against the sliver of mattress between the pillows they're using. His fingers curl up as Matt exhales, breath warm as it washes into Foggy's palm. "'Night?"

"Night, Fogs."

"Bedbugs," Foggy mutters sagely.

"Sure."

When Foggy wakes again there's light streaming through the windows, Matt is drooling into the palm of his hand, and a phone is buzzing on the nightstand. 

“‘S yours,” Matt slurs, scrubbing his prickly face against Foggy’s hand before rolling away with a grunt, pulling the blanket off of Foggy as he does so. 

Foggy groans and slaps around behind him at the nightstand with his non-slobber hand as the phone continues to buzz. Matt whines and pulls the blanket up farther, covering his ear. 

Foggy finally locates his phone, clipping the edge of it with his slapping fingers and sending it clattering to the floor. 

“Fuck.”

The phone gives off one more buzz and then quiets, and Foggy sighs in relief, worming his way closer to Matt and yanking at the covers, wiping his hand off as he does. Matt huffs but shares the blanket, shoving more of it Foggy’s way and wiggling around until his ass snugs up against Foggy’s hip, feet curled against Foggy’s calf. 

Foggy has the blanket settled just right up around his shoulders when a voice starts sounding from the nightstand. 

Karen. Karen. Karen.

“‘S yours,” Foggy says, smashing his head back into the pillow a few times and sighing. 

Karen. Karen.

Matt groans and flops over on top of Foggy, body warm and heavy and solid right on top of Foggy’s bladder as he snatches his phone off the nightstand. 

“Nngh,” Foggy says articulately, squirming to get out from under Matt’s obnoxiously sharp hip bones. “Keep doing that I’m gonna pee your bed,” Foggy tells him, voice thick with sleep. 

“Don’t pee my bed,” Matt orders, flopping back off of him and bouncing artfully against the pillows. “Hey Karen.” 

Listening absently to the vague muffled hum of Karen’s excited voice on the other end of the line, Foggy blinks at the ceiling.

“Hm? Oh. Just Foggy.” 

Foggy narrows his eyes at the ceiling, twisting a fingertip at a tear duct, rubbing away sleep gunk.

“I don’t know. Some kind of bladder issue. Incontinence,” Matt continues.

“I’m not incontinent!” Foggy says loudly in the direction of the phone, throwing the covers back. “I am gonna pee, though,” he says, softer, and swings his legs out of the bed. He’s stopped by Matt’s hand gripping his wrist as he pushes himself up to a seated position. “Wha'?”

“Karen, you’re on speaker, can you, uh, say that again?”

“Hey Fog.” 

“Hi Karen.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks. Uh. For what?”

“Well, according to the Daily Bugle, you and Daredevil are an item.”

“Ah,” Foggy says, slumping a little. “Uh. What?”

***

“So wait, you’re the leak?” Karen asks, grin like a shark as she stirs her coffee, leaning over the cafe table. 

“No,” Foggy says, tucking his coat over his legs, disgruntled. He shifts on the cold metal chair. “I’m the source. I’m not the leak. The cop’s the leak. Or, I mean, one of them. Lotta seepage in the department.”

“Don’t talk about seepage at the table,” Matt says, setting a cup down in front of Foggy and taking the seat next to him. “It’s not polite.”

“So why’d you do it?” Karen asks, one leg crossed over the other and bouncing, shoe slapping rhythmically at her own heel as she flexes her toes.  

“It was a whole thing,” Foggy waves a hand, sniffing at his coffee and taking a drink. It’s perfect. “Thanks,” he says to Matt, who smiles and sips at his own drink. “Someone saw us meeting on the roof late at night and I obviously couldn’t tell the truth.” 

“Right, of course. So you told them…”

“That Daredevil is into me. Sexually.” 

“Huh.” 

“Yeah.” Taking another sip of his coffee, Foggy slumps and gestures with it, careful not to spill. “I didn’t really think they’d take it so seriously, but then. You know.”

“What?” Karen asks, in full-on scoop mode. Foggy glances down at her phone. 

“You’re not recording this, right?”

She perks right up. “Can I?”

“No.”

“Ugh. Fine. What?”

“Well then the NYPD stalked me a little and uh, they uh, well. Last night, they were listening. To me. To my apartment. Trying to catch a little action with Devilish Mr Hornyhead, I assume.”

“I’m gonna rebrand to Devilish Mr. Hornyhead and you’re gonna regret it,” Matt says mildly, sipping his espresso. 

“But they didn’t catch any action, right?” Karen confirms. 

“Not. Well. Not between me and,” Foggy rolls his eyes and does air quotes, “Daredevil. But uh. They may have assumed they were listening to some action. Between me and Matt.”

Foggy watches as Karen’s gaze sharpens, shivering a little. 

“And why would they think that?”

“Well. We stopped talking. Matt heard them and we were communicating with gestures and secret codes and whatnot and they just sort of assumed. And then Matt started making thumping sounds on the bed.”

“Why was Matt on the bed?” Karen asks, gaze flicking quickly to her phone. Foggy can feel how bad she wants to be taking notes. 

“He’s like a cat.” Shrugging, Foggy takes another drink and hardly winces as Matt’s foot connects with his shin. “Can’t really keep him off the furniture. Anyway, Mr. Murdock here decided to blast the stereo at their little listening dish thing and when we went back to his place.”

“So that’s why you slept over,” Karen nods, mouth twisting oddly before she takes a sip of coffee. 

“I mean, yeah. Why-”

She holds up a hand. “Wait, did they actually have a little listening dish thing?”

“I mean, I don’t know. I didn’t actually see them.” He and Karen both turn to Matt, whose eyebrow appears gracefully over the top of his sunglasses. 

“I didn’t actually see them either.” 

“Great. Thanks.” Foggy goes back to his coffee. 

“So that’s why you were at Matt’s place this morning,” Karen says, both shoes clicking against the floor as she rearranges herself to stare into Matt’s soul instead of Foggy’s. “In bed together.”

“It was a sleepover,” Matt says, cool as a cucumber, utterly unbothered by the look on Karen’s face. Well. He would be. But Foggy feels a little weirded out. 

“Are you okay?” Foggy asks her, watching in fascination as the muscles in her jaw clench rhythmically

Karen’s attention shifts back to him. Which. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked.

“So you tell the cops-”

“One cop. Try hard cop.”

“That Daredevil is into you-”

“Se-”

“Sexually. And then they stalk you and find out that you’re, apparently, but not actually,” she pauses briefly and Matt yelps a little as the table rattles. “Fooling around with your partner. And then the very next day a story drops that you and Daredevil are an item.” 

“Uh... Yes.” 

“Hmm,” She says mysteriously, and leans back in her chair to sip. Foggy watches her for a little bit but she appears to be ruminating on something. He switches his attention to Matt, who is leaning over to rub at his shin with one hand and fiddling with his tiny espresso cup handle with his other hand. 

“Did I miss something?”

“I don’t know,” Matt shrugs. “Probably.”

“Rude.” 

“I don’t think they’re done.” Karen announces, standing abruptly. “You need to keep an eye out, and you,” She turns to Matt, “Need to keep an ear out. And stay close to Foggy. He’s in danger now.” 

“From the cops?” Foggy asks. 

“From anyone who might use you to get to Daredevil,” Karen says. “He’s into you, apparently. Sexually. That makes you very good bait.” 

“Which is why I wanted to keep the firm as far away from the Devil as possible,” Matt says, like this whole thing isn’t kind of his fault. 

“Uh, well maybe next time you’ll just leave the credit card at the office then, so we don’t have to get seen on a roof in a compromising position and then talk to a weird sweaty cop who hates pens.”

“You guys know you can just get another card, right? Like you can have two cards linked to the same- No, you know what, never mind.” Karen shakes her head and smoothes down her skirt. “I have to go. Take care of yourselves. Keep me updated.” 

She heads off, heels clicking smartly and crowd parting as she strides towards it.

“We should probably get another card.” Foggy says. 

“Yeah.” 

“Hey Matt.”

“Yeah?” 

“Why was Karen being so weird?”

“She’s just being Karen.”

“Liar.”

“Yeah.”

“Fine. Don’t tell me.”

“Okay.”

“I guess reverse psychology doesn’t work on Devilish Mr. Horny Head.”

“You want another coffee?”

Foggy slurps the rest of his cup down. “Yes please, to go.”

