Chapter 8
Life was a funny thing.
One moment you’ll be staring down the barrel of the Herculean task of writing a research paper for an ethics class, which, admittedly, you had procrastinated on until the very last day it was due. The assignment had been looming over you for an entire month, yet you had waited until the eleventh hour to begin.
The next thing you know, you’re sitting with your blind best friend in the waiting room of a hospital because he got a call from whoever telling him to come to the hospital as soon as possible. In the moment that follows, your standing next to said best friend, asking him what he wants to do while he holds a little bundle that apparently is his daughter, after she was unceremoniously thrusted into his arms by his ex right before she vanished into what felt like thin air.
Your best friend will then look up at you and tell you that he wants to raise her, says he’s naming her after his late father. You will say okay. You will tell him you will be there every step of the way. You’re in this together.
He’ll ask you what she looks like, and you’ll do your best at describing the now-asleep baby nestled in his arms. He smiles.
Once you leave the hospital, you stop at the nearest shop to buy things a baby will need before going back to your shared dorm, not knowing what will happen next.
You’ll make a mental note to start looking for an apartment close to the university. You’ll look over at your friend as he looks down with unseeing eyes at his child smiling as she holds his finger in her small fist.
You know in that moment that you’re stuck with your best friend, whom you may or may not have a crush on, and his daughter that you’ll be the godfather of.
Needless to say, the research paper was never completed.
Days morph into weeks, and before the calendar had a chance to remind you of the time that had flown by, you'd find that you'd moved into a shitty shoebox apartment with your best friend and his baby. It will be rough, trying to look after a baby and attending classes, but you wouldn’t rather be anywhere else.
You’re stuck with them, even after you storm out the night after you learn that your best friend has been lying to you and that he has some sort of superpower; they’re not superpowers Foggy, and his baby, your goddaughter, may have the same powers; again, they’re not superpowers Foggy.
You’ll come back because you promised him in the hospital that you'd be there every step of the way. You’ll be there the next morning, giving the baby her bottle while humming along to some Broadway tune.
When your best friend wakes up, you’ll see him waddle over to you, seemingly knowing where you’re standing in the tiny kitchen, hair moosed and eyes red. You’ll curse yourself, realising he probably didn’t sleep a wink.
When asked what you’re doing there, you’ll repeat what you said to him in the hospital. You’ll be there every step of the way. You’re in this together.
You are stuck with them, your handsome duck of a roommate and his little duckling daughter. You find yourself feeling as if you couldn’t care less; you’ll feel as though you were exactly where you belonged.
——
All in all, Foggy still finds it hard to believe that this is his life now.
Almost five years later, and he’s a lawyer with his and Matt’s own firm. They do more pro-bono work than regular cases, but they are still somewhat respected. He is the godfather of an adorable little girl who is the spitting image of her father, although Foggy can see some glaring similarities she shares with her mother.
Speaking of her father, Matthew Murdock—a man that Foggy sometimes wonders how on earth he’s still alive. Don’t get him wrong, Matt’s his best friend in the entire world, but good grief he has the preservation instinct of a lemming.
The man goes jumping off of buildings every few nights, hurtling himself at the dangers that lurk in the streets of Hell’s Kitchen, thankfully not anymore in that thin black shirt and cargo pants, even though they made him look admittedly hot. This leaves Foggy to look over Jackie while he grows more grey hairs thinking about Matt, who’s probably thrown himself into a knife fight armed with just his fists, a pair of batons, and determination.
But they do have a system. Matt goes out when he needs to and tries not to be beaten to a pulp, while Foggy takes Jackie in for the night.
He always lets Foggy know that he’s safe, and, most importantly, they don’t keep secrets from each other. This way Foggy doesn’t have to worry himself sick, thinking about the worst-case scenario.
But tonight is different.
Tonight Matt’s out again, this time with one Jessica Jones, gathering information. They apparently compared notes and realised that they were following the same trail. A trail that leads to a man who had his hand in a very dangerous pie. Wilson Fisk.
Foggy didn’t like this one bit. Scratch that; he hated it. But what could he do?
Worry, that’s what.
After Jackie had fallen asleep on the couch from where they were watching The Jungle Book, and he had tucked her into bed, Foggy found himself sitting in the dark in the small living room worrying about anything and everything that could go wrong. He just hopes that none of those worries will come true.
Unfortunately, fate had other ideas.
Foggy woke up to nocking.
He opened his eyes to see that it was still dark. Then he heard it again, nocking. Not from the door; oh no, it was coming from the window. Foggy looked up to see two figures standing on his fire escape, one leaning against the other with their arm slung over the other’s shoulder.
Foggy felt his heart sink as he realised who it was.
Without a second thought, he rushed over to the window, practically janking it open.
In stepped Jessica and Matt, whom she was half carrying. It only took a few moments before Foggy could smell the strong stench of copper.
Foggy cursed under his breath as he helped Jessica get Matt inside and onto the couch. The living room was bathed in the dim moonlight that crept in from the windows.
