Maybe The Sun's Light Will Be Dim

Foggy let out a groan as the words he had been staring at for the past two hours began to blur together, his head was throbbing, and his eyes were filled with grit as he blinked.

With a final glare towards the offending work Foggy stuffed the papers back into their assigned folders, perhaps with a smidge more aggression than they deserved. Foggy made a mental note to reorganize and smooth them out in the morning or face Karen’s ire at the mess she had carefully crafted.

Standing up he popped his back, rolled his neck and spared a glance at the clock. Neon red numbers warned him that if he didn’t pass out in bed within the next ten minutes, he would be beating back exhaustion with a stick the next day.

He didn’t know how Matt did it, sleeping a handful of hours every night and still be sharp the next day to give a closer argument. Then again, the man was notorious for coming in late after 'sleeping it off'.

As Foggy was shuffling to the bathroom for a quick brush of the teeth, the lights gave out and plunged him into darkness. Almost immediately Foggy stubbed his toe on the bed frame and swore loudly as he peered into the abyss.

“Please don’t be rats, please just be a blown fuse.”

Matt would have heard rats if there was a nest in their walls, but as Foggy very well knew Matt knowing something and telling what he knew were often miles apart.

Reaching out he felt the edge of the bed and used it as a guide, creeping along slowly with his left hand reaching out until it hit the firm wood of the night table. An empty glass was knocked over as Foggy patted the surface and the sound of it shattering on the ground had Foggy’s heart racing.

Finally, he felt the familiar shape of his phone and let out a sigh of relief. Powering the device on it lit up briefly to blind him with its dim light before flashing angrily that its battery was dead before going pitch black.

Foggy clearly remembered putting the phone on the nightstand with the full intent to plug it in.

As a final confirmation of his ignorance Foggy reached out, low and behold right next to where the phone had been the charger waited patiently to do its job while Foggy had completely ignored its existence hours before.

“Fuck! Nice job Nelson!”

Tossing the now useless phone onto the bed Foggy slid his feet carefully, hyper aware of the broken glass that was somewhere littering the floor.

The shuffle to the door was slow even after he cleared the glass shards. Foggy made an effort to keep the floors uncluttered since moving in with Matt, even with super senses the man could trip over an errant pair of pants after a long night.

Foggy’s fingers hit the door and he fumbled until the doorknob was in his grasp, opening it revealed more unending darkness and Foggy groaned. He typically kept the curtains closed, the neon lights often proving distracting when he was in the living room.

Of course, the this was the one night he would have benefited from the changing neon lights he typically hated. The path to the closed curtains in the living room was harder, sticking close to the wall for guidance and shuffling on socked feet.

The silence was stifling and bore down heavily, accentuating his every breath and his heartbeat heavily in his ears.

Background noises of cars and shouts that were typical of Hell’s Kitchen did little to ease his sudden claustrophobia. The sharp edge of a table that he had helped moved into position himself dug into his side during the trek, “Fuck!”

The word crashed through the silence and was swallowed by the room. He had been in plenty of blackouts before from varying causes but something about this was making the reptile part of his brain kick into overdrive.

It felt like someone was watching him, standing just close enough that if Foggy reached back he would feel them. Every time his hair brushed the nape of his neck it felt like someone's breath and it took every once of self control for Foggy not to wheel around behind and try to grasp an imaginary figure. 

Foggy let out a sigh of relief when his fingers touched the heavy fabric of the curtain and pulled back the half he held, wincing as the rungs clattered loudly against one another.

The billboards light cut through the darkness, flooding it with pink light and Foggy felt infinitely more comfortable. Using the newfound light he pulled back the other side. With the room awash in soft glows Foggy felt foolish for getting so worked up.

For regressing immediately to childhood fears of being terrified of coats on hangers because the dark made them look like monsters.

Newly confident with the neon light bathing the room he turned on his heel, a plan forming to tear apart the kitchen for a lighter. He knew they had candles and was fairly confident they had a working flashlight somewhere in the flat that he would definitely not be clutching next to his chest until his boyfriend came home.

Daredevil stood behind him and Foggy let out a short yell, clutching his chest when he saw the horns.

“Jesus Matt! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?!”

His heart pounded in its caged home and didn’t slow its tempo despite Matt’s presence.

“Matt? You ok there babe?”

Matt didn’t respond beyond a small head tilt that meant he was listening to something, whether it was to him or something else Foggy couldn’t hear he couldn't tell. The hairs on his neck stood to attention and Foggy felt the cold sweat beginning to form at the looming figure in front of him.

Foggy logically knew Matt was dangerous, that Daredevil prowled the streets at night to break the bones any criminal unlucky enough to catch his ear.

It was a fact of life that Foggy tried not to dwell on, and it was admittedly difficult to equate the dark, brooding Daredevil with Matt.

Matt whose expression of any emotional pain looked identical to a kicked puppy.

Matt who got tongue tied and flustered when something more serious than casual flirting was directed at him, who smiled the smuggest grin when he knew he won no matter the situation. Whose whole face lit up when the smile was genuine, eyes crinkling with mirth.