***

“This is Mahoney.”

“Hey, so, which one of your unscrupulous little buddies is telling tales out of school?” Foggy asks, pinning his phone between his shoulder and his ear as he logs into his laptop at the office.

“Foggy?”

“Uh, duh. Answer my question.”

“Oh I’m doing fine. Yeah. Mom’s great. Stopped smoking. How are you?”

“Look, we both know Bess didn’t stop smoking, and if you believe she did, you’re just being willfully oblivious. A trait that seems to have carried over into your work. Your fellow cops are making me a target.” Foggy opens his email and scrolls through, wrinkling his nose at the subject lines. 

“Uh, you made yourself a target when you decided to canoodle on a rooftop with a vigilante.”

Rolling his eyes, Foggy opens the email from Marci, suspiciously devoid of a subject line. “First of all, there was no noodling of any kind. We’re just friends. You know that.” The body of Marci’s email is a meme about grabbing life by the horns followed by an eggplant emoji and two tiny cheersing martinis. Foggy saves the meme.

“Look, I know what just friends is, and I know what canoodling is, and I know which one you were on the roof that night. Trust me. It was not just friends.”

Foggy frowns, closing the email and taking his phone in hand once more. “Wait, how do you- Brett Mahoney were you the one spying on us that night?”

“What? Of course not. God. Could you imagine? No. I saw the damn pictures, though. Wish I could unsee them. Wish I could undo a lot of things. Like knowing you in general.”

“Well that’s very hurtful, and also,” Foggy sits up and makes sure to yell directly into the phone, “What the fuck do you mean you saw the pictures?”

“You two were wrapped around each other like one of you was about to go off to war. Embracing longingly in the moonlight. You’ve been attached at the hip since college. You think you’d be over that shit by now. It’s embarrassing, really. ” 

“I say again,” Foggy says slowly, spinning in the chair when he hears Matt walking over from his office. “What the fuck do you mean. Pick. Churs.” 

“What the fuck do you think I mean? I mean pictures. Snapshots. Photos. Digital images of your exhibitionist ass. Somebody was snapping pictures of Daredevil doing his stupid little flips and happened to catch him stopping on the roof of your building to make out for a while.” 

“I would remember making out. There was no making out.” 

“You’re splitting hairs. You sexy-snuggled with Daredevil and someone took pictures of it. Why did you think they pulled you in?”

“I don’t know. I thought someone saw us and reported it. No one ever mentioned pictures. And there was no snuggling! Oh my god. They were probably doctored somehow, which is why you guys are all up my ass about noodles. I wanna see ‘em.”

“What’s it feel like to want things?”

“God you’re such a prick. I’m telling Bess.”

“You’re a narc. A cop is calling you a narc. Think on that for a minute. And while you’re at it, you might want to reconsider any adult activities at your place for the next little while, roofwise and also inside. Word is you’re two-timing Daredevil with Murdock and you have shitty taste in sex music.” 

“Kelly Clarkson is, frankly, invigorating, so - And anyway, you guys really need to stop violating my civil liberties. It’s getting weird, Brett.”

“I’ll see what I can do, but just, please keep it boring for the next little while. The less shit you get into the quicker folks lose interest.”

“I see we’ve accidentally stumbled upon the Tao of Brett. Be so boring no one can stand you.” 

“How often do people hang up on you in your regular life, just curious.”

“Like, a normal amou-oh.”

The line is dead, and Foggy takes a deep breath, looking down at his phone like it might hold all the answers. 

It doesn’t.

“So,” Matt says from his spot slumped gracefully against Foggy’s doorjamb. “There are pictures.”

“Allegedly.”  

“Great.”

“I mean. How bad could it-”

“Please don’t. Do that. Don’t put that into the universe.” 

Foggy’s laptop chimes and he squints and opens the new email from Brett’s work account, subject line “Canoodling” and body empty except for a standard signature about confidentiality. There are three attachments. “Oh boy.”

“What is it?”

“Pictures, maybe, uh. Yeah. Okay, first one… it’s not so bad.” Foggy squints at the image, obviously taken from very far away. It shows Matt in his Daredevil costume and Foggy in a rumpled suit, both in profile. Matt’s hand is wrapped around Foggy’s forearm from underneath, and their heads are tilted in, bent toward each other. If he zooms in, he can sort of see a little bit of a smile at the corner of Matt’s mouth, but it’s honestly too blurry to be sure. He relays this information to Matt. 

“Hmph.”

“Right, okay, next one.” Foggy double clicks the second attachment and tilts his head as it loads. “Huh.”

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s… I mean it’s fine. The focus is a little better, so it’s more clear. We’re standing a little… I mean, we’re in each other’s bubbles, and like, your arm is kinda on my shoulder? Our heads are close together but we’re just talking obviously. It’s not… scandalous or anything. Like it could be intimate but it could just be like, you know. Bros. ‘Cause, well. It is. Just bros. It’s a bit of a reach.” 

“Right.” Matt shifts from his position at the door jamb and wanders over closer. “What’s… are there any more?”

“Yeah, there’s one more, let me… Ah. Okay.”

“Okay?”

“No, I can kind of see it. In this one.” 

“What- What can you see?”

“It’s- We’re hugging goodbye.” Foggy leans closer to the screen and clicks the zoom button. “Hmm. It’s a very… it’s a hug.” 

“What kind of hug?”

“Do we always hug like this?”

“You do get weird when I’m in the costume. You get a little clingy.”

“I worry!” Foggy protests without looking away. “But I’m not the one with his face buried in a neck. That’s all you. You look like you’re sniffing me.”

“I don’t really need to sniff people. I mean I can smell you from here.”

“Gross. Uh, I guess I have my hand at the back of your neck? And you’re patting my head but it looks like maybe just, you’re… carding your fingers through my hair. It looks kind of… and your arm around my back, the way my suit- I mean my suit was already wrinkled, it just looks like you were holding on kind of tight. And...” Foggy pauses and tilts his head more. 

“And what?” Matt grips the back of Foggy’s chair, faux-leather creaking in his grip.

“Were you dipping me? It looks like you’re about to dip me.” 

“Do you remember me dipping you?”

“No. But you did sway. You’re a swayer.”

“You sway, too.”

“You can’t have just one swayer in a hug, Matt, it doesn’t work. But you always instigate the sway.”

“Well I’m sorry. I’ll stop swaying.” Standing up straight, Matt takes a step back, tugging at the lapels of his jacket.

Foggy rolls his eyes. “I didn’t say to stop.” 

“Whatever.”

“Whatever to you, Mm-” Foggy closes the picture and swivels in his chair to look up at his partner. He lowers his voice. “Mattrick Swayze.”

Matt gags and turns on his heel, holding up a warning hand as he heads unerringly to the exit. “I want a divorce!”

“You don’t!” Foggy declares, turning back to his computer and hitting the reply button. “You are actually very into me,” he calls over his shoulder, “Sexually!” He inserts Marci’s meme into the body of the email, adding his own eggplant emojis for Brett’s enjoyment before hitting send. 

***

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Foggy sighs when a white van pulls up next to him on his way to meet Marci for lunch. He drops his head back and glares at the sky when the two people hop out and crowd close to him. “Help,” he says listlessly as he’s herded towards the open door. “No, please.” He accidentally catches the eye of a concerned looking lady with a stroller but he waves her off. There’s definitely a gun in the waistband of the guy on the left. He gets shoved into the van and then grabbed by the armpits, someone dragging him roughly until his feet are all the way in. “Jeeze, I would have gotten in myself, you didn’t have to- OW!”

There’s a hot, sharp pain as something slams behind his ear and he hunches and rubs at it, looking over at the dude that hit him with the butt of the pistol. “What the fuck, man?” His own voice sounds weird, distorted by the ringing in his ears.

The guy frowns and raises his gun again. Foggy has time to wince before the world goes black.  

*

He comes to with hands digging into his arms and his toes scraping the floor. Blinking, he peers around, confused when he sees… himself. Himself, but minus the pickaxe that should be sticking out of his skull, causing the throbbing, spiking pain. He blinks and groans and gets dropped onto a bench. He squints at the people who drop him and then back to his reflection. A wall of mirrors. He looks down at the bench he’s sitting on and then over to the tidy stack of free weights piled next to it. “Oh, gross. I hate the gym.” 

“Stay,” says the guy on the left. 

