Crash

15. IN WHICH MATT’S MENTAL STATE IS LIKE, ROCK BOTTOM? BITCH YOU THOUGHT

Two days of sick leave later, Matt returns to work feeling worse than ever.

The downturn had king hit him out of nowhere and at the worst possible time. Forty-eight hours is a lot of time to just hit pause on a criminal investigation, especially when said criminals are after your friends. Nothing had happened, but still - it’s the guilt that’s weighing on him more than anything else when he finally walks back through the doors of Nelson, Murdock and Page.

You’re pathetic. Useless. Sitting around on your arse for two days while the Hellhounds are up to God knows what? If they’ve got a head start on you because of this, it’s your fault.

“Matt!”

Karen’s the first one up from her desk. She hurries towards him, radiating worry. “Jesus, you look like shit. You should’ve taken another day off to rest.”

“I’m okay,” Matt says, standing there patiently as she rests a hand against his forehead. He feels oddly numb. “It’s not a fever, Karen, I’m fine.”

“What caused it?”

“I just get migraines sometimes.” The lie slips out easily. So does the next, bigger one. “I feel much better now.”

“Hey!” Foggy says, coming up on his other side. His heart’s racing way faster than Matt would’ve expected; both of theirs are. He thought he’d sounded pretty convincing on the phone. It’s not like it’s the first time he’s taken a sick day, although they’re usually more like injury days. Worry squirms in the pit of his stomach.

Why are they both being so weird?

“You okay, buddy?” Foggy rubs his arm. “We wanted to come over but you said it’d just make it worse and I remembered how when you used to get headaches in college you just needed, like, total silence. Sensory overload thing, right?”

“Right,” Matt agrees weakly. Foggy had been amazing back then, making sure he had dark and silence to recover in. He feels guilty now for how sympathetic the other man sounds. “Just gotta ride it out.”

They’re both fussing over him and it makes something anxious and sick rise up in his chest.

He hates lying to them.

He hates it, especially Foggy, but migraine was a lot easier to explain than the truth. How can he possibly tell them that he just - woke up one morning and couldn’t get out of bed? That everything felt too heavy, the world outside too loud and chaotic and he just- couldn’t stomach the thought of seeing any of them. That he’d suddenly felt anxious about every tiny little thing, from work to Frank to the Hellhounds to the idea of Karen-and-Foggy. All of it had suddenly seemed looming and dreadful.

Getting dressed. Walking to work. Even just having to be out where people could see him, all of it seemed to demand energy he just didn’t have. All he’d wanted to do was sleep and not think about it. Being unconscious was better than being awake.

It scares him to think about. The only reason he got up today was because he overheard his neighbour’s television playing some news about a drug deal downtown and the stress of not being out there fighting the Hellhounds had been bigger than the stress of coming into work and dealing with human interaction.

Even so - he still feels shaky and raw and like he just - doesn’t want to do any of this. Part of him wants to take Karen’s offer and go home and get back under the covers and not have to be around anyone.

When Frank walks in from the kitchen it’s a breaking point; too many people in the room, too many eyes on him. Too many heartbeats and humans around.

“Hey Red,” he says, and Matt suddenly feels a spike of panic. It’s been two days and the last time he saw Frank they were making out against his desk. What does he want? What will he expect? “Feelin’ better?”

Matt nods, but suddenly he can barely breathe.

“Yeah. I’m fine.” It comes out smoothly, a practiced lie, even as he turns to flee from the room. “I - I gotta make a phone call, sorry. A lot of work to catch up on.”

He sits out on the stairs of the fire escape and tries to get rid of that feeling like he’s about to cry. Like, what the fuck. Nothing’s even happened.

Pull it together, Matty, Stick’s voice says somewhere in the back of his head, faintly disapproving. He squeezes his eyes shut and shoves a hand in his pocket, runs his rosary beads through his fingers, counting them.

The door opens behind him. Frank comes out and Matt turns his head away, jaw clenched.

“That’s a new one,” Frank says. “Invisible phone call.”

“Frank.” His voice comes out too raw and pleading. “I can’t do this right now.”

He needs space. He needs-

Frank sits next to him. Doesn’t touch him. After a moment he passes Matt a mug; he takes it reflexively. It smells like coffee - strong and sweet, laced with whiskey and cream. Warmth seeps through the ceramic and into his fingertips. He takes a small sip, then another, closing his eyes with a sigh.

“You can stay.”

“What?” Frank asks.

“After months of the shit Karen manages to produce with that coffee machine, this is like manna from heaven.”

Frank huffs out a laugh and settles back, leaning on his elbows. He doesn’t push for them to talk, and Matt closes his eyes, relieved. Being alone was good, but - this is okay. He tries to settle down. Drinks half the coffee and feels a spreading warmth. The sunlight on his skin is nice. Frank next to him is nice. The sound of his breathing is steadying.

After a little while he finally feels a bit less like he’ll fall apart if he talks.

“Thanks,” he says, and clears his throat. “Thanks for taking care of them the last two days. Nothing happened?”

Frank shakes his head.

“Hellhounds have backed off - for now at least. We kept researching, but we haven’t gone after ‘em yet. Figured we’d wait for you. Got a few leads.”

Matt nods. He still feels guilty, but it settles a little at Frank’s words. Nothing’s fallen apart. Yet.

“Sorry for the delay.”

“Can’t help getting sick, Red,” Frank points out. There’s something disapproving in his voice. After a second he says, carefully, “Migraine, huh?”

Matt shrugs. Looks down.

“They can hit out of nowhere. Just gotta wait for it to pass. Sleep it off.”

“Right.” There’s a pause. He can tell Frank’s mulling something over. “You know, Murdock, the look on your face when you walked in that door… ain’t never seen someone so scared to see his friends before. And I know nothing happened with them the last two days. No big fight. Nothing.”

Matt’s heart pounds. He doesn’t want to talk about it. But Frank’s voice is steady, measured - no judgement in it.