Foggy knew Daredevil was dangerous just as he knew that Matt was a dork pretending to be suave. The two facts about the same person didn’t mesh in a conceivable way, so yes Foggy easily forgot that Matt was more than capable of being violent and dangerous.

Now with a suddenly silent Matt who held himself straight and posed for a fight, Foggy’s heart was pounding, and he was forcing himself to stand still instead of retreat.

For a moment Foggy was terrified it wasn’t Matt and was instead a copycat, but even in the dim and changing lights Foggy would know Matt anywhere. Realization broke over Foggy that had his heart pounding for a different reason, Matt had acted like this a few times after a bad hit to the head and Foggy shifted into caretaker mode.

“Shit Matty, if you keep getting concussions like this, you’re going to start forgetting stuff. And I don’t know how to convince an amnesiac Matt that he managed to land me.”

Still no response which meant this was a bad one, walking closer Foggy lifted a hand up.

Giving Matt plenty of time to process even through muddled senses that Foggy was approaching, this close Foggy could see the way Matt jaw was clenched and he vowed to call Claire and ask how to check for a dislocated jaw.

He was going to call her anyway, even with his steadily improving first aid skills Foggy was not at all comfortable with head injuries unless the remedy was a bag of peas and a butterfly bandaid.

Foggy touched the bottom of the mask's frame, thankful to be able to take it off and see the full face of his boyfriend again because even though he knew it was Matt under there his instincts that reacted to danger hadn't gotten the message that Foggy was safe.

A gloved hand wrapped around his wrist, the grip promising to leave bruises.

“Ok you don’t want me touching the mask. But I need to know how bad this is and you’re not exactly verbal, so I really need to see what I’m dealing with.”

He tried to wriggle his wrist out of the vice grip, only for the hand to squeeze just a bit tighter.

Foggy let out a pained gasp, “Matthew let go. You’re hurting me.”

The alarm bell ringing was not from the fact Matt had his wrist in a vice grip, but that the man hadn’t dropped his arm and sprinted away at the first instance of causing physical discomfort to Foggy.

For the first time Foggy was scared of what Matt could do to him. How hands that roamed over his body as if he was spun glass, could also break his bones with ease. He swallowed and knew that Matt would hear it even without his super senses, with a conjured steadiness he often used in court he pushed the growing fear aside.

“Matt. You need to talk to me, tell me what's wrong so I can help, and please let me go.”

One moment Foggy was standing, looking at Matt, the next he was on the ground with a screaming wrist and no air in his lungs.

Adrenaline fueled his veins as he scrambled to his hands and knees, adrenaline overriding the agony that came with putting pressure on his left hand as he desperately tried to get his body moving.

Finally upright he grabbed the closest weapon, an old lamp that they had bought together in college, and turned on his heel swinging it. His earlier paranoia had been right, Matt was behind just him with a tilted head, like a cat playing with a mouse instead of just killing it outright.

The lamp's base connected with Matt’s head and any hope Foggy had of fending off Matt until someone more knowledgeable came along, died when the blow did nothing but tilt his head to the side.

Foggy could see the next blow coming but still was unprepared for the fist that struck his middle with full force, doubling over with a pained exhale.

A hand grabbed him by the hair, using the leverage to smash Foggy’s head into the small table.

Blackness overtook Foggy’s vision before it came back, albeit less clear than before.

Beyond the haze a voice that sounded like Matt was telling him to get back up, that flat on his back was the worst position to be in during a fight.

His limbs felt far away as he tried to pull his legs closer to move away, the effort was wasted when hands clamped around an ankle and pulled sharply. Foggy cried out and kicked frantically with his free foot before a padded knee was slammed into his stomach, digging into vulnerable organs.

Daredevil's full weight was pressing into Foggy and Foggy was terrified of the man above him. The red lens bared down on him, his heart was hammering in its cage.

The Devil didn’t care, instead he leaned forward, bruising and disregarding Foggy’s whimper.

Coated hands wrapped around Foggy’s neck and however scared Foggy had been just moments before held nothing to the fear that flooded his brain now.

He struggled to get out of Daredevil’s hold, bucking and thrashing wildly but nothing he did so much as shifted the weight bearing down on him. The fingers loosely circling his throat twitched and hope flooded through, but then they tightened.

Matt had taught him a few self-defense moves, one of which had been so similar to where they were now.

Matt’s hands had been feather light along his throat, his legs on either side of Foggy with little weight resting on the man underneath him.

Foggy had managed to throw him off, and Matt had smiled at the progress before going serious. “Fogs-“

“I know, this is for self defense only. Not for running around trying to punch out pickpockets, don’t worry Matty-there is absolutely no threat of me becoming a vigilante on the side.”

Matt’s frown deepened for a moment, no doubt worrying about a scenario he hadn’t even thought of before.

“This- all of this,” he gestured around the gym, “is to help you get away. So you can get to safety as fast as possible.”