Foggy’s distracted “Fuck you,” earns him a back-handed slap and he slumps over, rubbing at the throbbing behind his ear and glaring at Mister slap-happy.

“Careful,” the other one says, placing a hand on her companion’s shoulder. “Don’t knock him out again.”

“Please knock me out again,” Foggy mutters, pushing himself up straight. “This is awful.”

She raises a manicured eyebrow. “We have a few questions, if you could please refrain from fainting.” 

“No promises.” Foggy squints up at her. “What do you want?”

“Is it true?” She asks, eyes piercing, interested. 

“Is what true?”

“Are you and Daredevil…” Her eyebrows waggle and she makes a lewd gesture with her hands. 

“Oh, uh… no? Not. No.”

She humphs. “Well. That sucks. You think he’ll come for you anyway?”

“I mean…” Foggy shrugs. “Maybe.” He cocks his head at her. “I’m bait?”

“You’re a distraction.”

“From?”

She laughs. “Nice try, hot shot.”

Wrinkling his nose, Foggy gives her a little glare and turns back to face the wall of mirrors. “Oh wow. I look awful.”

“Yeah.”

Foggy picks at the blood-matted hair behind his ear, glaring up at her. “Fuck off.” 

She shrugs, flipping her hair and turning away. “Sure thing. But I’m leaving Bruno with you. No funny business.”

Watching her go, Foggy can feel the incredulous look crossing his face. “His name’s Bruno? Really?”

Bruno looks over from where he’s sitting on another bench, a heavier-than-Foggy-thinks-is-necessary weight in his hand. “You call yourself Foggy.”

Foggy opens his mouth and then closes it, turning back to the mirror with a frown. He picks at the blood staining the collar of his suit. “Whatever.” 

“Play nice!” She calls as she walks towards the door. “If you aren’t Daredevil’s boyfriend then you’re extremely disposable.”

“Fuck you too!” Foggy calls, sighing. He begins to unbutton his jacket, eyes darting over to Bruno. “Don’t suppose I could talk you into seeing the error of your ways and having a change of heart and letting me go so we can get lunch?”

“No.”

“Of course not.” Folding his jacket, Foggy tucks it under the uninjured side of his head and lays down on his side on the bench, wiggling and grunting until he’s slightly less uncomfortable. “Wake me up if Daredevil comes. I’m gonna take a concussion nap.” 

“Good luck actually waking up, then.”

“Thanks,” Foggy mutters, shoving at his jacket and crossing his arms, glaring at Bruno and his stupid weights until his heavy eyelids slide shut.

***

Foggy wakes up to an enormous crash and an earthquake. He rolls off the bench with a squawk, batting at the tangle of his jacket until he can sit up and find the source of the strangled grunting. 

The grunting is coming from Bruno, who is being pinned to a mirror by Jessica Jones and a fifty-pound free weight at his neck. His legs kick frantically, feet six-inches off the ground, heels slamming against the splintered mirror. Foggy blinks and rubs his eyes, but aside from Bruno’s face getting slightly more purple, and everything in general being a little bit dark and wavy at the edges, nothing changes. There is a hole in the wall, though, Foggy notes, a suspiciously Jones-sized hole.

“Holy shit. Did you Kool-Aid man the wall?” Foggy asks, getting to his feet with a grunt. His stance is a bit precarious, but he leans on a squat rack and tries to make it look casual. “You know there’s a door like five feet over, right?”

“Nelson!” Jones says, unceremoniously dropping Bruno to the ground where he slumps in a heap, wheezing. “You're alive.”

Shrugging, Foggy rubs behind his ear. There’s blood under his nails. Gross. “Ish. Is he?” he gestures at Bruno.

Jones looks down at him and toes one of his legs with her boot. He continues to wheeze. “Sure.”

Slumping in relief, Foggy begins to make his way closer, taking careful steps.  “Oh good.” 

“They hurt you?” She asks, dropping the weight with a thudding clang. 

A sharp shooting pain in his brain causes him to inhale swiftly, but it’s gone in a flash, replaced by a mostly-ignorable throb, and he grins at Jones. “A little clip on the head with a gun. It’s not bleeding anymore.”

“Cool.”

The door handle rattles and they both turn to face it, Foggy taking a few subtle steps to the side, placing Jones between him and the door. It pops open with a cracking snap from somewhere around the handle, and Luke Cage peers in from around the corner. “You found him.”

“I’m just that good,” Jones says, tucking both hands into the pockets of her bomber jacket. 

“You thought I was dead,” Foggy points out. 

“You were taking a nap,” Jones scoffs. “Anyone else would have at least attempted an escape.”

“With friends like you guys? Why bother?” He looks around, following Jessica and Luke back out into the hallway. “Hey uh, is you-know-who here?”

“Voldemort?” Luke says, leading them around a corner. “We invited him but he didn’t show up.”

“Ha.” Foggy does not laugh, stepping carefully over a prone body lying across the floor in the hallway. “I was thinking more along the lines of Daredevil, actually.” 

Luke looks back and smiles at him. “Your boyfriend’s across town, chasing another lead. He sent us to get you.”

“Oh. Well.” Foggy sniffs and scratches a finger across the tender area behind his ear. “He’s not my boyfriend.” He frowns. “Also, I was a distraction and they’re doing something else somewhere else.” 

“Super great intelligence work,”  Jones points out. 

“Hey, I’m very probably concussed.” 

“You’re fine,” Jones says, shoving at his shoulder. 

Foggy’s vision chooses that moment to blacken at the edges, and Jones’s shove sends him wobbling into the wall. “Ow.” 

“Jesus, Jones,” Luke says, exasperated. His face fills Foggy’s view, only a little swimmy, and Foggy smiles at the concern there.

“Ha. Jesus Jones. Like if Jesus was a private eye.” Something heavy and dark comes over him, and Foggy feels a little like puking. “I’m gonna sit down now.” He slides down the wall, ass thunking gracelessly against the floor. “Ow. Hey.” 

“Hey,” Luke says, crouching down in front of him. His hand comes up and there’s a thumb pressing gently below Foggy’s eyelid, opening his eye a little wider. Foggy tries very hard not to blink. 

“...Hey.” Foggy says. It takes quite a bit of effort, but he manages to lift his arm and set his hand on Luke’s hard, large, and very warm shoulder. “Do you know what Jesus’s middle name is?”

Jones steps closer, standing up tall and straight behind Luke with a frown crumpling her brow. “He really is concussed.” 

“Yeah,” Luke says. 

“I’m not carrying him out.” 

“I c’n walk.” Foggy says, although now that he’s on the floor and leaning up against the wall he’s actually very comfortable. 

“Fireman or bridal?” Jones asks, a little smirk smoothing out her frown. 

“Oh bridal, no question,” Foggy says, then watches, intrigued, as his hand slides off of Luke’s shoulder and thumps to the floor. “Huh.” 

Luke sighs, and then things go dark again.

***

Image description:

A digital drawing in the style of a harlequin book cover. The image depicts Luke Cage carrying Foggy Nelson bridal style on a red and pink background. Luke cage is wearing a yellow shirt and black pants and Foggy is wearing a brown suite, white shirt, and red tie which has some undone. Foggy has a noticeable blush of his cheeks. They are illuminated from the back in a soft pink light and are gazing into each others eyes. The text on the cover is done in two styles of cursive with a metallic sheen and reads “Stirfbot” at the top and “What could have been” at the bottom and, below this in one corner “Art by: BlueBioluminescence”

***

Foggy is aware of things, sort of, after that. There are people and maybe cameras and then the unfortunately familiar sight of the inside of an ambulance. Strangers talk to him, and he thinks he might answer, but he's just so tired, responding seems like too much effort. And then, a familiar voice, a hand at his forehead, someone says he can rest, and he falls asleep.

He wakes up for real in a hospital bed. The beeping and the smell give it away before he opens his eyes. He breathes evenly, trying to clear the fog in his brain, and listens to the voices in the room, quiet but recognizable. 

“Oh god, really? So he's not actually getting any on either front?”

“No. Aren’t they just so…”

“Tragic?”

“I was going to say infuriating.” 

“Pathetic, but in a funny way.” 

Foggy squints one eye open to peer at Karen and Marci, who are sitting next to each other, heads bent close and legs crossed inward, knees almost touching. “Glad I can be a source of such amusement,” he says, voice creaky and dry. 

