Chapter Text
~-~-~-~
Foggy is dropped off in front of an orphanage with a plastic bag of generic clothes, a thin folder of paperwork, and a healthy fear of the world. A nun is waiting for him outside. She’s younger than Foggy thought a nun would be, with just a simple dress and headwrap, instead of one of those black gown things that they wear on tv.
“Hello, son. I’m Detective Bolton. Can you tell me your name?”
“Foggy.”
“Is that a nickname? What’s on your birth certificate?”
“I don’t think I have one.”
"You must be Nelson Fogwell. Come along." The nun ushers him into the building and Foggy follows numbly.
"My name is Sister Alice. The children leave for school at 7:00 AM, you'll be attending as soon as your paperwork is finished. Sunday Mass is at 8:00 AM and Wednesday worship is at 6:00 PM, you'll be expected to attend both, understand?"
"I'm not Catholic."
"You are now. You'll be rooming with the only other high school boy here, room 223. Why don’t you go say hello? He’ll make sure you get to dinner on time.”
Foggy briefly considers telling - commanding- the nun to give him his own room, but he swallows the words and the accompanying nausea. No, he can get through life the same way everybody else does.
He passes through a worn but clean common room where a handful of toddlers are wobbling around with blocks, then an equally shabby and tidy dining room, before finding a rickety staircase. He climbs it and slowly drifts past rooms of cribs and cots before he stops in front of 223. When he softly pushes the door open, he finds a young man sitting cross legged on one of the beds, running his fingers over a book and wearing dorky sunglasses.
"Hello." His voice is quiet but the boy's head still snaps up to face him, fingers stalling over the book.
"Who's there?" He asks.
“Where are you from? Where’d you grow up?”
“I’m from here in New York but I grew up in a lab.”
“A lab? With who?”
“They said they were my parents but that’s not true.”
"Me? Um, I mean, Foggy. My name is Foggy. Well, Nelson. Nelson Fogwell, but. Um. Foggy, ya know?"
The boy's lips twist to the side. Whether it's in annoyance or amusement, he can't tell. "Hello, Um-Foggy. My name is Matthew Murdock. They told me I’d be getting a roommate."
"Yelp. That’s me." Foggy takes a few steps forward -the room is cramped, to say the least- and offers his hand.
When the boy doesn't move, he wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans instead. "Whatcha reading?"
"Just something for school. You'll probably have to read it, too, once you get enrolled."
"Is it any good?"
"No. Though it's hard to find books in braille, so I can't really complain."
"Oh!" Foggy blurts dumbly. "You're blind!"
Matthew's lips twist to the side again, this time definitely in amusement.
"So they tell me." He gives a sarcastic laugh and taps his glasses lightly.
Foggy sends a prayer of gratitude to whatever god these nuns want him to believe in- of all of the people that he could’ve been stuck with, he got a boy who can’t see his scars. “How long have you lived here?”
“Since I was twelve. That’s when I lost my dad. What about you?”
“What did they want with you?”
“They- my brain. They said they wanted to fix my brain.”
“And did they?”
“I don’t know.”
Foggy feels his heart start to pound, his breath start to come short. ‘I don’t know,’ he wants to scream. He wants to shout and cry and yell it from the tallest building in Hell’s Kitchen. His mouth flips open half a dozen times before Matthew makes a ‘never mind’ gesture and sets his book aside.
“I’m sorry, you don’t have to tell me what happened to you. I don’t like talking about my past either.”
“Thanks.” Foggy collapses onto the free bed and picks at a string on the blanket.
“So, you don’t know where you came from. But do you know where you’re going?”
“What?”
“What do you want, son? What do you want with your life?”
“Can I just ask one question?” Matthew is leaning forward, hands bracing his weight on his knees. His head is tilted and his eyebrows are dipped behind his glasses.
“Yeah.”
“What do you want?”
Foggy runs a hand through his shaggy hair and sighs. “Just to be a kid, Matthew. For once in my life, I just want to be a normal kid.”
Apparently, that's the right thing to say because Matthew relaxes and holds out his hand to shake.
"Matt. Call me Matt."
Command. If only Matt knew how dangerous those can be.
~-~-~-~-~
Matt and Foggy quickly develop what the school guidance counselor calls "an unhealthy codependency born of mutually traumatic pre-pubescent experiences."
The nuns call it "convenient."
They perfectly complement each other in every way. Matt has a polite exterior, formally thanking nuns and apologizing profusely when a teacher catches them whispering in class. Foggy is the exact opposite. Overly casual with authority figures, dismissive of responsibility, and happy to stake his claim as an outsider. Once their exteriors are worn away, however, their personalities do rapid switches. Matt has a hidden temper and is quick to strike out in anger with both his words and fists. Foggy will instantly shy away from even the slightest sign of confrontation, devolving to speaking only in questions and quietly stammered answers.
They both have secrets. They both get wary and tense and doubt themselves and each other, but for now...
"Murdock, Fogwell, if I hear one more peep, you're staying after."
"Yes, Miss Martin," Matt dutifully responds, even as Foggy continues to chortle into the crook of his elbow.