“Wasn’t a migraine,” Frank deduces.

“I wasn’t lying,” Matt snaps. “I’ve spent the last two days sleeping.”

“Didn’t say you were lying about that. You sure look like you haven’t eaten or shaved in two days.” He shifts a little, looking at him; Matt stares straight ahead. “You know they can tell you’re not okay, right? They’re not idiots. And they care about you.”

“I know,” Matt whispers. His chest feels tight and heavy.

“You shoulda seen the look on Nelson’s face when I came out here. He wanted to be the one to go talk to you.”

“Surprised he let you do it.”

“They’ve been weird the last two days,” Frank admits. “Not sure what I did to piss ‘em off but they’re both barely talking to me. I think it’s just - awkward. Me bein’ over at their house all the time.”

Matt hums.

“The thing between you and Karen?” he says, and pretends not to notice the way Frank’s heart spikes, just a little. “Pretty sure Foggy’s picked up on it.”

“That ship’s sailed,” Frank says. His voice is firm but his heart’s telling another story. “Ain’t nothing happening between me and Karen. It’s up to her to make sure he knows that. We’re not talking about that, though,” he adds, and shifts again. “Look… Red… I was worried.”

“What?”

“Come on. You disappear for two days outta nowhere. At least we got a phone call to know you were alive.”

“You didn’t have to worry,” Matt says, but Frank shakes his head.

“I did.” Something too heavy in his voice. “You know why.”

Matt squeezes his eyes shut. That night hangs in the air - that horrible, frenzied night. Dark, dark. Standing in the face of a dozen gun barrels and not fucking moving. Another stab of guilt. Of course that… that’d affect Frank, too.

“It’s not like that,” he forces out. His voice is tight and choked. “I wasn’t - I wouldn’t hurt myself.”

“But you’re not okay,” Frank says.

“Nothing happened.” His voice is barely convincing to himself. “I was just - tired.”

“Nothing happened?” Frank demands. Now he shifts closer, his shoulder bumping against Matt’s. “Fisk happened. That shit with the Hand, with your girl, that all happened. And now this? Nelson getting attacked? A lot happened, Red. That shit builds up.”

Matt bites his tongue. He doesn’t know what to say. His heart is pounding desperately, and you want someone to notice, you wanted this, but in the moment he just feels - too exposed, too vulnerable. Too much like someone knowing makes it real.

“Look.” Frank’s voice is gentler now. “I’ve been there, done that. You gotta talk to someone. Not saying one of us, just - someone. ‘cause it doesn’t get better on its own. Trust me on that.”

Easy words. Problem is, Matt’s got fuck all friends aside from these guys, and it’s not like he can just find a therapist he trusts.

“Father Lantom was…” he trails off. It hurts to even think about. “But he’s gone now. I guess… my mum, but - things are weird between us. It’s not that easy, Frank.”

“You can’t ignore stuff like this,” Frank insists. “It festers.”

“I know. You’re right.” Part of him just wants to get Frank off his back, but he also knows it’s true.

“Look, I told you - I’ve been there, okay?” Frank adds, like he suspects Matt’s just agreeing for the sake of it. “It fucking sucks. You just - feel like nothing’s worth doing. Easier to let it all slip past. But you gotta let yourself heal. Got to get it through your head that it’s - that you’re - worth the effort.”

Matt’s quiet for a moment, gathering himself. Frank’s voice is a little stilted and awkward, but very sincere. He appreciates the effort, even if it’s hard to let the words sink in.

Finally he takes a deep breath.

“Don’t worry,” he says, “Murdocks always get back up.”

“Good.” Frank claps him on the shoulder. “C’mon, let’s go in. You’ll feel better after eating something.”

“Frank…” his voice is so soft Frank leans in a little to hear. “Thanks.”

He lets his head drop down against Frank’s shoulder. It’s a bit weird - a bit too intimate, too close, too affectionate a gesture. Not like all that shit they were doing before, impulsive and fuelled by something else - frustration or anger or jealousy.

Frank doesn’t seem to mind. He wraps an arm around Matt and holds him close for a moment. It’s - nice. Comforting. And Matt suddenly doesn’t know where things between them are going, what this all actually means, but - Frank’s here, and he feels safe, and the other man and all their parallels, their shared stories, make it suddenly seem a bit less impossible that he might eventually be able to fight his way through the dark. He’s just very tired.

Foggy wants to talk to him.

He keeps getting up, moving towards Matt’s door, then going and sitting down again. His heart is pounding as fast as a hummingbird’s wings. It’s really making Matt quite nervous.

Even worse than Foggy is Karen. Matt’s work crosses over with hers a lot more that day and she’s being really weird. She’s not looking at him when she speaks - he can tell - and her heart’s doing all sorts of weird shit whenever he gets close to her.

What the hell’s going on?

It’s not just that they’re worried about him. He is intimately acquainted with what worry feels like, and it’s not this. In his already rattled state, it really fucking freaks him out. Is she angry with him? Did he do something without realising?

Because Matt is Matt, he doesn’t bring it up with her directly. Instead he swallows his nerves and knocks on Foggy’s door a little after lunch.

“Hey!” Foggy cries, a bit too excitedly. He ushers Matt in and pulls out a chair for him. Then sits next to him, instead of across the desk. “You doing alright?”

“Much better, thanks,” Matt says automatically. He can feel Foggy’s gaze on him, and the other man’s hands are awkwardly gripping his knees, like he’s halfway to reaching out to touch Matt. “This is a bit awkward, but did I do something to annoy Karen?”

“What?” Foggy says. “No. Dude, you haven’t seen her in two days, how could you manage to piss her off when you’re not even here?”

He’s not lying. Somehow Matt still can’t relax.

“She seems a bit off around me,” he says. “I don’t know.”

“Oh.” Now Foggy’s heart skips faster. “She’s not angry with you.”

“Then what is it?” Matt pushes, ‘cause he might not be lying but it sure as hell isn’t the whole truth.