“Foggy!” Karen exclaims, standing and coming over to the bed. Her warm fingers brush hair back from his forehead, and he leans into the touch, watching warily as Marci gets up and comes over at a slower pace. 

“Foggy Bear,” She says, coming to the other side and hitching up her thigh to rest on the edge of the bed, pencil skirt straining appealingly. “You stood me up.”

“Sorry. I got kidnapped.”

Her voice is warm, and she traces her fingers down his arm, tender and soft. “I’ll forgive it. Just this once.” 

“So,” Foggy clears his throat, sitting up a little against the pillows. “How is, uh, everyone else?”

“You mean your boyfriend?” Karen asks. 

Foggy frowns, and then frowns some more when the frown makes his head hurt. “I don’t have a boyfriend.” 

“Tragic,” Marci declares gently.

"How is he doing, though?"

"He's fine. He's on his way," Karen says.

There are some voices in the hall outside the room, and Foggy cranes his neck around as Karen stands up to face the door. 

"Oh," Foggy says, slumping back into the pillows when Brett walks in. "It's you."

"Aw fuck, he's awake," Brett bitches back, nodding at Karen and Marci in turn. "You ladies mind if I have a word with him?"

"Don't leave me," Foggy whispers, staring pleadingly as Marci slides off the bed and Karen grabs her purse. 

"We'll see you later, Foggy Bear."

He gets a pat on the head from Karen and a wink from Marci as they head out, already talking about grabbing a drink.

"I want my lawyer," Foggy declares once the door shuts behind them.

"God I wish you had a fucking lawyer. I'd never have to talk to you again." Brett drops into one of the chairs with a sigh, elbows on the armrests and hands dangling limply from his wrists. He stares at Foggy and Foggy eyes him warily back. 

"What?" Foggy asks eventually, shifting uncomfortably in the hospital bed.

"You wanna sit up?" Brett asks.

"...Yeah."

Brett helps him find the giant bed remote, which had fallen over the side of the bed, and they accidentally turn the TV on and almost call the nurse, but eventually get Foggy sitting up a bit, propped up with a couple of anemic, crinkly pillows.

"Thanks," Foggy pants, breathing embarrassingly hard. 

Brett waves him off, going back to the chair and scooting it closer before he sits down. 

"So," Foggy says, plucking at the faded green blanket across his lap. "What can I help you with, Officer?"

"We're gonna need a statement. No rush though. One of the guys from the gym blabbed the second he saw Jones in the hallway at the precinct."

"It was Bruno, wasn't it?"

Brett frowns and pulls a little notebook out of his breast pocket, flipping a few pages in before nodding. "Yeah. You make a friend?"

"No, he was a dick." Foggy says, scratching absently at the back of his hand, careful around the IV tape. 

"Right. Well." Brett's knee bounces and scratches at his eyebrow with one careful nail. 

"What is it, man?" Foggy bursts out, hands flopping onto the bed covers. "You're making me nervous."

"The uh, the Daredevil task force thing. It's been disbanded."

"Oh." Foggy blinks. "Cool. Does that mean no more civil liberties violations?"

"Not for you. Not from us. It may have been pointed out that a leak from the task force probably  led directly to the kidnapping of a pain-in-the-ass lawyer who is not only capable of suing the department but also stubborn enough to actually do it." 

"Aw," Foggy covers his heart with his hand. "You're so sweet."

"Oh it wasn't me. Might have been Jones. Might have been your other superhero boyfriend."

The latter part is said with a sort of exasperated pointedness that Foggy is very fond of. "My other superhero boyfriend," Foggy says, watching Brett's eyeroll with interest. 

"Luke Cage. Carried you out of your ordeal like you were a princess with a turned ankle? While you clung prettily to his massive neck?"

Foggy settles back into his pillows, trying to hold back a grin. "I wasn't even conscious. You can't blame me for that."

"I can and I do."

"You've seen his shoulders, though. Sometimes you just gotta go for it."

"You're such a slut."

Foggy laughs at that, which jars his head, which makes him groan and hide his eyes behind his hand for a second. When he opens them again, Brett is standing up and looking at the door, outside of which Foggy can hear a mild kerfuffle and a very familiar, slightly pissy voice.  

“Yeah, no, I can actually, uh, do it myself, thanks. I’ve encountered doors before. Yes. Thank you.”  

The door swings open and Matt walks through. Foggy glimpses the disgruntled face of a nurse behind him briefly before the door shuts again. 

“...Yo,” Foggy says, immediately horrified by how silly it sounds. He rolls his eyes at himself and ignores Brett’s wicked grin over Matt’s shoulder as he makes a b-line towards the bed. 

“Foggy,” Matt says, voice a little high, a little tight.

"I'm fine," Foggy says immediately, once he recognizes the legitimate worry on Matt’s face. He holds out a hand to meet Matt’s as he comes to the side of the bed, fingers tangling. “I’m okay.” 

Matt’s grip is tight around Foggy’s fingers. He nods rapidly, taking a deep, shuddering breath, letting it out through his nose. 

Foggy looks at him, takes in his disheveled clothes and the scrape across his chin, the way his messy hair flops over his stupid big forehead. His eyebrows are up, and Foggy can see his eyes darting behind his glasses as his grip lessens and he moves his hand up Foggy’s arm, fingertips tracing delicately over the IV site on the back of Foggy’s hand and up across his forearm. He nods again, and takes a steadier breath, tilting his chin up and turning his head towards his shoulder. “Brett.”

“Murdock,” Brett says. “You alright?”

Matt nods once, before turning his face back to Foggy. “Sorry,” he says, quiet and solemn. 

“I mean, it’s definitely my fault,” Foggy says. 

“It really is,” Brett pipes up. 

“Hey,” Foggy says, eyes narrowing. “Do you think maybe you could, I don’t know, fuck off? For now?”

Brett shrugs, “Yeah, alright. Make your statement before you get kidnapped again, please.” 

“Sure. Buh bye now.”

“Pleasure. See ya, Murdock.” 

Matt gives a little nod but doesn’t move otherwise until Brett is out of the room with the door shut behind him.

“It is your fault “ Matt says, and Foggy barks out a laugh. “But I’m still really sorry.”

Foggy glares up at him through a grin, “Don’t make me laugh. It shakes my brain and my concussion doesn't like it.”

“You’ve got a concussion?”

Foggy thinks about it and shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t recall speaking to a medical professional. Kinda out of it.” 

“You don’t remember Claire?”

“Claire was here?”

“She was working the emergency room when you came in.” 

Foggy frowns and thinks about it, and something tickles his memory. “Oh. Maybe. She touched my forehead?” 

Matt smiles and flicks Foggy right between his eyebrows. 

“Not like that, obviously.” Foggy says, swatting at Matt’s hand. 

“Don’t get kidnapped again, please,” Matt says, straightening up and leaning a hip against the edge of the bed. He sighs, and his shoulders loosen, and Foggy can see, suddenly, just how tired he is.

“Sure. I’ll try not to.”

“We need to do something,” Matt continues. “You need to… break up with Daredevil. Or something. I can’t do this. I can’t do this again.”

“Well then Daredevil’s gotta break up with me. Make it clear that y-that he doesn’t care about me.”

“Right.” 

Foggy squints up at Matt’s forehead crinkles. “What’s up?”

“I wanted to come. To get you.”

“But it’s good that their Daredevil trap didn’t work.”

“Right. I knew it was a trap. But.” He laughs flatly and drops his head. “It very nearly worked.”

“But it didn’t. Because you’re smart. And capable. And have super friends you can send on rescue errands. Oh! How did your thing go? The thing I was a distraction from?”

“Fine. Fine. Danny and I handled it.”

“Good. That’s good.”

Matt sniffs and cocks his head, “Hey,” 

“Yeah?”

“Did Brett call you a slut earlier?”

Foggy laughs again, head thrown back, and immediately groans. “Oh god, stop making me laugh, damn it. Yes he did. Don’t worry about it.” 

“I’m a little worried about it,” Matt says, but he’s smiling again, “It may be true but he shouldn’t say it.”

“Rude!” Foggy declares, but he can’t maintain the semblance of outrage. He lets his head fall back and relaxes, blinking slowly and realizing suddenly how heavy his eyelids are. 

“You alright?” Matt asks.

“You’ve got creepy sleepy senses, you know that? But yeah. I’m kinda tired.” 

“‘Kay. Go to sleep. I’ll be here.” 