He wiggles away from Matt’s attempts to jab him in the ribs and receives another stern look from their teacher.
“Well, it wouldn’t be this hard to stay quiet if class wasn’t so long!” Foggy stage whispers.
Matt bites at his lip to hide a smile and keeps his head tilted towards the board. Foggy doesn’t let their fooling around distract him from his note taking- Matt relies on Foggy’s notes a lot, now that they’re taking all the same classes.
The bell finally rings and the boys linger in the classroom an extra minute, waiting for the crowd to thin. It’s the last class of the day, and Foggy leads Matt through the empty hallways towards their lockers.
“Do you think we’re having that history test tomorrow?” Foggy asks lazily, offering his elbow to Matt.
“No, I heard him- uh, I heard some kids say we just watch a movie.”
“What? How would they even-"
“Sh.” Matt lets go of Foggy’s elbow and presses a finger to his lips. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear wha-?”
“I said, who the fuck’s number is that?” A man’s voice echoes down the hall of the old school, loud and angry.
“It’s none of your business, Jake!” An equally worked up boy’s voice answers, his tone fearful instead of mean.
Before Foggy can even register what’s happening, Matt is speeding down the hall, cane all but forgotten in his hand. Foggy hurries after the other boy, nearly tripping in his haste
“Matt, what’re you doing?!” He yells, but his friend doesn’t slow.
“None of my business?” The voices are closer now, probably just one hall down. “You’re my brother! I’m not letting some fag get his hands all over you! Now tell me who it is and you can go.”
“No, you can’t just- ow!”
Foggy bursts around the corner seconds after Matt and finds a thin boy pressed against the wall of the empty hallway, chest heaving and breath coming out strained from his throat.
Matt is between the scared boy and a man -Jake, apparently- in a worn varsity jacket. His cane is discarded on the ground and his fists are raised in a boxing pose.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Murdock?” Jake asks, taking a step closer.
“I’m not going to let you hurt your brother, that’s all you need to know.”
“Oh yeah? What’re you gonna do about it? Even with working eyes, your daddy couldn’t punch the broad side of a barn, I doubt you’re- “
Snap!
Foggy watches as Matt’s fist whips out lightning fast and the man’s head snaps back. He crumples to the floor instantly, not even a twitch.
Holy fucking....
“Shit!” The boy lets out a pained whine and presses farther into the wall. “Shit, shit, shit! I’m so dead! He’s gonna tell our dad!”
“Hey, hey, hey. Can you calm down? Will you tell me your name?” Foggy reaches for the boy and wraps an arm around his quaking shoulders.
“Jimmy.”
“Okay, Jimmy. I need you to do as I say. Slow your breathing, calm yourself.” Foggy quells the wave of nausea that flairs in his stomach. It’s a command, but it’s for the boy’s own good. His young face immediately relaxes and Foggy sighs in relief. “Good job. Now go to the principal, tell them what happened.”
Jimmy scurries to do as instructed and Foggy turns back to Matt. Matt who shamelessly sucks up to nuns and kisses toddler's scraped knees and always offers Foggy his ice cream sandwich after dinner. Matt, who is standing statue still, head tilted at an unnatural angle. His cane is laying untouched on the ground and Foggy carefully picks it up and holds out.
“So, uh. Nice punch?” Foggy offers, trying to catch Matt’s eye out of habit.
“How’d you do that?” Is Matt’s response. He reaches out and reclaims his cane, still with an unnatural stillness.
“What?” Foggy asks, even as he can feel his already racing heart speed up.
“Calm Jimmy down so fast. You’re- that was amazing.” His voice sounds normal, happy, impressed. His face is like stone.
“Um. Thanks.” The silence stretches in between them, gaping in the hole of their new friendship.
“Foggy, if you- “
“Murdock, Fogwell!” A voice booms behind them and Foggy spins to find Father Gabriel pointing at them. “My office. Now.”
“Yes, Father.” Matt says, posture melting from rigid stone to his normal relaxed stance. He slips his cane onto his wrist and steps forward to grasp Foggy’s elbow.
Foggy feels like he’s missing something. Like he’s the character in a movie who doesn’t realize the monster is under his bed. But he leads Matt forward nonetheless, equal parts soothed and distressed by the sight of Matt’s pink, bloodied fist resting on his arm.
“Sit," is all Father Gabriel says when they get to his office. Foggy does as instructed and Matt follows suit after his hand feels out the back of a chair. “Is what Jimmy said true?”
“Yes," Foggy starts to say, voice too quiet to hear. He clears his throat to try and speak up, but Matt beats him to it.
“That depends.” His tone is defiant, strong. “What did he say?”
“He said you punched his brother unconscious while they were having a family dispute and then Mr. Fogwell here used mind control.”
“Ha!” Matt barks out a laugh as Foggy’s palms start to sweat. “This is insane. Can we go now?”
“Yes, you may go. Straight to detention. The sisters will be informed that you'll be home late.”
"That’s not fair!" Matt insists, chin titled defiantly. "We were only protecting that boy. His brother should be the one in trouble!"
Father Gabriel ignores him and turns towards Foggy. He tenses and ducks his head to hide behind his hair. "And tell me what you think should happen, Nelson."