“She’s just worried.” Also not a lie. Also not the truth. It’s not like Foggy to be so evasive; that’s usually Matt’s domain.

He doesn’t really know where to go with this next. It’s unpleasant, he realises, being the one served half-truths. He feels a pang of sympathy for all the times he’s been the one to do this to Foggy instead.

After a second Foggy shifts a bit closer to him.

“Hey,” he says, softer, “You know if you… if you need to talk about anything, I’m always here, right?”

“Of course,” Matt replies, but Foggy shakes his head.

“No, seriously, Matt. I… I feel like we’ve been kinda distant lately.” He’s upset. His voice is just slightly thicker than normal. “I know that… that everything that happened after Fisk came back was kinda crazy, but we’re past that now. I’m past that.”

I’m not, Matt thinks, but doesn’t say it out loud. He knows that’s not what Foggy means, anyway. They never really sat down and properly talked about everything - about Matt coming back, about how much of a dick he was when he did it, but Foggy doesn’t sound like he’s lying now.

“I know,” he says softly. Then, “Thanks.”

Foggy is quiet for a moment. Matt gets the distinct impression that he’s waiting for Matt to say or do something. Then the distinct impression that he’s disappointed. Finally he takes a deep breath.

“You seemed upset this morning,” he says finally. “I’m glad Frank could help. I just…”

He trails off, and Matt catches his breath.

Oh.

Of course. Of course Foggy would feel left out. He’s already got to deal with the whole Frank-and-Karen thing. Now Frank usurping his position as best friend, as support…

“Foggy,” he says quietly, “It’s not like that. You’re my best friend.”

“But there’s things he gets that I don’t,” Foggy says heavily. “Right? Things you can’t put into words?”

Matt doesn’t know what to say.

“Same story with Karen,” Foggy murmurs, and Matt closes his eyes for a moment.

That’s not it. Not all of it, not really. It’s part of it, sure, because Frank does get it, but that doesn’t mean Foggy can’t listen. Doesn’t mean he hasn’t been the one for years who’s been there to pull Matt out of his own head.

The real problem is that these days, it hurts too much. To be close to Foggy, to know that however much he cares, it’s not enough, it’s not what Matt really wants. What he wants is something he can never have.

That’s selfish, he realises now. He’s been pushing his best friend away without even knowing it.

“Nothing can replace you,” he says, and Foggy smiles a little, but Matt knows he’s not happy.

“I’m not trying to make it about me,” he says. “I just - I worry, Matt. I want you to trust me with things.”

Brave Foggy, valiant Foggy. But there’s no way Matt can ever tell him.

“It’s nothing,” he manages, and Foggy heaves another disappointed sigh. Matt feels a stab of guilt, but he’s not sure what he should be saying, what else he’s done wrong now.

It’s always something. You always fuck up somehow and it’s too late to fix it.

“Right,” Foggy says. He gets up; Matt does too. Foggy reaches out and squeezes his arm and suddenly Matt wants to reach out, pull him close, hug him tightly. He shoves the urge away. Any chance he and Foggy had, he blew it a long time ago. He settles for a small smile instead, but Foggy seems no happier as they leave the room.

That night they go after the weapons dealers.

To be honest, Matt is so fucking out of it, and things go so fucking sideways, that later he will barely remember shit about what happened.

There’s stuff he does remember. Bits and pieces.

Like at the beginning of the night, when he’s stressing the fuck out over how they had to leave Foggy and Karen on their own, and Frank grabs his arm and pulls him to a halt.

“I’m gonna need you to take a deep breath,” he grumbles, “Because you’re starting to make me nervous. Pull it together, okay? They’re fine. They got us on speed dial.”

“Anything could happen,” Matt snaps, but doesn’t shake him off when Frank grabs his shoulders.

“Y’know, Red, not everyone’s gonna die the second you turn your back.”

“Past experience speaks otherwise,” Matt says, coldly.

“They’re not idiots. You think they aren’t freaking out about you being out here? We can’t all be worried all the time. Ain’t healthy.”

Matt’s silent. Not believing. After a second Frank’s grip softens.

“Can you do anything right now to fix it?” he demands. “No? Then you gotta let it go, alright? Just for now. Just to get this done.”

He rubs Matt’s back. Lets him go. Keeps walking. Matt takes his advice, takes a deep breath, and follows. He’s still worried, nothing can change that. But when your whole life is an ongoing multi-layered disaster, you gotta learn to compartmentalise that shit.

He remembers-

Walking into a seedy warehouse with Frank at his side and how good it feels just - not to be alone. To know someone’s got your back. For a second it almost reminds him of Elektra.

He remembers-

How easily the two of them work together getting info out of the guys. Their training’s paid off, he knows how Frank moves, can anticipate what he’ll do and work with it. The men give them a few solid leads; a location they used to make deliveries to and the name of another gang that the Hounds haven’t managed to absorb yet. Could make good allies.

He remembers-

How Frank makes him laugh when they get back in the car and some idiot’s hemmed them in and he can’t fucking get out of his parking spot. He swears a lot while doing a lot of dizzying forward-and-backward-ing, trying to inch his way out.

“This is a fucking nightmare. What cocksucking son of a bitch sees a gap this small and decides what a perfect spot to parallel park. Should fucking key his stupid fucking Subaru. Don’t you fucking laugh,” he adds, looking over at Matt, but he’s smiling, Matt can tell, “Mr Travel-Everywhere-On-Foot, what would you do if I wasn’t here?”

“A lot of walking,” Matt replies.

“No wonder you only patrol Hell’s Kitchen.” Frank slams on the brakes and Matt grabs the car door to brace himself. “It’d take you too damn long to get anywhere else.”

“I’m not Spiderman,” Matt points out, “I can’t just swing everywhere.”

“Didn’t you used to have a grappling hook? You absolutely could swing everywhere. Motherfucker,” Frank adds, as he hits the curb, and Matt laughs again.