“‘Kay.” Foggy fumbles for his giant bed remote and stabs at the down button, enduring the obnoxious mechanical whine as the head of the bed lowers. “‘Night,” he says, once he's low enough, yanking awkwardly at the pillows and shifting around until they’re below his head and not his back.

“It’s like four in the morning, but sure.”

“P'dantic,” Foggy says through a yawn. He watches Matt pull a chair closer and settle into it through slitted eyes, and falls asleep with his thumb scuffing gently over Matt’s scraped knuckles. 

***

“Is this really necessary?” Foggy asks, shifting uncomfortably in the wheelchair as the elevator doors slide open.

“Hospital policy,” Claire says happily from just above his head as she steers him down the hallway. “Also, I’m getting a nice break from a double shift in the emergency room, so shut up and enjoy it.” 

“Yes ma’am.” Foggy twists his hands around his crumpled discharge papers, trying not to peer into open rooms as they pass. “Thank you, by the way. For this, and for, you know, earlier.”

“Earlier when?”

They turn a corner, dodging a gurney and a cleaning cart parked against opposite sides of the hallway. 

“When I first came in, I remember... when I was brought in. You were there.” He glances up at her and winces when the lights make the background ache in his head flare up. He faces forward once more. "Um, you helped me sleep.”

“You were pretty out of it; I’m surprised you remember anything.”

“Who could forget you, though?”

“Careful, Casanova. I think you’ve already got enough on your plate in that department.”

“Nah,” Foggy waves a hand dismissively. “There’s nothing on my plate. Nothing real. It’s all fake. Empty calories.”

They turn a corner, and Matt is standing by the reception desk, hands on his cane and head cocked slightly. Foggy straightens up a little, wiggles back in the chair, and, for some unknown reason, straightens his collar.

Claire’s voice, when it comes next, is very clearly amused, and comes with a wave of floral shampoo scent as she leans in close to whisper, “You sure about that?”

Swallowing, Foggy’s shoulders slump a little. “Uh.”

“Foggy?” Matt asks, shuffling slightly on his feet, turning to face them fully. 

“Hey, buddy.” He turns around and glances up at Claire. “Can I, uh-” He gestures to his legs. 

‘I guess I’ll allow it,” Claire says, leaning over to set the brakes on the chair. 

Foggy groans dramatically as he stands, and Matt steps forward, a hand coming up to Foggy’s elbow to steady him. “You alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I guess a whole day in bed isn’t great for the back. You gonna drive me home, Matty?”

“Oh yeah,” Matt grins, changing his grip until his hand is tucked into Foggy’s elbow like normal. “I’m parked right outside.” 

“Great.” Foggy bounces on the balls of his feet, smacking his papers against his hand smiling at Claire. “Am I free to go?”

Claire gives him an up-and-down look, and then a shrug. “You bet.”

“Thank you, my lady.” Foggy gives a little bow. 

“Thank you, Claire,” Matt nods. 

“You’re welcome. Please don’t come back.” 

“I will do my best,” Foggy tells her, and he and Matt start to turn, when Claire calls his name. 

“Yeah?”

“Just remember,” she says, leaning over to take the brakes off the chair, her eyes flicking over to Matt. “Empty calories are still calories.”

Matt hums thoughtfully and raises an eyebrow as they walk to the door. "You talking diets with Claire?" he asks after they step outside. 

"Ha, no. More like, uh, food scarcity."

Matt's eyebrows travel up even higher and Foggy snorts at him. "It was a metaphor. Don't worry about it."

"You keep telling me not to worry about things."

"Doesn't really work, huh? Yeah, never works for me either."

"Touché."

"You're not really driving me home, right?"

"No, but I will pay for a cab."

"Deal."

They make their way back to Foggy’s without incident, beating the delivery guy from Mrs. Kim's noodle place by less than a minute and settling onto the couch for dinner. 

The lights are dim in deference to Foggy’s headache, and the noodles are excellent like always. Foggy keeps stealing glances at Matt, reminded of the last time they shared dinner on a couch, only today, instead of being distracted by whatever he can hear outside the apartment, Matt seems more interested in his immediate surroundings. He makes appreciative sounds about the noodles, cocks his head towards Foggy a lot, and smiles at him whenever Foggy stares too long. 

“You uh, you goin’ out tonight?”

“Nah,” Matt stabs at his noodles with his fork and turns an ear towards Foggy’s window, concentration on his face. “Nothing uh, nothing big, going on. That I can tell. I’m fine staying in.” 

“Oh, cool.” Foggy takes a bite of his food and slurps until he sucks all the stragglers into his mouth. Chewing and swallowing thoughtfully, Foggy looks once more at Matt. “Um, are you staying in… here?”

“That- I mean, that depends on you.” Matt shrugs. “If you want, yeah.”

“Okay,” Foggy says after a moment. “Sure, yeah. Sleepover time. I’m down.” 

Matt smiles. 

It doesn’t take long for Foggy to be ready for bed. He’s tired what seems like all the time since his head got banged up, and still kind of achey, and Matt says something about needing to catch up on sleep anyway, which Foggy believes wholeheartedly. There’s a brief moment of awkwardness before they wind up deciding they’ll both sleep on the bed, mostly on account of how deeply uncomfortable Foggy’s couch is to lay on, but a little bit because Foggy can’t really remember sleeping better than the other night in Matt’s bed. There’s a chance that it was Matt’s bougie sheets and expensive mattress, but Foggy kind of thinks it was just Matt, being close and warm and a little drooly.

Foggy’s already in bed, burrowing his head down into the pillow and trying to get comfortable, when Matt comes in wearing nothing but his boxer briefs, holding a bundle of clothes in front of him. He smiles and sets the bundle on the dresser, “This okay?”

“Sure,” Foggy yawns, watching through slitted eyes as Matt shuffles closer. “What side d’ya want?”

“Whichever you don’t want,” Matt replies. 

“Well I normally sleep in the middle, because I am tragically single,” Foggy says, scooting back as Matt makes his way to the bed. “But you can sleep on the door side. That way when I get up in a few hours to pee, it’ll inconvenience us both.” 

“Smart,” Matt nods, bending over to pat at the mattress just as Foggy lifts the covers back for him. He slides a bruised, hairy knee onto the bed and Foggy blinks at it as it sinks into the mattress. 

“You okay?” Foggy asks. “From before. Didn’t get beat up too bad?”

“I’m fine,” Matt crawls up and stretches out, kicking his feet under the covers as Foggy tosses the blanket and sheet over them both. “Scrapes and bruises mostly.” 

“Good.” Foggy tucks a hand under his cheek and watches Matt settle, traces the curve of his ear and his nose with tired eyes and breathes through the tender ache in his chest. “That’s good.”

“How’s your head?” Matt asks once he stills, turning his face in toward Foggy fractionally.

Foggy shrugs. “Meh.”

“You want me to turn off the lamp?”

Smiling slowly, Foggy nudges Matt in the calf with his toe. “How’d you know it was on?”

“I can hear it. There’s a- a hum. Also it’s a little bit warm.”

“Hmm. Sure, you can turn it off.”

Matt slaps around at the night stand until he finds the lamp and then starts feeling around.

“Pull chain,” Foggy says, “to the right.”

“Got it.”

The room goes dark, and Foggy immediately misses the way the light turned the curly wisps of hair around Matt’s ear red. “Hey Matt.”

“Yeah?”

“Tell me a story.” 

Foggy hears a huffed-out laugh, feels Matt shift around, mattress dipping and shaking slightly. “Okay. Uh- about what?”

“I dunno.” Foggy shrugs. “Anything. Something about you that I don’t know.” 

“Hmm.” 

“Hmm,” Foggy hums back, and pokes Matt’s calf with his toe again. 

“You- the other day. You asked me what Jesus’s middle name was.” 

Foggy blinks in the dark. “I did, yes.” 

“When I was- Before the accident, when I was little. I used to think it was Harold.” 

Foggy chokes on his inhale and wheezes out a laugh. “Har- What, Harold? Why?”

“Well, the guys at- at the gym, where my dad trained. He had them pretty well tamed out of cursing when I was around. They would say- Jesus H Christ, instead of, you know-”

“Something more blasphemous.” 

“Yeah. And uh, and when we went to church, there was, uh, a part of a prayer. ‘Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.’ But I didn’t- hallowed wasn’t in my vocabulary, and it was before I had super hearing, so I just thought everyone was saying, you know-”

“Harold,” Foggy grins, turning his face into the pillow. 