"Um. I. I think that, maybe, Matt is... right?”
“Well, you may join Mr. Murdock in detention. Good evening, boys.”
Matt all but drags Foggy to the detention hall, body seemingly fueled by pure righteous fury.
“We didn’t do anything wrong!” He insists loudly, normally reserved voice echoing off of the halls of the old school. “I mean, he deserved that punch! And honestly, mind control! That kid didn’t even say thank you!”
“I’m sorry,” Foggy whispers into his hair, heart thudding into his chest.
“Foggy, no, don’t be sorry. Jake is the one who’s going to be sorry, whenever he wakes up. I broke his nose, I know I did. And if Father Gabriel thinks that- Why are you laughing?”
“I just- I think you’re a good person, Matthew Murdock.”
Matt looks stunned. A happy stunned. And then a boyish, crinkly, handsome smile takes over his face. “So are you, Nelson Fogwell.”
Foggy spends the hour in detention, the sweltering hot walk back to the orphanage, and the entire lecture from Sister Grace trying to control his giddy smile.
And Sister Grace isn’t happy. She sticks them with diaper duty for four weeks
“Matt, could you pass me the wipes?”
“Here. How many people signed the constitution?”
“69?” Foggy laughs at his own joke and the baby, little Mary Sue, joins in. Matt rolls his eyes fondly and lets his book fall shut.
“Okay, we’ll take a break from history.”
Foggy is... content. For the first time since he last saw his father, the air itself seems breathable. Every morning, he wakes up in his shitty twin beds, goes to a shitty high school, and then comes home to a shitty orphanage where he eats shitty food at a table with a bunch of babies and toddlers who are only there until a spot in the foster system opens up. And yet....
And yet he’s happy. Happy with Matt at his side.
“All clean, Mary Sue. What’s next?” Foggy sets the baby back into her bouncer and picks up his book.
“Calculus. Will you read me the equations?”
“Sure, here it goes....”
They burp babies, study, and dodge bullies. They obediently attend church -Matt a bit more genuinely than Foggy- and sweat in their cramped bedroom that has bolted shut windows. And they grow closer every day.
~-~-~-~
They’re sophomores and they’re closer than family. Closer than Foggy ever got to be with his father or with Kevin.
“Describe the sky.” Matt and Foggy are excused from gym class indefinitely -you can’t exactly force a blind kid and a boy with scars from open brain surgery to play baseball- and they’re lounging happily in the grass.
Foggy nods seriously. “Okay. It’s a bright blue. Clouds are very fluffy. There’s a huge bird flying- “
“Fogwell, heads up!” The coach’s voice is loud and sharp and before Foggy can even turn around, there’s the loud smack of a soft ball slapping into Matt’s outstretched hand.
“Holy shit! Matt, are you okay?” Foggy scrambles to pull Matt’s hand down and inspect it. It seems fine and Foggy lets out a relieved sigh. “Dude, how did you do that?”
“I, uh-"
“Murdock!” The coach jogs up to them, eyes wide and out of breath. “Are you alright?”
“Yes, sir.” Matt ducks his head shyly and bites at his lip. “I guess I’m lucky you called out, it probably would’ve hit me straight in the face.”
“Right, yeah.” The coach still has a stunned look on his face buts he’s nodding along in understanding. “Okay. Fogwell, why don’t you help him to the bleachers, huh?”
“Yes, sir.” Foggy does as he’s told, but he can’t shake the feeling that something is... off.
Of course, he’d noticed that Matt wasn’t ordinary almost right away. He can’t quite pin down what is off with his best friend, but he knows that it’s something. It seems as if he just knows things sometimes. Of course, he always manages to pull some kind of excuse out of his perfectly sculpted ass, but still.
He will shush Foggy just before a nun rounds the corner, gracefully duck out of the way of oncoming basketballs, and he always seems to know where the babies throw their pacifiers. Other times, however, he’s overly dependent on Foggy, demanding that he reread a passage from the textbooks they can’t get in braille or shyly asking for help learning to shave.
And then there are the times where Foggy can’t hide his own secrets....
It’s the day before summer break and the classroom is no more controlled than a prison riot. Father Wilson, 80 years old and Italian, is observing the chaos with the coolness that only a lifetime of dealing with teenagers can cultivate.
“Hey, Murdock! Catch!” Matt sits perfectly still as a crumpled paper ball hits him in the face. Foggy is sure that he could’ve caught it.
“Very funny, Schmitt. Let me know when you graduate past elementary school humor.” Matt is always so calm when others tease him. And yet, if someone so much as giggles at Foggy, Battlin’ Jack Murdock’s son rains down on them.
Schmitt pushes out of his chair and stalks forward, bulky frame towering over the two boys. “Wanna say that to my face, retard?”
And then something in Foggy breaks a little, because Matt visibly flinches back from the word.
So, Foggy stands up, leans over until his mouth is as close to Schmitt’s ear as it can get, and whispers, “pee yourself.”