He’s still jittery, still on edge - but being with someone else gives him the sort of frenzied, vague hope that maybe things are kind of under control. Maybe.

Of course, they all go wrong.

It’s hard to pinpoint what exactly sends them spiralling towards disaster. For one, it’s a bad location - a part of the city being rebuilt after some sort of Avengers-related disaster. Lots of construction around, lots of scaffolding making it hard to navigate. The only way in or out of the site is a single narrow entrance. The ground’s covered in old rubble where they’ve been digging it up and it’s pretty impossible to move quietly. There’s not a lot of cover.

There are ten guys in there, in a makeshift base, watching over a bunch of supply crates. Matt gets the number right, counting heartbeats, but they misjudge the sort of weaponry they’ve got - they’re way, way outgunned - and the sort of security system too, assuming that a place so rundown won’t be under close watch.

Apparently not.

They barely get a chance to sneak in and start eavesdropping before the guys are on the intruders.

The fight’s a blur. They hold their own for a bit. It’s routine. At least until one of the guys opens a crate and gets the big guns out.

And this is what Matt will really remember, what will stick in his nightmares for days afterwards.

He’s standing too far away to help. Frank gets up from cover to try and get at one of the guys, only for another one to whirl around and open fire on him. In an instant he’s being gunned backwards - stumbling, then falling - back, back, into the scaffolding surrounding the building site, scaffolding that comes crumpling down on him a moment later.

Matt freezes. He hears it, every splintering beam, the crashing of metal on metal. He tastes the dust that rises up into the air. He feels Frank’s body heat vanish under rubble and dirt.

A rush of cold sweeps over him, from head to toe - frigid, numbing. Every ounce of warmth seems to drain away. An icy fist clenches his heart so tight he can hardly breathe.

For a second - it’s Elektra, all over again. It’s the crash and rumble of Midland around them and Elektra in his arms, holding him tightly, darkness descending over the two of them. Waking up to realise he made it out; she didn’t. It is that terrible, terrible numbless, like he’s alive but not really, he might be breathing and his heart beating but his soul is buried somewhere in the black depths of the earth.

Numbly, he reaches down. His fingers close around a broken metal rebar.

He barely registers the enraged scream that echoes around the site as his own. His feet take him towards the nearest man, faster than the guy can react. When he fights, it’s more viciously than he has in a long, long time.

Bones break under the crunch of metal. He feels skin split under every blow and tastes blood in the air.

Someone splits his lip with the butt of a gun, another kicks him so hard he feels a rib crack. He barely stumbles - ignores the crack of a bullet near him that makes his head pound, beats another man to the ground. The violence makes a little warmth seep back through his veins. It feels almost like he’s possessed. The devil, maybe, swinging the metal bar again and again-

He’s so covered in blood; it’s all he can smell, all he can taste, sticky over his hands, coating his arms to the elbows-

It’s a moment before he registers that it’s silent. There’s no one else around him. He’s the last one left standing. He flinches, spins around at a sound behind him, but it’s just the wind moving a sheet of metal across the ground.

Alone.

The adrenaline fades, draining away in a sickening rush. Sheer terror kicks in. The bar drops to the ground with a clatter.

Frank-

He runs over to the rubble. Starts to dig, scrabbling at rock and gravel, hauling away broken pieces of wooden board.

Frank-

Elektra, falling against him, head pressed to his chest as the building came down. Elektra’s arms tightening around him. Elektra, up on the roof, growing cold in his arms, but her blood so warm as it seeped out over him. Elektra, Elektra-

He feels a form under the rubble, throws more of it aside, grabs the edge of Frank’s kevlar vest and starts to pull him free.

Frank-

His nails are torn and bloody as he tries to dig him free. Now he can’t stop thinking about the night he found his father’s cold body and has to pause, just for a second, to let out a gulping sort of sob, quite sure he’s going to be sick.

Frank-

Matt’s hands run over his face. He tugs at the woollen mask, his hands shaking so hard he can barely get it off. Frank’s body heat is low and he’s so covered in dust and dirt that it’s all Matt can smell; he has to pause, try to filter it out. Finally he runs his hands over Frank’s face; his bumpy, broken nose, his familiar lips. Pauses. Feels a flicker of a breath. Listens. Hears the flutter of a heartbeat. Other things, too. Blood, so much of it. The scraping grind of broken ribs. A spatter of bullets, all lodged in his vest. Warm swelling in a dislocated shoulder.

Frank-

But he is alive.

He can barely bring himself to feel relief. Matt closes his eyes, forces himself to focus. No spinal injury, he thinks. He drags Frank free a little way, then slings him over his shoulders. Can barely feel a thing as he carries him out. One foot in front of the other. No time to think.

He’s in the middle of patching Frank up when the other man’s eyes fly open and he sucks in a rattling, wheezing gasp. He reaches up and grabs Matt’s wrist, thrashing, only to freeze. Matt feels the shudder of pain that runs through his body, hears his broken groan.

“Calm down.” He’s surprised his own voice remains steady as he reaches out and grips Frank’s shoulders, holding him still. “Calm down. You’re safe. You’re gonna hurt yourself worse.”

Frank swallows a few times. His eyes are moving - left, right, then fixing on Matt’s face. Getting his bearings. Slowly he loosens his grip on Matt’s arm and gingerly attempts to stretch, only to wince. Matt holds his breath - but nothing starts falling apart again. Frank’s heart is thumping steadily. Stable, for now.

“The fuck are we?” Frank grunts finally. His voice is barely a whisper and he breaks into a series of wracking coughs shortly after. Matt tries to steady him, flinching with each one; he can hear them jostling the damaged ribs.

“Rooftop. I couldn’t - couldn’t get you anywhere farther. There was a first aid kit in your car, you… it should hold you out for now. Jesus, Frank, are you…”

He trails off.

He can’t see Frank, but he can sense it. All the bruises, blood, fractures. Frank starts coughing again and Matt passes him a bottle of water; cradles his head while he helps him drink it.

