Foggy means home.
Foggy means safety.
Foggy is asleep by the time Matt climbs through the window late at night. He cradles the new stitches on his pectorals and abdomen. He tenses when his knuckles brush by the bruise on his cheek as he takes off the mask, placing it on the small table between the couches. The material of his suit clings to him tightly as he moves across the floor to the bedroom. His footsteps are purposely quiet so he doesn’t wake up Foggy. He knows it is a lost cause because once he slides into their bed, Foggy will wake up to pull Matt to his chest.
When he enters the bedroom, he discards the suit quickly and efficiently before pulling his pajama bottoms on. Matt sits on the chair in the corner. His mind is filled with noise and he won’t wake up Foggy with the clutter. He reclines, letting his head lean on the wall of their apartment, and listens to the cadence of Foggy’s heartbeat. It’s stable and Matt latches on in an instant.
He breathes in and out, counting each second that passes. Foggy’s light snores fill the room and Matt relaxes.
For once, Foggy is not consumed by nightmares.
After he found out that Matt was the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, Foggy would dream of the most unpleasant. He would dream of Matt bleeding away in an alley because he wasn’t careful enough. He’d dream of Matt dying on his living room floor because a bullet got too close to a major organ and it was too late to repair it. Images of his partner beaten and bruised left an imprint in his mind, burning his heart. Every single night without fail, Foggy would dream of death and wake up with his heart pounding and eyes filled to the brim with unshed tears.
When Matt would shake him out of his sleep, concern etched in his face, Foggy would say he didn’t remember what he dreamt about. Matt knew it was a lie but he didn’t pry any further. He believed Foggy would tell him in time when he was comfortable. He didn’t protest when Foggy held him tighter, despite how warm their apartment was. It was as if he were afraid Matt would disappear if they had no physical contact - as if he couldn’t sleep without Matt’s heart beating away underneath his palm.
Matt found out when he overheard Foggy talking to Karen.
He was walking into his office when Karen made an offhand remark about how pronounced the bags under Foggy’s eyes were. His heart began beating quickly as he laughed nervously and dismissed it by saying he spent a lot of time awake with Matt. Karen didn’t believe him. She stayed quiet before asking him what really happened. Her voice became a whisper and the dam burst.
Foggy’s voice cracked and his chest hammered as he spoke of his nightly terrors. The smell of salt entered the air when he described Matt’s ‘deaths’ and his fear of Matt never coming home because his body would be in the morgue. There was a choked sob and Matt bit his cheek, knuckles white as he gripped his chair, urging himself not to burst into Foggy’s office. Karen’s shirt ruffled as she held Foggy in her arms and murmured words of comfort. It didn’t help but she tried.
“I can’t ask him to stop being Daredevil,” Foggy said into her shirt, “it would be selfish of me. This city needs him much more than I do. He helps the people - albeit illegally - and I can’t stop him no matter how much I want him to.”
Matt felt his heart break.
“Have you told him this yet?”
“I won’t. You know how he gets. He will feel guilty that what he’s doing is hurting me but he won’t stop because it will hurt him to leave this place defenseless. He was born with the urge to fight and protect in his blood. If I were to prevent him from going out at night and fighting the bad guys, he’d grow to resent me. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.”
“Or the one.”
“I knew getting you to watch Star Trek was worth it.”
When their conversation and day ended, Matt swept Foggy in his arms and kissed him ragged. He hoped that it would convey every feeling and word left unsaid. Foggy knew he heard. He always knew. He understands Matt and he always understood that those words wouldn’t leave his mouth because they would be lies. Promises of long lives lived together and the promise of coming home safely each night would only be empty. He wouldn’t put Foggy through that and give him false hope. It is too dangerous to promise when you are unsure yourself.
For that, Matt was sorry.
Matt rises from the chair he nearly falls asleep in then kneels by the left side of the bed, ignoring his leg’s protest, and touches the mattress, searching for Foggy’s extended arm where it rests expectantly for Matt’s arrival. Once his fingers brush by the elbow, he entangles his fingers with Foggy’s and bows his head. His forehead rests on the back of Foggy’s hand and he begins to whisper under his breath. His heart thuds heavily in his ribcage.