Schmitt does as he’s commanded -no commands, Foggy had promised himself, but he can’t seem to help himself- and his face immediately flushes with shame. The teenagers start to go wild, all of the typical pointing and laughing you’d imagine in the situation. All besides for Matt.
Schmitt pushes through the crowd and into the hallway. Foggy sits back down and can feel Matt’s eyes -Matt’s attention, at least- boring into his skull. The rest of the day is spent in a tense silence.
When they get back to their room, Matt opens and closes his mouth a few times before finally turning away and unpacking his backpack.
“So, do you want to start with chemistry or Hamlet?”
Foggy lets out a breath he’s been holding all day and briefly closes his eyes. This means something, he thinks. That Matt could have mentioned the incident today and didn’t.
He just doesn’t know what.
~-~-~-~
They’re juniors and Foggy things that maybe he’s in love with Matt Murdock.
Matt is a lot of things. Tall, dark, and handsome. Funny, smart, and kind. Passionate, righteous, and religious. But most of all, he’s-
“No, that’s wrong. I got it right.”
Competitive. He’s competitive.
“Mr. Murdock, you got that question incorrect. Now please sit back down.”
“But the answer’s JFK. Theodore Roosevelt might’ve been the youngest president, but you asked who the youngest person to be elected president was. Roosevelt became president after McKinley was assassinated.”
“Matthew, if you don’t sit back down, you’ll be doing lines after class.”
Matt collapses down beside Foggy with a huff. His cheeks are flushed red and Foggy has the overwhelming urge to reach out and touch them. “It’ll be okay," he says instead, patting Matt lightly on the back. “She’ll give you the point, she just doesn’t want to admit it in front of class.”
“That’s not the point, Foggy! It’s the-"
“The principle of it. Yeah, I know, Murdock. It’s always about the principle with you. Now will you shut that yap of yours? I’m trying to focus.”
Matt continues to sulk but the day finally drags to an end. Foggy waits for Matt to finish loading his book bag before he pushes away from the wall.
“Wanna walk with me to work?” He asks.
Matt crinkles his nose and shrugs. “Only if you’re walking there to quit.”
“Matt. Will you not do that? I can’t quit my job. It pays for all of our stuff.”
“What stuff? We’re wards of the state!”
“Our phones. Our late-night burger runs. Our college application fees. Being a busboy isn’t that bad.”
“They treat you badly. And you never stand up for yourself.”
“I do to stand up for myself!”
“Foggy. In all the time I’ve known you, I’ve never once heard you tell someone to back off. I mean, how hard is it? Just say it. Fuck off. Come on, practice.”
“I don’t want to.” Foggy tugs anxiously on a lock of hair and Matt sighs.
“Okay, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push. Just- don’t let anyone think that they can push you around.”
“I won’t.”
“I mean it.” Matt looks so serious, and he stops in the middle of the sidewalk to 'stare' straight into Foggy’s eyes. “You’re amazing, Foggy. Don’t let anybody make you feel like you’re anything short of perfect.”
Oh.
~-~-~-~
They’re seniors and they’ve decided to go to law school together.
Matt insists on long hours in the library and Foggy is alternating between studying and flicking Matt’s ear in boredom. “Hey, nerd, can we go get some burgers or what?”
“Burgers from where?” Matt stretches, revealing a strip of stomach and boxers.
“Uh.” Foggy’s mouth goes dry and he points vaguely towards Tom’s, the bar and grill across the street from the library.
Matt’s lips twitch up in amusement. “Tom’s is closed, Fogs. Howa ‘bout we hit up Lucky Dragon or something?”
“What do you mean closed? It’s 4:00.”
“Yeah, I heard them say-" Matt snaps his mouth shut and frowns.
Oh. Right. Blind man. Whenever Matt does something that he shouldn’t be able to, he tenses up and gives noncommittal shrugs. It’s almost like he thinks Foggy doesn’t know that he’s- well. Psychic? Doesn’t know that he’s something.
“Heard them say what?” Foggy asks anyway as he shoves their stuff into their bag.
Codependency say what?
Matt gives -wait for it- a noncommittal shrug and latches onto Foggy’s elbow. “I’m really in the mood for some shrimp. Lead the way.”
They enjoy a quiet dinner. Matt snorts rice through his nose when Foggy does a Christopher Walker impersonation and they giggle like children when the other tables stare. It’s relaxing. After they pay and leave, they take a slow walk back to the orphanage.
Matt’s cane is dangling limply from his wrist as Foggy points out night time sights. “There’s a drag queen across the street. Very fierce looking, definitely your type. Want me to go score you some digits?”
Matt laughs loudly and stops walking to clutch his side. “I didn’t tell you I was gay so you could hook me up every two seconds, Foggy!”
“Well just ‘cause I’m not getting any action doesn’t mean you can’t!” Foggy says back, biting his lip nervously.
It’s not that he minds that Matt has a sex life. What Foggy feels for Matt goes beyond the physical. And it’s not that Foggy is jealous. He can’t -won’t- sleep with someone, not when they don’t know what Foggy could accidentally do in the heat of the moment. But sometimes it’s hard. Hard hiding so much from Matt, hard being alone, hard to wake up and see that face and know he can’t have it.