He’s okay. He’s alive. But he nearly fucking died. It’s a sheer fucking miracle that he didn’t. A punctured lung, or a bullet three inches higher hitting his head instead of his vest, or a piece of shrapnel hitting him on the head - it’s a miracle. But he could’ve died, could’ve died, could’ve died-

Part of him had thought that if this ever happened again he would freak out. Instead he just - shuts down. He sits back, heavily, and closes his eyes, and just- just can’t deal with this. Just sits there feeling nothing at all. So numb he can’t move. He tries to swallow but his throat really hurts.

He can’t lose Frank.

It didn’t quite hit him until now, but the thought is suddenly as looming and terrible as his dread of losing Foggy, or Karen, or Maggie. He doesn’t know when they got so close, but...

He spent so long feeling like he was falling apart, and then the last few months trying to hold himself together. Now everything that happened tonight has hit him like a sledgehammer.

Next to him Frank’s slowly sitting up. Cataloguing his injuries, biting his lip so hard it’s bleeding trying not to yell in pain. He heaves himself to his knees. Matt knows he should help him. But he can’t move.

“Well that went fucking badly,” Frank says, voice strained. “Can I assume you took care of the rest of them? Red? Hey - Red?”

He clicks his fingers at Matt, which Matt usually would not fucking stand for. He’s not a dog. Now, he barely even notices.

He can taste blood. He can - he can’t stop thinking of Elektra, dying in his arms. Her last breath. He’d felt empty then, so empty it was like everything had just - drained away, like all the fire in the world had been snuffed out. Cold, she’d said. Matt feels cold now. He’s shivering, even though it’s a mild summer night. No, he’s shaking. Shaking so hard he can barely breathe. He’s also dripping wet; his shirt is drenched in blood and sticking to him.

“Matt. Matt.” Frank’s in front of him, listing to the side a little. One arm wrapped around his ribs, the other raised. His hand lands on Matt’s cheek, cradles his face roughly. “You with me?”

“You could’ve died,” Matt whispers, around the lump that’s blocking his throat.

“I didn’t,” Frank replies. “I feel like shit that’s been run over by a monster truck, but I’m alive.”

“You could’ve, Frank.” His voice is breaking on every word. “It’s… it’s a miracle you didn’t.” He wants to reach up and touch Frank, but can’t. “I can’t-”

“Matt.”

“I can’t lose anyone else.” And now, now he’s freaking out, now he’s-

Terrified, same way he was terrified the other night when Foggy called. And God, he’s just - sick of being scared all the time. It’s exhausting. He spends every fucking day just wishing it would stop. And every night out on the streets wishing he could just go home. He wants to close his eyes and not open them again. Everything’s too much.

“Red, you think I ain’t had worse?” Frank sounds strangely calm for someone who’s bleeding in three different places and nearly kicked the bucket. “I got shot in the fucking head. Couldn’t bring me down. Hell, last year I got the shit beaten out of me so badly I was hallucinating my dead wife. Now that was a trip.”

Everyone’s luck runs out, Matt thinks, everyone’s time runs out. Everyone leaves, eventually.

He can’t, he can’t, he can’t-

Frank hugs him.

It’s strange how after everything, it’s that which shocks him. Frank pulls him close and wraps a hand around the back of his head and just - hugs him.

What the fuck, Matt thinks.

Somehow it feels strangely more intimate than anything else they’ve done. His face buried in the crook of Frank’s neck, breathing him in, pressed close - his warm body, his pounding heart… Matt can feel every single injury in both of them, throbbing warm - but Frank, against him, is solid and warm, grip around Matt still strong.

“I’m not going anywhere, you hear?” Frank growls. “’m not. I promise.”

“I can’t lose you,” Matt whispers, and it means too much, but he can’t stop himself saying it.

Frank’s heart skips a beat. Then he shakes his head.

“You won’t.”

He pulls back, then suddenly leans back in, and presses his lips to Matt’s instead.

The kiss is different this time. It’s slow and languid and we shouldn’t be doing this, Matt thinks. It’s different. They shouldn’t be doing this. There’s - there’s nothing erotic about it, not really. Something else. Something too familiar, something reassuring. But he closes his eyes and kisses back and-

And feels a bit more settled, a bit less like the second he lets go of Frank he’s gonna fade away and vanish.

They pull apart and Frank presses his forehead to Matt’s.

“Jesus, you taste like blood,” he says, with a shaky laugh. “Are you okay?”

“I haven’t been okay in like two years,” Matt replies, a bit hysterically.

“Okay, stupid question.” His hands settle on Matt’s waist, steadying both of them. He can barely sit up; Matt can feel him flagging.

“You’re really hurt,” he blurts out. “I’m… I’m not joking, Frank. You nearly died.”

“I know.” There’s a slightly more serious note in Frank’s voice now, “But that’s what we signed up for a long time ago. We’re not gonna stop staring death in the face. Can’t lie, though, everything really fucking hurts, so let’s get somewhere where I can pass the fuck out again, huh?”

Matt nods. Thing is, he was meant to go back to Karen and Foggy’s tonight, but he should take Frank home, and he doesn’t want to leave him alone. He’s torn, suddenly, and it’s fucking terrifying because - because he loves the two of them. But Frank’s hurt, and he cares about him, too.

Something about the look on his face must give it away. Frank laughs.

“You know, I’ve been taking care of myself for ages,” he says. “Get me home and I’ll be fine-”

“What was that before?” Matt blurts out.

“What?”

“That kiss.” It’s weighing on him, maybe too much. “It wasn’t-”

He breaks off. He’s said too much, given too much away. It was better when they didn’t talk about this, just let it happen. This is hardly the time, anyway. Frank’s heart is pounding.

“Look, Red,” he says quietly, “This shit we been doing...”

“My head’s in a weird place right now,” Matt admits.

“Hell, mine too,” Frank agrees. “What, you wanna stop?”