Can you forgive me when my ambitions become too strong?
He remembers the way Foggy held him tight as he growled out his anger at losing a case that they should have rightfully won. Matt felt blood seep from his knuckles after he punched a wall and swore he would make it right. Foggy had wrapped his hand up and pressed a kiss on top of the bandage before letting him go become the Devil.
Can you forgive me when I need you to bare it with me?
Matt remembers how Foggy put him back together when he failed to save an innocent in the aftermath of destruction. His rage mixed with sorrow would not leave him but the gentle touches and soothing words spilling from Foggy’s mouth cooled him down. Slowly but surely.
Can you forgive me when I may not come home someday?
Foggy had pushed him away when Matt went missing for nearly a week. His phone had died and he’d been trying to recover while Claire removed the shrapnel from the burns on his side because of a homemade bomb explosion. He remembers how his heart threatened to rip apart when Foggy cried and shouted at him because he thought Matt was dead after he heard the incident on the news.
I’m sorry that I can’t promise we’ll grow old together because with what I am, I don’t know if that is a possibility.
The velvet box holding the golden band Karen helped him pick out resides in his black coat pocket in the closet burning a hole through the material. He doesn’t know when he’ll propose. He just knows he wants Foggy to wear it on his finger until the end of time.
I’m sorry that I come bleeding but I will try to always come home to you.
“I love you, Foggy.”
“I love you too, Matt.”
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
When did Matt start crying? He does not know. The two words repeatedly leave his mouth. He can’t stop saying he’s sorry. He can’t stop apologizing for what he has done and for what he will continue to do despite how much he will be hurting Foggy. His faith lies in the hands of God and the hope that the city will be safer with him in it. But even as he knows his choice of actions are most logical, he can’t help but feel like he let Foggy down. His hands begin to tremble and he feels lethargic. The bones in his body weigh heavily as he kneels by the bedside clutching Foggy’s hand like it’s a lifeline.
He is so distracted he hardly notices that the steady heartbeat transitioned from one of sleep to that of someone awake and listening. Matt flinches when the hand pulls away from his grasp. Fingers run through his hair and touches the cheek without bruising. They gently wipe the tears away before lifting Matt’s chin up so he’s facing a sorrowful Foggy.
Foggy leans over and pulls him in for a kiss. Matt’s mouth opens immediately and they join together. He can taste their tears and his eyes flutter closed. It’s not a kiss of fiery passion but of dewy mornings and what-could-be’s. His hands come up to grasp the man’s cheek and neck while Foggy pulls him closer. Foggy’s hair drifts onto his face, tickling Matt’s cheeks and nose. He smells like home.
He cannot repress the whimper that escapes him when Foggy pulls away. Their foreheads touch and both of their eyes are closed. It is silent for a moment, save for the sounds outside on the streets and their breathing. Foggy speaks first.
“Don’t say anything more, Matty,” his eyes remain closed but his hands come to rest on Matt’s cheeks - thumb stroking his cheekbone. “There is nothing to forgive or be sorry about.”
“But-”
“But nothing, Murdock. I understand that what you do is for the best. You know how much I hate it when you get injured, but you’re protecting people for fucks sake. It comes with the territory. I just... It takes time for me to get used to the fact that I have to share you with the rest of the city. I have to remember that I’m not the only one that has you by their side, protecting them from the shitstorm that is Hell’s Kitchen.”
Foggy opens the sheets and pulls Matt into his chest. He waits for the other man to adjust before covering him. Matt releases a sigh, not knowing how cold he had been before, and wraps his arms around Foggy’s torso. His skin is soft and radiates heat.
“I love you so much, Matt. So please try to come home relatively in one piece.” Foggy kisses Matt’s temple and buries his face in his hair. His hands skim over his broad back before settling on his hips.
Matt murmurs his response into Foggy’s clavicle, “I love you too and I will try. For you.”
“The needs of the many outweigh…”
“...the needs of the few…”
“...or the one,” Foggy finishes curling his arms around him tighter. He can feel the soft breaths on his collarbone.
“I have been, and always shall be, yours,” Matt whispers with a smile as he presses a kiss to Foggy’s chest.