Foggy shakes away those thoughts. It’s been almost four years, he’s had plenty of practice at squashing down his Matthew Michael Murdock feelings.
“You could, Foggy.” Matt’s voice is utterly serious, laughter forgotten. “You could have anybody, if you wanted.”
Foggy blinks. There’s something in Matt’s voice that’s too deep to just be encouragement from a friend. But just as Foggy almost opens his mouth to ask him to explain, Matt’s posture goes rigid and tough.
“What? What is it?”
“I think I heard...”
“Ahhhhhh!” A horrified scream fills the air, female and young.
Foggy’s never heard a scream like that and he instantly knows what it means. He takes off towards the mouth of the alley, Matt two uncannily smooth steps ahead of him.
“Shut the fuck up, bitch!” A man with his pants tugged to his waist is wrestling a young woman to the ground.
She screams and thrashes under him and Foggy throws himself between the two of them as soon as he’s close enough.
“Get away from him!” He can hear Matt yell, but it’s drowned out by the sound of Foggy’s nose crunching. Ow.
It’s painful- nothing compared to a spinal fluid extraction, but still. Foggy stumbles backwards and blinks away stars, only to see- oh shit!
Matt lifts the man up by his collar and punches him squarely in the face. He tries to push Matt away but he only gets another punch for his efforts and crumples to the ground. The girl lets out another scream from behind Foggy as Matt throws himself down on the man, fists flying. The man’s neck snaps back and forth, each crack more sickening than the last.
“Oh my god, Matt, please stop!” Matt ignores Foggy’s plea as he wails on the now clearly unconscious man. “You can’t do this! Matt, you’re gonna kill him!”
When his friend doesn’t so much as slow down in his assault, Foggy sucks in a deep breath and- “Freeze!”
Matt’s fist halts midair, dripping blood. The poor girl is hugging her knees to her chest, eyes wide in shock.
“Holy shit. Okay. Okay. Um. You,” Foggy points at the shaking girl. “Go across the street to the gas station. Tell someone that a man attacked you. Call the police. Tell them that the man is unconscious in this alley because a stranger jumped him. When they ask for details, just say ‘it all happened so fast.’ Take care of yourself. Okay, go.”
Matt is still crouched on the ground with his fist midair. The man is still an unconscious and bleeding lump below him. Foggy’s heart stutters in his chest.
“Matt. Matt, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what to do. You were going to kill him and I couldn’t let you. Just-” Man up, Nelson. “Just act of your own free will.”
Matt instantly lurches up and away. “What the hell? Foggy, what did you just do?” His bloody hands are still clenched into fists and Foggy has seen enough to know that Matthew Murdock isn’t psychic.
“I- I’m sorry, I swear. I just couldn’t let you kill him.” Foggy backs up until he bumps against the wall. “I couldn’t let you become a killer.”
“I don’t understand.” Matt’s fists lower slightly. “I just- why did I-"
“I can... sort of. Um. Control people’s minds?”
“That’s what you can do? Control people’s minds?!”
“Yes? I was genetically experimented on as a kid and now people follow any commands I give.” Foggy knew that this day would eventually come, but damn, the look on Matt’s face. “I know it’s horrible and weird and- and I’ll move out tonight. You never have to see me again.”
Foggy tenses, waits for anger, for screaming, for-
“Prove it.”
Oh. That’s not what he’d been expecting.
“.... What?”
“Prove it. Tell me to do something else.”
“I- I really don’t feel comfortable with that, Matt.”
“Do it. Show me.” His voice is steady, calm, almost intrigued, and his fight stance has relaxed into his trademark head cocked pose.
Trust Matthew Murdock to find psychopathic tendencies interesting.
“No. I don’t like using it. I just really rather not.”
“I won’t get mad, Foggy. Just do it.”
“Won’t get mad? I could- I could make you piss yourself, like that time with Schmitt! Or I could tell you to bite your own tongue off. Are you insane? You should be running right now!”
“You could do all of that? With just words?” Matt’s voice still doesn’t carry the tone of fear that it should. Instead, he sounds almost... impressed?
Beginning to feel irritated by his friend’s lack of common sense, Foggy pushes himself away from the wall. “What the hell is wrong with you? I’m dangerous! You should hate me!”
“I don’t hate you,” Matt says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I could never hate you. You’re- well, you’re Foggy. My best friend.” Matt peels off his jacket and starts to wipe at his face and hands. “I’m serious, though. Give me a command. Tell me to do something that I’d never do on my own.”
“Will you listen to yourself? No! I’m dangerous, Matt. And not ‘beat a man to death with my bare hands’ dangerous, which we’re totally going to be talking about, by the way.”
“Then tell me to talk about it,” Matt says, now standing directly in front of Foggy. “Your nose is broken, let me snap it back into place before it gets any worse.”
Foggy slaps away the incoming hand. “Please don’t do that.”
“Do you want to go to the hospital?”
Sharp scents, shiny knives, beep, beep, beep....
“Fine. But will you tell me how you know that it’s broken?”
Matt gives a pointed ‘look’ before his hands gently start to map out Foggy’s face. His nose is painful to the touch, but Matt’s feather light fingers hardly skim his skin until- Snap!