“Harold be thy name, yeah.” The sheepish smile is evident in Matt’s voice as he takes a turn poking Foggy’s leg with his toe. 

Foggy’s shoulders shake with silent laughter. 

“I feel like you’re judging me,” Matt says, voice getting closer as he turns over. 

“I’m not. I love it,” Foggy assures him, unhiding his face and smiling at the dim outline of Matt’s bed head. “I love it. Thank you. Good story.” 

“Go to sleep,” Matt orders, mock-stern, maybe real-embarrassed.

Foggy obeys, letting his eyes close, letting the heaviness in his head sink him into slumber. “G’night,” he says softly, listening to Matt’s even breaths in the dark.

“G’night, Fogs.” 

***

“Oh god,” Foggy sighs, posture deflating, when he looks up to see Karen standing in the doorway of his office. 

“Nice to see you, too,” she says sarcastically, heels clicking as she walks in to sit elegantly on the corner of his desk. She flicks her hair back over her shoulder, looking like some sort of businesswoman supermodel, and Foggy sniffs. She gives him a look. “You ready for this?” 

“Nope.” 

“Great, come on.” 

“Must I?”

“Do you wanna keep getting kidnapped because the criminal element of New York thinks you’re Daredevil’s boytoy? Or do you want, like, a semi-normal life where you can walk to a bagel place without jumping at every white van you see?”

“I didn’t jump at every white van. Just the one that slowed down right next to us.”

“It was at a red light, sweetie.”

“Stop using condescending pet names. It was fun at first but now I feel like you actually don’t respect me.”

“Sure, hon.”

Foggy levels an unimpressed glare at her and she retaliates by batting her eyelashes, besting him instantly. “Oh, whatever. Fine. Let’s go get broken up with in public.”

Sliding off the desk with a bounce in her step, Karen gives him a grin. “That’s the spirit!” 

“Woo,” Foggy says listlessly, pushing himself to his feet. “Love getting broken up with by my best friend, whom I’ve been in love with for years, in public, on purpose. It’s not gonna be emotionally devastating at all.”

“Yikes,” Karen pauses and gives him a look. “We’re actually using the L word nowadays, huh?”

“Uh, Matt’s gonna meet us there, right?” Foggy peers suspiciously into the rest of the office and grabs his coat from the hook behind his office door.

“Yup.”

“Well.” Foggy slides the coat on over shoulders that are pre-slumped in defeat. “We’re calling spades spades,” he says with a sigh. “I need to stop hiding from my feelings. It’s what led to this in the first place.” Foggy shoots his cuffs and fiddles with his left sleeve, before holding out an elbow for Karen to take as they head out. “Making wishful-thinking jokes about how Daredevil’s into me to asshole cops. I’ve learned my lesson.” He locks the office door behind them and steps into the hall.

“I do love you,” Karen tells him, patting his arm as she leans into his side companionably. “But you are so stupid sometimes.”

“Yeah, I know.” Foggy pushes forlornly at the elevator button. 

“No, sweetie. Even more stupid than that.”

He looks over, frowning. “Really?”

“Really,” she nods solemnly. 

The elevator dings, and Foggy turns to watch the doors slide open. “Damn.”

They head down and make their way to the prearranged break-up spot; a popular-ish too-pretentious cafe with outdoor seating, where Foggy won’t regret not being able to show his face ever again. 

They get seated outside by request, and Foggy tries to get comfortable on the minimalist chairs as Karen admires the fairy lights. 

“Oh look,” Karen points out happily, after the waiter has left them alone with their menus. “There’s gold leaf on the truffle fries.”

“Oh thank god,” Foggy says, squinting at the description of a Deconstructed BLT. “If I had to struggle through one more truffle fry with out gold on it I was going to riot. Hey,”

“Hmm?”

Foggy turns his menu and points the perplexing item out to Karen, “Does a deconstructed sandwich mean I just have to… make my own sandwich?”

“Uh,” Karen reads the description with a frown. “Yup.”

“So why-” Foggy turns the menu back around and scratches idly at his cheek. He looks up at Karen. “Why does it cost more than a regular sandwich?”

“You’re paying for the experience,” Karen tells him, closing her menu. “And also my truffle fries.”

“Blegh,” Foggy says, closing his own menu. “Might as well. This is going to suck. Also I’m cold.”

Karen huffs at him and stacks their menus, lining up the corners with a suspicious kind of smile playing at the corner of her mouth. “Oh relax,” she tells him, “It’ll all be over soon.”

“Ominous,” Foggy decides, which just makes her smile turn even more suspicious.

Foggy’s sandwich turns out to be just okay. There’s only one weirdly long piece of bread and Foggy suspects he was supposed to just eat it all spread over the plate how they served it but he perseveres and puts it together. Karen gets gold leaf on her teeth and Foggy doesn't tell her about it, but the fries are pretty good.

“So,” Foggy says, stealing one of Karen’s fries. “Is this actually happening, or was it an elaborate ruse to get me to buy you the bougiest fries in existence?” 

“Oh it’s happening,” Karen says, her gaze directed somewhere over Foggy’s shoulder. 

Twisting in his seat, Foggy freezes in confusion when he sees Matt, regular Matt, strolling down the sidewalk, cane tapping cheerfully. “Uh,” Foggy says, and turns around to glare questioningly at Karen. 

“Matt!” She calls, waving, completely ignoring Foggy’s interro-glare.

“You know he can’t s- nevermind. What are you guys- I thought there was a plan! This isn’t the plan!” he hisses, just as Matt slows to a stop by their table on the other side of the little gate thing blocking off the seating.

“Karen?” Matt asks, as if hadn’t been able to hear her from blocks away.

“Hey, Matt,” Karen greets. 

“Hey, Matt,” Foggy echoes dully.

“Foggy? Is that you?” Matt asks, not quite able to hide his shit-eating grin.

“Would you like to join us?” Karen asks, blithely ignoring Foggy’s continued glare. 

“Oh, uh, yeah. I’d love to.”

Foggy sighs heavily and scoots his stupid stool-chair back. “Let me find-” he stops as Matt feels searchingly at the partition and then takes a step back before jumping neatly over it, landing perfectly between it and their table. “Or you could just, hop the gate thing. Sure. Have a seat,” he tugs out another of the seats, until the back bumps into Matt’s hand, and scoots his own chair back up to the table, studiously ignoring the stares of the other patrons who noticed Matt’s little stunt.

“Thanks,” Matt grins at him as he takes a seat, the fairy lights reflecting prettily off the lenses of his sunglasses. “Is that truffle oil I smell?”

Foggy watches as Matt and Karen go through a pantomime of Matt trying the fries, exclaiming how good they are, listening intently as Karen explains that there’s gold on them. 

“Say,” Foggy interrupts loudly. “Matt.”

“Yeah, Fogs?” Matt asks, perfectly polite, glasses still glittering with reflected light. 

“Didn’t you have somewhere to be, tonight?” Foggy asks pointedly.

“Nowhere else I’d rather be,” Matt says, reaching up a hand to pat Foggy’s tightly clenched fist, which is resting on the table between them. “I mean that, buddy.”

“Right. Of course.”

It’s at that moment when Foggy begins to hear raised voices from further down the street, followed almost immediately by a scream, and then yelling.

“Uh,” Foggy says, glancing dubiously at Karen and Matt and then back toward the street.

“Well, I wonder what that could be,” Matt says mildly, grabbing another fry. 

“Indeed,” Karen says, blinking innocently before taking the remaining piece of Foggy’s do-it-yourself sandwich and leaning back in her seat, wiggling to get comfortable.

The diners around them are shifting nervously, one or two of them standing up to gaze down the street. One lady just grabs her cocktail and heads inside, not bothering to find out what’s causing the ruckus. Foggy envies her, but does like the curious folks around them and cranes his neck, peering in the direction of the commotion. He sees- He blinks, checks Karen and Matt’s expressions suspiciously, and then looks again. Huh.

“Holy shit, that’s Daredevil,” someone says from behind him. 

“Daredevil?” Matt asks, taking another leisurely bite of truffle fry, turning his face toward Foggy. “Didn’t you two have a thing, recently? A little, uh, will they-won’t they type deal?” He asks this loud enough that the person standing behind Foggy can definitely hear. Phones start appearing in people’s hands, and Foggy sighs. 