His tone is casual. His heartbeat is not. And for some reason, the thought gives Matt a terrifying, sinking feeling. He shakes his head. Frank’s body sings relief. This just got a whole lot more complicated, but he’s… well, for once he doesn’t want to run. Not from this. Not even if it scares him.

“Good,” Frank murmurs, “Me either. Think we’re in too deep. Look, I know what happened tonight was - was fucked up. But that’s the way it is. You can’t think of this,” he gestures between the two of them, “As a weakness. Second you get thinking that way is when you lose yourself.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Matt whispers, and it comes out far too lost and broken, but Frank just shakes his head and huffs out a rasping laugh.

“Hell, me either half the time. But you trust me, right?”

“Yeah,” Matt says, and Frank smiles, and apparently just that one word is a much bigger deal than he expected.

“Right. Well, we’ll figure it out. Another time,” he adds, a bit grumpily, “When I’m not an eight on the pain scale, Jesus Christ, get me somewhere with painkillers. Now.”

“Sorry,” Matt says, and he can move again. He goes and helps Frank up; the other man lets out a groan as he rises, leaning most of his weight onto Matt. He feels a jolt, a protective surge, same as he did when Foggy got hurt. He doesn’t want to leave Frank tonight - but the others need him, too - and this, all this, is only gonna get worse. Being torn between the two of them. Three people to lose instead of two, instead of one-

You’re spiralling, Matty, Stick says in the back of his head. And sounds smugly pleased about it.

He does trust Frank. He does. He wants to believe that this will be okay. But it takes very little to push Matt to a breaking point nowadays. It’s only adrenaline and necessity that keeps him anything close to steady as he helps Frank towards the stairs leading down off the roof. One foot in front of the other.

16. ONE TEACHES FOGGY LOVE, ONE TEACHES HIM PATIENCE, AND NO PRIZES FOR GUESSING WHO’S GONNA TEACH HIM PAIN

Alright, let’s start with the one that’s, like, marginally less emotionally devastating.

He and Karen get home that night exhausted as hell from a day of hard work, but also pretty damn relieved because Frank and Matt are both out chasing up a lead. That means they get the place to themselves.

Jesus Christ. You would not believe how awful it is having someone around the apartment all day. Especially when that someone is Frank Castle. It’s so fucking awkward, legit-

Go to the kitchen for a midnight snack? There’s Frank, judging you hard while you eat some late-night cereal!

Go to the bathroom? Frank Castle’s on the couch right fucking outside listening to your business! Foggy hasn’t taken a shit at home in three days. Gotta wait until he gets to work. It’s called bowel shyness and it’s a problem, okay? It’s really thrown him off his rhythm!

Also - and this is the worst part - he can’t really touch Karen, can’t really go up and hold her and kiss her like he wants to, because thanks to Matt, Foggy now knows that they’re both into each other. And if he was a certain type of asshole maybe he’d want to rub it in Castle’s face, but he’s not that guy. He’s not.

So when they get home that night and he remembers they’re alone the first thing he does is say, very enthusiastically, “Thank fucking God!”

“Oh!” Karen cries, as she finishes locking the three additional bolts that Frank added to her door on top of the five she already had, “He left Pi here.”

“Did he not warn you he was leaving the dog?” Foggy asks. Not that he has a problem with the dog, just. There’s nowhere for it to shit except out on the balcony. It’s not great.

“No,” Karen says, “But I have no objections.”

She crouches down and starts fussing over it. Foggy watches her, a fond smile on his face. Some of the tension’s drained from her shoulders; she looks happy for once. Younger and less world-weary.

Things are weird nowadays.

After the revelations of the last few days, he is… very conflicted within, to put it mildly. He is  trying very, very hard not to think about all of it. Especially when it comes to Matt, because Jesus Christ is there a lot going on there - but we’ll get to that later.

For now, the one thing he is certain of is Karen, and he watches it now with a fond smile. It’s no wonder Matt picked up on it, because she has been off lately - a bit upset, a bit all over the place - but Foggy can’t lie, he has too, and the one thing he does appreciate? That even with Frank here, it’s been Foggy she’s come to first for everything. And if there was one benefit to having Castle around all the time, it’s that Foggy actually feels more secure than he did before, because this whole time it’s been the two of them together and then Castle off over there, and, for once, Foggy’s feeling okay with their relationship.

“Hey,” he says now, quietly, “You okay?”

“What?”

“Now that Frank’s not here, there was something I wanted to talk about.” He perches on the arm of the couch; she looks up at him, worried. “Matt thinks you’re pissed with him.”

Karen had looked terrified; now it drops away a bit. She gives a little laugh.

“Okay, but does Matt ever not think one of us is pissed at him?”

“I hate that we can say that so flippantly but yes, that is also true,” Foggy says, and sighs. “No, really, though - he can tell something’s off.”

“We should tell him we know,” Karen says, and rises, stepping towards him. “About him and Frank. Look, we’re all a mess lately. We can’t just ignore this and hope it goes away.”

“Forget Matt for a moment,” Foggy says.

“Foggy!” she chides.

“No, I’m - look, of course I’m worried about him, am I ever not? But I just wanna talk about you for a moment. What’s going on? You’ve been really weird lately.”

And she has - she’s been weird around Castle, barely talking to or looking at him. She’s been weird around Matt, to the point where it’s stressing him out. And at night she’s been antsy - she tosses and turns, not having nightmares but also not sleeping.

Now, Foggy rises. He draws her into his arms and she rests her head on his shoulder. This is okay, he thinks, no matter what’s going on, they’ll figure it out.

“I don’t want to lie to you, Foggy,” she whispers. There’s a hesitation in her voice that reminds him of Matt right before he drops the bombshell of whatever horrifically escalated situation he’s been hiding.

“Well I sure don’t want you to either,” he says, a bit hysterically.

“But I don’t want to hurt you,” Karen continues, “But I know that… that not telling you the truth is the fastest way to do that, so…"

She pauses. Takes a deep breath. Foggy’s heart is thundering, but aside from that, he feels oddly calm. It’s just the two of them, and Karen’s in his arms, and nothing can touch them here - right?