“Son of a bitch!” Foggy jerks away and wipes at the spurting blood. “Alright, Murdock. You asked for it.”
Deep breath. He said he won’t get mad.
“Tell me how you know my nose is broken.”
“I heard it crack. I can hear the cartilage rubbing against the bone. I can smell the blood. And I can feel the heat of the swelling.”
What the fuck?
“What the fuck?” Matt steps back and looks at Foggy with genuine bewilderment. “I wanted to say it. It’s like it was the only thing I could do. I wanted to say it, even though I knew I didn’t actually want to?”
“No, no, no. I already explained my thing. Did you just say you can hear the cartilage in my nose?”
“I, uh, I can sense things. When I was blinded, I lost my sight. But everything else was amplified. I can hear- well, everything. I can hear everything. I can taste the bread from the bakery two blocks over in the air. I can smell what kind of soap whoever’s trash this is uses. I can even- Shit. Come on.”
Matt reaches out and yanks Foggy by the arm. He pulls him down the alley and out onto the other street. Foggy stumbles blindly - ha - after him, tripping and sputtering. “Matt, can you please-”
“Sh. The cops are almost here.”
And- oh. Foggy can hear the sirens coming. Matt keeps tugging Foggy until they reach the orphanage. They cautiously creep up the creaking stairs and into their bedroom, where they collapse onto Foggy’s bed, panting and sweaty.
“That was-”
“I can’t believe-”
They giggle when they talk at the same time and the tension seems to melt away. Foggy nudges Matt’s arm. “Go ahead, if you’d like.”
“Hm.” Matt’s glasses are crooked and blood splattered but he still looks like a puppy when he tilts his head and raises his eyebrows. “It seems so obvious, now. The way you talk.”
“Yeah. I- It’s not easy, controlling every word out of my mouth. It’s exhausting.”
Matt nods eagerly. “I understand. I spend all day pretending like I need other people, when I’m more capable than anybody I’ve ever met. It makes everyday life so-”
“So tedious?” Foggy bumps his knee against his friend’s. “You don’t have to pretend with me anymore, okay? I want you to tell me everything you can do.”
Matt gets a look on his face like maybe he’s going to cry, and then lunges at the other man. He wraps his arms around his body and gives a watery laugh.
“Thank you, Foggy. Thank you so much. I was so scared to tell you. I didn’t want you to think I was a freak. But now the I know we’re both special, I can tell you-”
“Excuse me?”
“What?” Matt, covered in sweat and blood, smiles serenely and Foggy thanks the god that he doesn’t believe in for the chance to know Matthew Michael Murdock.
“Matt, I’m not special. What you can do- it’s a gift. You’re amazing.” Beautiful. Foggy swallows the lump in his throat. “I’m not gifted. I’m cursed. If I misspeak, if I lose concentration for even a second, I take away a person’s free will. Do you know what would happen if I tell someone to go fuck themselves?”
Matt shakes his head. “It’s not like that. You could never hurt someone.”
“I have, Matt. You have no idea the stuff I’ve done.”
“Then tell me.”
And he does. He tells him about his brain tumor, the Thompsons, the years he spent with Kevin, and the threats against his family. Matt wipes away his tears and in return, tells him about his accident, his father, Stick, and the war that he is prophesied to fight in. They fall asleep on the small bed, thighs brushing lightly.
~-~-~-~
They’re college kids now, tucked into their cramped dorm room, and Foggy doesn’t have a single complaint.
After their confessions, Matt relaxes around Foggy. He’s still Matt; weirdly composed around strangers, irresistible to men and women alike, hilariously dry witted. But he seems freer. He happily pulls Foggy towards organic food trucks and dryly comments that, yes, Foggy, he can smell the burning lasagna that he’d unhelpfully flung out of the window.
It’s almost August and boiling out when Matt tries to fix the wiring in their AC unit. He’s taken over most of these kinds of things but Foggy is drawing the line here.
“Please, Matt. I’m not going to let a blind dude nose around in an electrical panel.”
“Foggy.” Matt’s glasses have been discarded and his open face looks vaguely annoyed. “I can do it.”
Foggy shakes his head. “I don’t think so. Unless you can smell the difference between red and blue wires, I’ve got it covered.”
The taller man throws his hands up in exasperation but takes a step back. Foggy grins triumphantly. “Good, now stay there. Please”
“Mmm. You know you don’t have to do that.” Matt has an unhappy tilt to his lips now, where before there had been a fond smile.
“Do what?”
“Say please all the time.” Oh, right.
While Foggy can finally lament the fact that it’s unfair that he can’t sing along to the musical gift that is the Spice Girls’ Tell Me What You Want, it still feels wrong to be open about his powers like Matt is. So he’s extra careful. He always adds an ‘I think’, a ‘please’, a question mark, whatever he needs to be one hundred percent sure he’s not controlling someone.
“You know that if you accidentally compel me, it’ll be okay.”
Compel.
That’s the word Matt uses, whenever he talks about it. It sounds so mild for what Foggy does to a person. But Matt hasn’t seen it, not really. He’d been righteously angry at the stories Foggy had told him about Kevin, but it isn’t the same as seeing it firsthand.