“You know we were never really a thing,” Foggy says, trying to stick to the half-assed script they’d come up with, even though there are apparently understudies involved now. “It was all a-” Foggy waves a hand dismissively, standing up and leaning over the gate, “A misunderstanding.”

Matt and Karen continue to chew smugly on their ill-gotten gains, so Foggy ignores them and watches the guy in the Daredevil costume make his way closer. “Yo!” Foggy calls, when he’s close enough that his nose and chin area is vaguely familiar. The red mask turns his way and whoever it is behind it continues walking with more intent. “What the hell, man?” Foggy asks, once the dude comes to a stop a few feet away and the person behind the mask finally clicks. “What are you- uh, what are you doing here?”

“Uh. I came to uh, to…” Danny’s head swivels around, reinforced leather creaking as he flounders.

Foggy feels a little bad for the guy but he’s also still kind of mad at Matt for changing the plan without telling him, so his “Spit it out!” is a little more terse than warranted. 

“I just!” Danny barks out, and then clears his throat, voice lowering until it’s barely audible. “I’m just not- uh, I’m not… I’m not that into you.”

Foggy stares at him, feeling his left eyelid beginning to twitch and his concussion headache give a threatening throb in time with his heart beat. He looks over at Matt and Karen. Matt has stolen the remains of the sandwich and is using it ineffectually to cover his smile. Karen at least has the grace to look slightly ashamed. Clearly, no one had briefed Danny on their script. 

“I mean…” Foggy starts, glances around at all the cell phones pointed in his direction, and shrugs internally. Then he shrugs externally. “I guess… Likewise, dude.” 

And then, from the table, Matt rises, clearing his throat. “Yeah, I mean, you’re definitely more trouble than you’re worth.” 

“Uh,” Danny turns towards Matt and then angles himself back towards Foggy, apparently a little confused. Foggy shrugs again. They are completely off script and Foggy just kind of wants this over with. 

“All you ever did was put him in danger,” Matt continues, pushing his stool-chair in and taking a step closer to them, one hand coming up to rest on Foggy’s shoulder. “Just being around you is treacherous as it is, and you were careless enough to let people think he meant something to you. You put a target on him.” 

Foggy stares at Matt, a little worried at how angry he sounds.

“You’re poison,” Matt continues, taking a menacing step towards the gate, hand sliding down to Foggy’s elbow. “And anyways,” Matt says, nostrils flaring with a deep inhale, “He’s taken.” 

Foggy can do nothing at that but blink rapidly, distantly aware of Karen letting out some sort of squeaking sound to accompany Matt’s declaration. 

“Uh,” Danny says again. 

Foggy briefly toys with the idea of running with the whole Luke Cage bridal-carry thing for his second fake-relationship of the month, but that would just create more of the same problem. He turns to Matt, mouth open, ready to counter his statement, when he realizes that Matt is also turning towards him, mouth open, only arguing isn’t really his goal, Foggy doesn’t think, seeing as how they’re kissing. 

They are definitely kissing. Matt is kissing him. 

It’s over too quickly for Foggy to do anything about it, like recoil indignantly, or kiss back. Matt has already gone back to glaring ineffectually at his alter ego by the time Foggy really processes what’s happened. 

Foggy looks at Karen, who is looking back and forth between them with a weird sort of apprehensive look on her face. He looks back to Matt, who is gripping Foggy’s arm much tighter than he usually does and has his jaw clenched. He looks over to where Danny was standing, only to catch just a flash of a red-clad ass and boots disappearing around a corner. 

Somebody behind Foggy whistles. Not like a wolf whistle. More of a yikes-type whistle. Foggy wholeheartedly agrees.

“Okay,” Foggy says, impressively calmly, given the situation. “Alright.” He breathes. He breathes again. He claps a hand over Matt’s at his elbow and puts on a smile, since there are definitely still a few phones pointed at him. “Matt, sweetie?”

“Uh, yes?”

He looks kind of hopeful, when he says it, perking up a little and losing the rigid tenseness of before. 

“Can I have a word with you? In private?”

Matt winces behind the sunglasses, and swallows, smiling weakly. The tenseness comes back. “Ah. Of course. Honey.” 

Foggy waits until the door of the bathroom closes behind them to shake Matt’s grip off his elbow. “Anyone else in here?” He’s asking Matt, but a toilet flushes in the far stall and someone replies hesitantly. 

“Yes?”

“Great,” Foggy says, giving Matt a very unproductive death glare. “We’ll wait.” 

“Uh… Okay.” The stall door opens slowly and a guy cautiously makes his way toward the sink. He washes his hands, eyes darting nervously to check on them in the reflection multiple times before he finishes and leaves with dripping hands. 

Foggy watches the door swing shut behind him and then turns back to Matt. “So.”

Matt gives an anemic little smile, laughing slightly. “So.”

“What the fuck, man?" Foggy explodes. "What was that? People were filming that! That’s gonna be on the local news!”

“That was- that was the plan,” Matt agrees, sounding reasonable. 

“My ma is gonna watch that, Matthew, and she’s gonna think we’re together! We're gonna have to lie to my mother about being together AND about breaking up!”

“I mean,” Matt shrugs and tips his face up and off to the side. The greenish-yellow lights wash him out a little, but paint the flush on his cheeks in sharp relief. “We don’t… have to lie to her.”

Foggy blinkes, then squints. “She’s gonna see it, Matt. You know she always watches the 10 o’clock news; she’s in love with the meteorologist.”

“No I know, I know she’s gonna see it, Fogs, we just. We just don’t have to lie about it, is all. If you don’t want.”

“Are you- You wanna tell Ma? About D-” Foggy catches himself and glances at the door, noting the lack of lock. He steps closer to Matt and drops his voice to a whisper. “You seriously want to let Ma in on your big red secret?”

“No, not-” Matt sighs and steps even closer, turning his face in towards Foggy. “Look, we don’t have to lie to her if there’s nothing to lie about, right? If it’s true?” 

There’s a touch on his hand, and Foggy looks down to see Matt brushing his fingers against the backs of Foggy’s knuckles. 

“If it’s true,” Foggy repeats, disbelieving. “If it’s true that we’re…”

“Together,” Matt nods, and the fingers brushing his wrap tentatively around them instead, and give a little shake. 

Foggy takes a few moments to breathe, very deliberately not screeching in any way, and then tugs his hand out of Matt’s, turning to face him straight-on and gripping one of his shoulders in each hand. “Matthew.”

“Yeah?”

“Did you just ask me out-” Foggy asks, walking Matt backwards a step. “In the bathroom.” Another step. “Of the worst cafe in town.” Matt’s back hits the wall. “Right after some guy just pooped? Is that what you’ve done?”

Matt sniffs, and then clears his throat. “I… yeah. Um. Yes, I guess.”

“You’re the actual worst.”

“I’m… Sorry?”

“There’s a chance I’ll forgive you,” Foggy allows. “But I have questions.”

Matt looks hopeful at that. “Okay?” 

Foggy really wants to do something stupid. Like choke him. Or kiss him. He shakes his head. First thing’s first. “Are you just suggesting this so that you don’t have to lie to my mother?”

“Wha- No!” He looks genuinely offended. Foggy takes that as a good sign.

“Are you just suggesting this because you heard me earlier at the office?”

Matt frowns. “Heard you do what?”

“You know what! With Karen! Before we came here!”

“I don’t know what! I was across town, bullying Danny into breaking up with you so I didn’t have to.” Matt’s face goes kind of grumpy looking. “What did you do with Karen?”

“I didn’t do anything- Look, I just, I just used the L word, is all.”

“You- The L word?” Matt’s eyebrows dip all the way below the tops of his sunglasses in a massive sulk. “You like Karen?”

Rolling his eyes, Foggy shakes Matt a little. “Wrong L word, buddy.”

Matt’s lips flatten into a pale line, and his voice goes low and wavery. “You… love Kare-”

“Oh my god, shut up, please. Matthew. You’re an idiot. I’m an idiot.”

Matthew blinks, eye movement rapid behind his glasses. “I’m so confused.”

“I told Karen that I was in love with you .” 

“You- You’re…”

Foggy grins. “And I thought that you had heard me say that, and that’s maybe why you were doing this. Like a pity thing or even-”

“No, I wouldn’t- Foggy, I would never-”

“No, I know,” Foggy shakes him a little, slides one hand up to curl around the back of Matt’s neck, taking a step closer. “But you didn’t. You did it because- because you’re...” Foggy gasps. “Oh my god.”