“I don’t ever want you to think that you’re not enough for me,” Karen begins, and finally looks up and meets his eyes. Hers are brimming with tears, but under that - soft, lost. Sincere, above all. “Because you are, and I - I can’t lose you, and you’re a better person than all of us.”

But, Foggy thinks.

“But,” Karen says, “It’s… it’s weird. Matt and I were together, and I… it’s stupid, I don’t own him, but it’s just… odd. Seeing him with someone else. Because I know how hard it is for him to trust anyone, how slow he likes to take it. And it’s even stranger that it’s Frank because… well, we were never together, but he’s important to me.”

Okay, Foggy thinks. Okay. He doesn’t know how he’s taking this. He doesn’t know how he should be taking this.

“But that’s my issue,” Karen says, “And I’ll deal with it, and I’ll get over it, and it doesn’t matter anyway because their relationship is nothing to do with us. Not when I have you and that… that makes me the luckiest of all of them.”

She stares into his eyes for a moment. Foggy doesn’t know what she can see in his face. After a second she leans up and kisses the corner of his mouth.

“I know that I’ve been off lately,” she finishes, “I’m just processing everything. But I’ll get over it. I promise.”

“Okay,” Foggy whispers, but he feels a little numb and hollow, and it must show in his face. Karen frowns.

“It’s just hard when we’ve been through so much,” she admits softly, “And with so many different people. It’s… you don’t get connections like that anywhere else. Matt and me, and what happened in the church, and… and the first time he saved me - we have so much history.”

Tell me about it, Foggy things, because him and Matt - it’s a whole other story. A long, convoluted, tragic story. A story he’s been trying not to think about. Trying not to dwell on how Matt-and-Frank is-

A thing. A thing that’s giving him lots of very confusing feelings.

“Foggy, you’re the only one who’s never left,” Karen says. “And I know that you and I have stuff we… we can’t really talk about. The dark stuff, the bad stuff, it’s not something we bond over. Frank and Matt have been there; it’s different. But you and me, we don’t… but maybe that’s a good thing.”

Her cool hands brush over his cheeks, cradle his face. He was getting upset, he realises vaguely. But now she leans in and kisses him again.

“I love you,” she whispers. “You’re enough.You always will be. I don’t regret this, any of it. You’re the one I want.”

And he knows she means it. He can tell. He means it, too. It’s just - a complicated, weird situation.

Is it enough to want this?

“I’m glad Frank’s not here right now,” Karen adds then, firmly. “I missed it being able to be just us.

And thing is, he believes her. He does. Or he believes she means it. But you can’t…. what you feel, you can’t control that. And the thing is…

He feels very, very strange about a lot of it too. There’s shit he needs to process. He’s just not in quite as deep as Karen.

Still.

He takes a deep breath and tells himself, the two of us, it has to be enough, it has to be.

“I love you too,” he says - and now he leans forward, and takes her face in his hands, and kisses her.

Her hands settle on his shoulders, run down his back - pulling him closer, pressing up against him. There’s love in all of it - the way she laces their fingers together to lead him to the bedroom. Her hands in his hair, carding it through her fingers - she pulls the buttons of his shirt free, pushes it down over his shoulders, traces gently over the fading scar where he was shot. Kisses the bruises on his neck, still a little tender, still standing out stark against his skin. All of it.

Enough, he thinks, for now.

Okay, so Foggy and Frank.

Look… it’s complicated, alright?

To be fair, it’s hard to completely hate the guy who’s saved the life of you, your best friend and your girlfriend - on multiple occasions. But they just don’t click. It’s not Foggy’s fault. Sometimes you and another person just don’t vibe, y’know? And they’ve been living in close quarters for three days. There were a lot of stupid fights over a lot of stupid things. Like Frank’s tendency to leave a tiny bit of milk in the carton in the fridge instead of just using the whole thing up and throwing it away. Or the masterful renditions of Eurovision classics that Foggy likes to conduct in the shower. Or who gets the last bagel in the packet.

Still. When they walk into work the next day and he gets a good look at Frank - sitting in the waiting area, propped up on half a dozen couch cushions - he can’t help the jolt of worry that strikes him.

“Jesus Christ,” he says.

“Sup,” Frank grunts.

“Oh my God, Frank.” Karen’s dithering like she isn’t sure whether to rush to his side or not. “Matt said you got hurt but-”

“Looks worse than it is,” Frank assures her. He tries to sit up a bit and winces.

“Looks pretty fucking bad,” Foggy says. His heart’s hammering.

Frank’s face is covered in bruises so dark they’re nearly black. There are more on his shoulders; Foggy can see them spreading down past the collar of his shirt. His clothes are bulky with bandages and he’s clearly favouring one side.

It’s shocking. It makes a jolt run down his spine. He feels the way he did that night he found Matt lying motionless in a pool of blood; a little sick, a little scared. Thing is, now, although Matt gets hurt, usually it’s not this bad. Usually it’s covered by his clothes and sunglasses.

He’s worried, despite himself. Clearly whatever shit went down last night was bad.

“Had worse,” Frank informs them. “I’ll be fine.”

“You should be home resting,” Karen whispers. She still hasn’t gone over to him. Foggy really doesn’t know how to feel about this.

“Well I’m not at work,” Frank suggests. “Besides. I can shoot someone from right here on the couch.”

“No one’s shooting anyone,” Matt supplies, from the door of his office. Foggy turns to look at him. He’s got a badly swollen lip that matches Foggy’s own fading injury. There are lines of tension on his face, same as he gets every time he’s got some internal crisis going on. Still - he smiles when Foggy turns towards him, and Foggy manages a weak smile back.

Then turns to look at Frank, because it’s pretty fucking interesting watching the two of them nowadays. A lot of intense stares coming from Frank, a lot of awkwardness radiating from Matt.