So Foggy says, “that’s not how it works,” and picks up the screw driver. He doesn’t actually have any idea what he’s doing but the sweltering New York air is doing things to Matt’s skin -shiny, glistening, mesmerizing things- and Foggy is determined to fix it as soon as possible.
“Be careful. What do you mean that’s not how it works?”
“I am! This is me, being careful! Now will you shut up so that I can concentrate?”
Matt gives a whine high in his throat. “Can I please do it? I can’t stand this.”
“Can’t stand what? I’m almost 21, I think I can handle- fuck!” When Foggy turns to glare Matt into silence, the screwdriver catches against one of the wires and sends a zap up his arm.
Matt is yanking him away from the panel before Foggy can even register the pain. Not that it’s significant- after the third electric shock therapy session, Foggy got pretty used to being zapped. He still lets out a dazed “ow” as he sticks the burnt finger into his mouth.
“No, don’t move. You’re bleeding.” Calloused hands pull at the sore finger and Foggy jerks away violently.
“Sto- Please don’t do that. Please.” Normally, Foggy doesn’t mind Matt’s touch but there’s something about an electrical burn that nags at Foggy’s trauma.
Matt doesn’t seem to notice Foggy’s panic over his own. “Oh god, your heart skipped, Foggy, I heard it. We need to get you to the hospital.”
“Matt, really-”
“Come on, get up. Here, take my-”
“I don’t like hospitals, I’d rather not-”
“Don’t be ridiculous! I know what I heard, just stand up-”
“Matt, stop!”
Silence. Foggy manages to scramble away from Matt and tries to calm his breathing. Shit!
The other man is frozen, eyes wide and hands stretching out.
“I didn’t mean to say that. I’m sorry. Matt, I’m so sorry. I just didn’t want to go to the hospital. Fuck! Just, uh. Act of your own free will.”
Immediately, Matt is back at Foggy’s side, though gentler than before. “Foggy, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
“What?” Foggy is panicking, he can feel it, he fucked up, he controlled Matt, he isn’t supposed to-
“I said, are you okay? I didn’t mean to scare you. Take a breath, calm down.”
“I don’t- Matt. I controlled you. That’s twice. I shouldn’t-”
“It’s okay. Please breathe, buddy. I’m not mad, I’m fine.” Matt’s glazed over eyes show concern and Foggy forces himself to slow his breathing. In, out, in, out. Just the way Mrs. Thompson taught him when he was a kid. Except it’s easier now. Before, there were bright lights and a knife pressed to his scalp.
Now, there’s Matt.
Matthew Michael Murdock, who wakes up with messy hair and a pillow creased face and smiles at Foggy before he does anything else. Matt, who runs his fingers over Foggy’s messy hair and makes dry remarks about Rapunzel. No matter where they are and who’s watching, he latches onto Foggy’s elbow. He’s become a solid weight that Foggy has grown so used to that he doesn’t even remember life before it. He’s consistent and kind and fierce and so inherently good and Foggy needs him like he needs air. With his face crinkling smiles, his playfully naive shrugs, his determination to do right by the world that has taken so much -taken everything- from the two of them. He’s Foggy’s entire existence in one tall, lithe, bendable but unbreakable package and- And he knows. He knows everything Foggy has to share and he isn’t mad, he’s understanding, accepting, forgiving.
And he’s looking at Foggy with a wobbling lip and blotchy cheeks. “Please say you’re okay, Foggy.”
Foggy doesn’t say he’s okay. Instead, he leans forward and presses his lips to his best friend’s. Matt makes a muffled noise of shock before rocking forward and gently cupping those calloused hands to Foggy’s cheeks. It’s gentle, a press of lips more than anything, but they both pull away breathless.
“What...?” Matt reaches his hand out and runs a fingertip over Foggy’s still pursed lips.
“I probably should have asked. Sorry.”
Foggy lets out a gasp as Matt drags him down onto his lap. “Stop saying sorry,” he says, before again claiming Foggy’s lips with his own.
~-~-~-~
They celebrate Matt’s 21st birthday with a six pack from a gas station and a DVD of Alien, Nelson Fogwell’s with a bottle of Walmart wine and a Night Court box set, and Franklin Nelson’s at Josie’s, a nasty dive bar that they both immediately take a shine to. That’s where they celebrate their first anniversary, their second anniversary, all the birthdays in between, and that is where they’re headed to now, pre-law bachelor degrees and graduation caps tucked firmly under their arms.
They’d stopped by to see the nuns after the ceremony and had gotten a lovely fruit basket and some cheek kisses. Matt’s cheeks are rosy from the attention, his good ol’ catholic boy side satisfied before what is sure to be a night of thorough debauchery. He’s been giddy all day, gleefully yanking on Foggy’s elbow, hand, shirt, hair, whatever he can tangle his fingers into.
“Do you think she’ll give us free peanuts? On account of the whole Summa Cum Laude thing?” He sounds so earnest that Foggy gives an indulgent nod.
“Yeah, babe. I’m sure she’ll give us peanuts.” Matt hums, pleased.