Foggy disappeared into the bathroom before returning with a heavy-looking box. He turned on a light and sat the box down next to the couch and opened it. Inside there was an assortment of first aid supplies.
Jessica helped sit Matt up as Foggy removed his suit so now he was only in his boxers. Foggy’s innards twisted as he saw the bruises, cuts, and gashes all over Matt’s body.
Shaking his head, Foggy focused on meticulously cleaning the wounds and dressing each of Matt's injuries, stitching up the two deeper lacerations. Foggy was entirely grateful to Clair for giving him some sort of medical first aid training.
It all took probably an hour or so before Foggy packed up the med kit and pushed it aside. He had asked Jessica if she was hurt, but she pointedly told him that she would handle it. She left as soon as Foggy told her that Matt would likely be okay, giving a short goodbye, and then climbed back through the open window.
Foggy sat down on the opposite chair. He ran a hand down his face, then looked up at the ceiling. It felt like he wanted to cry. Sure he’s seen Matt like this before, but it never made it any easier. A million different ways that this could go wrong and every single one was flying through Foggy’s head.
Luckily, Foggy’s thoughts were put to a stop when he heard a groan coming from the couch and practically jumped up.
Matt was thankfully awake.
Foggy was by his side within minutes, a mix of relief and worry etched on his face.
“Hey buddy, you okay?” Foggy asked barely above a whisper.
“Hurts…” Matt grunted out.
“Yeah, that’ll happen when you get hit by what looks like a truck.”
Matt chuckled a pained laugh. Foggy got the memo and quickly got up and walked over to the kitchen.
When he returned a minute or so later, he was holding a glass of water and two painkillers.
“Here, drink this; it’ll help.”
Matt didn’t hesitate as he took the offered glass and meds from his friend.
Taking the now empty glass, Foggy sat it down onto the coffee table and then sat opposite Matt. A thick silence settled between the two as one watched the other regaining his barrings. Matt was the one to break the silence.
“Where’s Jess?” Matt asked, winching as he sat up shakily. Foggy had to resist the urge to help him up, because he knew Matt would want to at least do that himself.
“She left as soon as I was done patching you up. Left through the window, might I add.”
Foggy watched as Matt now sat hunched over his head in his hands. There were about a million burning questions, but only one found its way out.
“Matt,” he started, "wh... what happened?”
This time, Matt did hesitate. He opened and closed his mouth, unsure what to say. Then finally, “We were ambushed; ‘think some of Fisk’s people caught wind of us snooping around a factory of his.” Matt’s voice sounded strained. “Took down a few of them before we had to make a run for it.”
“Not before letting them beat you to a bloody pulp.” Foggy added.
“They only got in a few lucky shots,” Matt resorted, to which Foggy gave an unimpressed look.
“Where’s Jackie?”
“Still sound asleep.”
“Really? I’m surprised she hadn’t woken up yet.”
“That’s the difference between you two. Once she’s asleep, she’s dead to the world.”
This made Matt chuckle.
“Let’s hope it stays that way.”
“Speaking of sleep. Let’s get you to bed; you need to rest.”
“I can stay on the couch,” Matt protested.
“No, you can't; you’re injured. You’re sleeping on the bed.”
“And where will you sleep?”
“On the couch,” Foggy said matter of factly.
“Foggy, I can’t just take your bed.”
“And why not?”
“Well… you…I,” Matt stumbled over his words. “I just can’t.”
“Matt, you’re being stubborn; just take the bed, please.”
Maybe it was the fact that he was high on painkillers, because the next words that came out of his mouth were, "Fine, but only if you’ll sleep there with me.”
This stunned Foggy a bit, but he quickly recovered. “Okay, Matt, let just get you in bed.” Fuck, he was a sucker for that injured duck face of Matt’s.
Foggy in this moment was glad that Matt was blind, just so he wouldn’t see the blush creeping up his neck and spreading over his face. He didn’t know why his body was reacting like this; it’s not like they haven’t shared a bed before; they did it loads of times throughout college.
Maybe it was because he actually had feelings for Matt.
Foggy quickly pushed down the thought and focused on getting Matt into bed.
Foggy swore he blinked, and then he was in bed, next to Matt. They’re both under the covers, lying on their sides, facing each other.
In the dim light filtering through the curtains, Foggy could barely see Matt’s features, though it didn’t matter to the other man.
Foggy saw Matt reaching out with his hand, only stopping short of his face.
"Ca... can I see you?” The question was asked softly, barely a whisper.
Foggy simply nodded and gave a soft "Yeah” as a reply.
His hands worked over Foggy’s face, reading the features as if they were brail. They softly glided over his closed eyelids and ran down his nose.
Foggy opened his eyes to see Matt blinking sleepily at him as he finally rested his one hand on Foggy’s cheek. Foggy gripped the hand’s wrist softly and stroked his thumb over the pulse.
“Night, Matt.” A whisper.
“Night.” A whisper back.
Soon both their eyes were closing, and as both men drifted off to sleep, they shared the same thought, or rather emotion. Fondness and caring mixed with something else. Maybe fear for what is looming over them. Maybe it was something much more simple.
Love.