“Don’t-”

“Because you’re into me!” Foggy whispers excitedly, “Sex–”

The door swings open, and Foggy stills, face inches from Matt’s, both of them huddled into the corner against the wall. He turns his head slowly, to face the guy frozen in the doorway.

“I can come back,” The guy says after a moment of fraught silence.

“No, it’s fine.” Foggy says, taking a step back and letting Matt push himself away from the wall. “We’re done. Here. Uh. We’re going… now… to-” he turns back to Matt. “Where are we going?”

“Uh. Well. My place is closer.”

“Closer!” Foggy exclaims, and grabs Matt’s wrist, tugging him towards the door. “You hussy. I love it; let’s go.”

“Goodbye,” Matt nods at the guy as they pass, a stupid smile on his face. 

Foggy tries to lead them towards the exit, but Matt hesitates, facing the outdoor seating. “We should really let Karen know."

“Oh, yeah,” Foggy exclaims, letting go of Matt and striding towards the doors. “Karen!” he calls, once he reaches them and shoves through. 

“What?” She hollers back from three tables away. 

Foggy pushes his way back over to the table and pulls out his wallet. “We’re going back home to Matt’s place,” he tells her excitedly, pulling out a few bills and dropping them on the table.

“Oh thank god,” Karen sighs and melts dramatically into her stool-chair. “It’s about fucking time.”

“I apologize deeply for my stupidity,” Foggy says, stealing the last truffle fry and shoving it in his mouth, talking through it obnoxiously. “But it’s kinda your fault for not putting us out of our misery.”

“I have a strict non-interference policy,” Karen lies, tossing her hair over her shoulder the way she does when she lies. Foggy gives her a look, and she drops the act. "Matt told me not to tell you, so I felt like I shouldn’t really tell Matt.”

“So it’s his fault,” Foggy nods. “That tracks.”

“Objection,” Matt says as he comes to a stop beside Foggy. 

“Overruled,” Foggy and Karen say at the same time, which makes Foggy laugh and Matt roll his eyes. 

“So you guys are good?” Karen asks, standing up and pulling her coat on. “Figured everything out.” 

“Yeah,” Matt says.

“Oh absolutely not,” Foggy counters.

“Uh, right,” Matt agrees hastily. “Not- not yet. But, we’re going to.” 

That Foggy can agree with. “Oh yeah.” 

“Well, you’re both ridiculous, but I wish you the best.” Karen hugs Matt, whispering something in his ear, and then Foggy, sans any secret advice. He supposes Matt would have heard it anyway. 

"You have gold on your teeth," Foggy stage whispers before she lets him go, and it earns him a smack on the shoulder, but she's smiling as she leaves, proudly displaying her temporary grill.

Foggy turns to Matt once she's gone. He’s facing the exit but has his body and one ear cocked towards Foggy. It’s kind of a familiar stance, and Foggy tilts his head, “Hug?”

“Oh, uh, yes? Yes.” 

“Bring it in,” Foggy says, opening his arms wide. “Let’s hug it out, babe.”

“Babe?” Matt asks with a grin, leaning into Foggy and wrapping his arms around Foggy’s waist, linking his hands loosely at the small of Foggy's back.

“I’m trying things out. How did it feel?” Foggy asks, scrubbing his cheek against Matts and smiling when Matt starts to sway almost imperceptibly. 

“I don’t hate it,” Matt admits, and then tucks his mouth against Foggy’s shoulder.

"I can work with that," Foggy smiles, hitching his arms up to rest over Matt’s shoulders and leaning into Matt’s gentle swaying.

They stay like that for a few moments, Foggy’s mind racing with implications but also calm at the same time, content. Their peaceful moment is interrupted by the waiter clearing his throat.

Foggy breaks the hug with a sigh, and takes Matt’s hand in his as they go to leave. 

"Can't believe our anniversary restaurant is gonna be this piece of shit place," Foggy observes, looking around at the minimalist decor.

Matt wheezes out a laugh and squeezes Foggy's fingers. "Anniversary restaurant?"

"We're gonna have to come here every year and it's all your fault. Proposing in a bathroom. Tsh."

"I didn't propose," Matt argues, unable to keep from smiling. 

"You proposed a relationship!" Foggy counters, as they step out onto the sidewalk. 

"A proposal which you never formally accepted," Matt points out as Foggy tries and fails to hail a passing cab.

Turning back after sending a rude gesture to the cab driver, Foggy takes Matt's other hand in his and faces him directly. "I, Foggy Nelson, do formally declare," he ignores Matt's rolled eyes and talks over his mumbled interjection, "that I am into you, Matt Murdock, romantically."

He gives it a few seconds, just long enough for Matt's shoulders to lose their pent-up tension, before leaning close with a grin. "And sexually."

***

Foggy groans when his phone goes off, but it's Matt's ringtone, so he rolls over in the tangle of bedclothes and grabs his phone off the nightstand. 

"'Sup?" He asks once he manages to accept the call, resting one arm on top of the covers and blinking into the darkness. 

"Hey," Matt's voice is warm on the other end of the line, erasing any lingering grumpiness Foggy feels from being kept awake.

"Hey," Foggy says, smiling and wriggling down deeper into the mattress. "What's up?"

"I have something for you."

"Ooh," Foggy croons. "Is it large and sturdy, but sweet, with soft, gentle eyes?"

"I'm never letting you near Luke again, actually, so no. It's something that came in the mail today."

"Hmm, a package," Foggy says, rolling over and tugging the covers over his shoulder. "You gonna drop it off?"

"That depends, are you still up?"

"I'm awake," Foggy states, "Up and about? No. Clothed? Also no."

"Oh, tell me more," Matt says teasingly, voice dropping half a register.

"I refuse," Foggy says, grinning. "You'll have to come find out yourself."

"I suppose that can be arranged."

Foggy is about to respond, maybe with something saucy, but the line goes dead. He takes his phone from his ear and squints at it, and then he hears a knock at his window.

"Oh Jesus Christ. Jesus Harold Christ," Foggy groans, and hears a faint snicker. Throwing the covers back, Foggy shivers and sits up, rethinking the covers almost immediately and grabbing a layer, wrapping it around himself and padding to the window, muttering the whole way. 

"Hey handsome," Matt says, his grin and horned outline the only thing visible in the dark once Foggy shoves his window open.

"Are you kidding me with this?" Foggy grumbles. "I'd invite you in but your boots are covered in… mud?"

"Sure," Matt says, feet shifting on the metal grating. "Mud."

"Yeah, you're not coming in," Foggy declares, ducking down and slinging a leg out awkwardly. He struggles through and hops uncomfortably on the cold metal of the fire escape, tugging his sheet up when it threatens to slip free. "So," he says expectantly. "Show me the goods."

"Pretty sure that's my line," Matt says, tugging at the edge of Foggy's sheet. Foggy bats him away and then rethinks it, leaning in for a quick kiss. 

"Alright, alright," Foggy says, leaning back. "What did you get me?"

"Oh, yeah." Matt bends over and pulls something out of his boot, handing it over almost shyly.

Foggy takes it, a card of some sort, and squints at it. "You brought me… our company credit card."

"Ah, I brought you your company credit card. We have two now. This one's yours."

Foggy stares at him for a moment, and then deflates. "I love you, and I'm happy we're modernizing our business practices, but the next time you bring me a surprise in the middle of the night it needs to be either edible, or alcoholic, or just you in a tearaway stripper version of this dumb suit."

Matt grins at that, cocking his head. "You want me to…"

"Strip? Yes. But not in the real suit, obviously, I've seen you take it off and there's too many grunts and grimaces to be sexy."

Matt cocks his head even further, and his mouth goes slack in concentration. 

"Uh," Foggy says intelligently. "You with me?"

"Shit," Matt hisses, and takes an abrupt step back. "Get back inside!" He urges. Foggy goes to follow directions, but trips on the edge of his sheet and wobbles, giving a shout. Matt's there in a heartbeat, grabbing him and steadying him. 

Foggy almost has his footing back when the whole fire escape is flooded with light from somewhere below.

"Daredevil," A tinny, amplified voice says from street-level. "We have you surrounded."

Foggy sighs tiredly, "Oh for fuck's sake."

***