When they get to the entrance, Matt opens the door for Foggy, showing more competence than he usually lets the public see. Foggy gives his boyfriend a shove towards their usual booth and gestures over his shoulder.
“I’ll grab the first round, go relax if you want.” Matt gives an eye roll but does as Foggy suggests.
When Foggy steps up to the bar, Josie slaps him on the back and winks. “There’s my lawyer lovebird. Ready for that Saturday Night Special?”
Saturday Night Special. That’s the somewhat unoriginal code name Foggy had given when he’d stopped by last week with a carefully wrapped package. Josie had smirked and cat-called and told him not to ruin her bar’s ambiance with anything mushy.
“You got it, Joes.” He had said it so confidently last time, excitement pushing against his heart like a force of nature. Now, the words come out of his mouth all raspy and stuttering and when he tries to pick up the mug of fore-mentioned Saturday Night Special, he realizes his palms are sweaty.
“Man up, Fogwell. You’re a lawyer, this’ll be a piece of cake.”
“Not a lawyer yet, but thanks.”
When Foggy makes it back to the table, Matt has his puppy look on, head cocked and eyebrows dipped. “What’ll be a piece of cake? What’s a Saturday Night Special? All I wanted was a beer. Why’s your heart beating like that?”
“Will ya just drink up, Murdock?” Foggy manages to grit out, sliding the beer mug across the table.
Matt looks like he’s about to open his mouth, when- Clink. Even Foggy can hear the noise of metal against glass and Matt’s worried expression melts away to- to tears.
“Shit! Matt, please don’t cry! It’s okay, we can just pretend this never happened, I’ll take the beer back and-”
“No!” Matt easily blocks Foggy’s outstretched hand and hurriedly tilts the glass up. He chugs it, cheap beer disappearing from the glass to leave only a glinting piece of metal in the left-over foam.
As Matt pours the ring his hand and runs his fingers over it, Foggy clears his throat. “Matthew Michael Murdock, will you marry me?”
Foggy belatedly remembers that he’s supposed to be on his knees but he’s pulled into a still crying Matt’s arms before he gets the chance. “Yes! Yes, Foggy, of course!”
Of course? Matt’s face is red and blotchy and all crinkled up in one of his boyish smiles. He doesn’t move as Foggy untangles himself to pluck off his glasses and gives his all when they join in a searing kiss. They don’t separate until Josie gives a rowdy wolf whistle and the bar's scattered patrons join her, claps and shouts turning Matt’s face red for an entirely different reason. He leans away from Foggy with an embarrassed chuckle and holds out an open palm towards Foggy, beer-wet ring laying there.
“Would you do the honors, Nelson?”
“Of course.”
They spend the rest of the night clinging to each other happily, sneaking kisses and getting steadily more buzzed. They end up getting Matt’s free peanuts and gracefully lose at pool to an old man with less teeth than tattoos. It’s a perfect night. They stumble home earlier than normal but Matt seems particularly eager to- well. He seems eager. And even though Foggy slips up a couple of times that night, Matt seems more than willing to forgive the broken “harder” that he’d distractedly yelled out.
~-~-~-~
Life isn’t perfect between the two of them. Foggy finds himself getting frustrated with Matt’s savior complex and with the way he thinks anything less than perfection is failure. And, on a few occasions, frightened by Matt’s bouts of violence. Never towards Foggy, of course, but the sight of Matt beating the rapist in that alley from years ago still haunts him.
“Could you just relax, please?” Foggy watches as he paces back and forth through their small apartment, hands balled into fists at his side.
“Relax? How can I relax? She’s crying, Foggy, she’s pregnant and crying and her boyfriend is yelling at her and we’re sitting down here like nothing’s happening!”
When Matt changes direction and heads towards the door, Foggy jumps up to catch his wrist. “Matt, will you think for a minute? I know you want to go running around saving everyone but you aren’t Batman!”
“I don’t want to save everyone.” Matt firmly jerks his arm out of Foggy’s grasp and takes another step towards the door. “Just her.” And then he’s gone, leaving their apartment feeling emptier than Foggy knows what to do with.
Matt has spent hours, days, weeks, years trying to convince Foggy to forgive himself for what Foggy considers crimes against nature. And while Foggy is an inherently happy person who laughs loudly and often, he goes quiet for days after one of his slip ups. On nights that Foggy cries into his pillow, Matt slips out their bedroom window and explores the city, unsure of how to help and unable to listen to his fiancé’s tears. Once the sun rises and Matt forces himself back home, he’s given a halfhearted kiss and an unusually large half of their bed.
“Does it make you feel better?” Foggy’s voice is snot-thick and heart shatteringly small.
“Does what make me feel better?”
“Getting away from me for a while. Exploring the city on your own.”
Matt starts to run his fingers through Foggy’s hair but the other man flinches slightly. “It’s not about getting away from you, Fogs. It’s just- I like breathing in the city.” Foggy gives an understanding nod but Matt can hear him swallow down a cry.
But overall their life is peaceful, easy. No demons in the shadows and no monsters in their path.
So of course, that’s when Elektra shows up.
~-~-~-~