So you can get away until I can save you, went unspoken.

Foggy couldn’t remember a single self defense lesson that Matt or the others had tried to teach him while being strangled.

Instincts took over; he clawed at the thick material, shoved at Daredevil's face, kicked his legs wildly and bucked his hips.

Foggy saw the Devil staring down at him with red eyes, and fought desperately even as the pressure continued.

His lungs burned, every small suck of air he could get in only added to the fire that had spread to his every cell. Foggy's vision tunneled black and the hold loosened just a fraction, enough for his body to desperately draw in air through a smaller area and the darkness to give way to a haze.

A low buzz had begun in his ears and the pounding of his heart muffled the sound of the door being kicked open, Foggy couldn’t turn his head but could see a glow out of the corner of his eye.

He reached his hand out to the glow, a silent plea to be saved.

The force around his neck returned, tighter than before and Foggy was certain that Daredevil was going to snap his neck.

That help had arrived just to watch his final moment at the hands of his love.

Then the pressure was gone, he sucked in air through an abused airway, but the tightness was still there.

Foggy could still feel the force of hands blocking his windpipe even as the sound of a fight between two men echoed past the fading ringing in his ears.

He clawed desperately at his throat, something was over it, choking him and he needed to get free. Some invisible was preventing him from breathing despite how desperately he tried, his lungs burned, and his brain was screaming to run.

Yet his limbs were miles away, even as his nails dug into bruised skin he couldn’t feel it. His senses faded in and out but Foggy was distantly aware of a strange wheezing, his first thought was that one of the two still grappling with each other had a broken rib.

As the harsh sound continued the slow realization that it was his own strangled breaths making the sound only made a fresh panic consume him.

He wasn’t getting enough air, his body was going to start shutting down if it wasn’t already form the lack of oxygen.

Stomping feet registered in the back of Foggy’s mind as reinforcements but a familiar feminine voice shouting, “Fuck!”, let him know that the cavalry had arrived. The low ringing was fading in and out, when it faded he heard the sound of someone being tossed around like a rag doll.

A large, firm hand was gently shaking his shoulder and Foggy heard the rumble of a baritone voice. Making out the words was harder and the spots around his vision cleared enough to make out a fuzzy figure leaning over him.

The broad shoulders gave Luke away and even with blurry vision Foggy could make out the distinct frown.

The shape moved and Foggy must have blinked for too long because Luke was holding something, talking over the noise of the fight.

“…crushed windpipe, he’s wheezing real bad…bloodshot…how fast….ambulance…”

Oh, Luke was talking about him. Rattling off how fucked up he was to an unknown person, and it was different to hear it out loud.

Made it real in a way that had Foggy’s heart leap to throat.

He might die, may already be in the process of dying, and now Luke was leaving him.

Luke was shifting his legs to get out of his crouch and Foggy couldn’t let that happen, he couldn’t be alone for this. He grabbed blindly at the slowly fading figure, couldn’t let him leave Foggy there alone.

Couldn’t be alone, his back glued to the ground and unable to move or breath. He let out what must have been a truly pitiful sound but didn’t care how it sounded because Luke stopped moving.

Luke took the hand closest to him and rested another on his shoulder.

“Help is coming. Hang on.”

Foggy tried to speak, to give some confirmation that he had heard him that didn’t involve moving.

No sound came out other than a loud wheeze, Luke’s voice started again but the ringing was back with a vengeance.

Foggy tried again and it felt like trying to speak when a straw was the only way you could breathe, he coughed against his wishes. It was a small cough, yet it brought more blinding pain that had Foggy choking and coughing heavily.

He tried swallowing and began to drown, fighting for air.

His chest was moving quickly, and he knew he was hyperventilating, but he was so far away from his body that it didn't matter.

Blackness coated his eyes and the low ring turned deafening.

A new pain coursing through his body had him wheezing again, the momentary peace ruined.

Luke’s blurry, hunched figure came back into view.

“Foggy?!”

Matt’s yell rose above the ringing, and Foggy could have wept over that voice.

Matt’s face, blessedly free from the Devil, was now inches from his face.

“Mhm.”

Even with his spotted vision he could see how stricken Matt was, and Foggy mused that the one upside to the blur was being unable to see whatever face of devastation Matt wore.

Matt drew back, loudly yelling at whatever crowd surrounded Foggy and voices droned around him in answer. Foggy didn’t bother to try and focus, every cell was burning and now that Matt was here the darkness whispered sweet nothings of relief.

Matt’s face was in his again and this close Foggy could see the tears.

“No, please stay with me!”

If Foggy could find wherever his limbs had gone, he’d brush the tears away, if he could speak, he’d tell the man how much he loved him. To always continue forward even if he wasn’t there and, for once, to rely on other people for emotional support.

The muffled sounds of a siren registered, as did new yelling, from Matt and who he was positive was Jessica.

A new female but still achingly voice joined the cacophony and Foggy just couldn’t fight the dark anymore, slipping into it and embraced by sweet nothingness despite the pleas echoing from Matt.