God. The two of them. He can still barely wrap his head around it.

A second later, though, Matt jerks his head towards his office.

“Foggy. I have some things to run by you.”

“Sure,” Foggy says, and the spell is broken; he follows Matt into his office. Sees Karen look at Frank, then look away, then head off to her own room as he goes.

It’s a relatively uneventful day. Karen’s working on the vigilante stuff; he and Matt are in the thick of a different case. When Foggy starts to head out to go to a meeting with another client, Frank rises from his nest on the couch and starts limping after him.

“Dude,” Foggy says. “What are you even gonna do if the Hounds attack us? You already got the shit beaten out of you.”

“Not by another human,” Frank grunts, sounding quite offended. “By poorly constructed scaffolding. The real enemy here was shitty workplace health and safety compliance.”

“Hilarious. That’s not any better.”

“I’m fine,” Frank snaps. “‘sides, Red’s busy, so you’re stuck with me.”

At this point Foggy’s given up arguing. The ride there is very awkward; Frank doesn’t seem in the mood to talk and the extent of their interaction involves continual, passive aggressive switching of the radio station in the car.

They’re pulling into the car park when Frank grimaces and attempts to discreetly check something under his shirt. Unfortunately for him, continual exposure to Matt and his myriad of hidden injuries has given Foggy eyes in the back of his head. You can’t hide shit from him. At this point he’s practically the one with super senses.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Frank says, without even looking at him.

“I’m serious. If you’re bleeding I don’t want it all over my car.”

“Ain’t bleeding.” He adjusts his shirt. Grimaces. Digs a packet of over the counter painkillers out of his pocket and pops one dry. Foggy watches with what can only be described as a mixture of horror and morbid admiration.

“Don’t you get sick of being hurt all the time,” he says - Frank casts him a glance.

“Sure,” he says, “I don’t exactly go out at night with the intention of gettin’ the shit kicked out of me. But it comes with the territory. Trust me, no one likes pain. Gets real fucking boring real fucking fast having a busted wrist or not being able to sneeze without pulling something. Then again,” he adds in a mutter, “Some of us could stand to be a bit more careful.”

Matt, Foggy thinks, and feels a grudging moment kinship with Frank, because hell if he hasn’t spent most of his life trying to get Matt Murdock to take it easy.

“Yeah,” he mutters, and rubs his own jaw ruefully. “Had enough of a taste of it.”

He’s distracted for a moment, trying to reverse his car into a very treacherous gap. When he finally succeeds he turns to find Frank staring at him. It is rather unsettling.

“Are you okay?” Frank demands.

“What? Of course,” Foggy says, automatically. And then realises, shit, Matt’s rubbing off on me. You gotta model good behaviour, right? So he takes a deep breath and adds, “I’m pretty tired, to be honest.”

“Nightmares, huh?” Frank says, and Foggy swallows hard.

“Yeah,” he agrees quietly. He doesn’t know why his heart is pounding. This stuff is hard to talk about at the best of times.

But somehow - the way Frank just kinda gives a sympathetic nod with a very sort of blase, macho camaraderie actually feels alright. Feels a bit like, yeah, been there. Sympathetic without making a big deal of it. Something tense relaxes a little in Foggy’s shoulders.

They’re just getting out of the car when Frank’s phone starts buzzing. Foggy motions for him to take the call.

Frank hesitates, for a moment - then picks up.

“Hey, Leo.” His voice is far softer and gentler than Foggy ever expected to hear it, and he does a double take. “What’s up, sweetheart?”

Who the fuck’s Leo, Foggy thinks.

“Oh, well that’s fantastic. Yeah, of course I’ll be there... Seems like you’ve got a good chance of winning. What’d your teacher say?... Well that seems promising!... yeah, I’ll let you know when I’m free and we can find a time to troubleshoot it... maybe ask your dad for now. Alright. I gotta run, darlin’, I’ll see you later, okay?”

Foggy fights very hard to keep the incredulous look off his face.

The thing is, he knows Frank had kids. He’s read the file, he’s heard the painful truth. Everything that happened to them, it’s tragic on a level that’s almost beyond comprehension.

It’s still hard to imagine him as a Dad - the way he is now, it’s all sharp corners and bared teeth. Soft is not a word anyone would associate with him.

But the way he smiles - it’s different. It’s nice. It melts away the hard edges a little bit; he looks younger, somehow, less burdened, and for a second-

For a flash of a second - and Foggy will deny this vehemently if anyone ever asks - he thinks he can almost see what Karen sees in him. A side deeply and passionately caring; something a little protective, a little sweet about it.

But - as is usual these days - a second later Matt sweeps into his head and transposes himself right there next to Frank. Because him and Matt - Jesus, it boggles the imagination. Foggy’s been alternately picturing it and trying very hard not to think about it for the last three days. His brain is a fucking traitor and keeps taking him places (we will not get more specific than that)!

Frank hangs up the phone. There’s a slightly awkward pause.

“Out of curiosity,” Foggy says, “How’d you know the kid?”

Frank shifts.

“Friend’s daughter,” he grunts, “We… worked together recently.”

“While you were on the run?” Foggy asks. He still doesn’t have all the details; Karen didn’t tell him everything. He didn’t really ask. “What exactly happened with all that?”

“Not something I particularly wanna relive,” Frank informs him, but not as testily as he once might’ve. “People I thought I could trust turned out to be fucking me over. And others who I didn’t know if I could trust had my back all the way. Made some new enemies. New allies, too. Which is good - they’ve been a big help.” He shifts, broodily, then offers up, “You can’t do this shit alone.”

“I keep telling Matt that,” Foggy grumbles, and Frank’s lips twitch.

“He’s stubborn, but I think he’s gettin’ it through his head by this point.”

They exchange a small smile. Another odd moment of camaraderie. They clamber out of the car, and Foggy pauses to check google maps on his phone to figure out where they’re going. Frank’s leaning against the car staring at him.

“Speakin’ of,” he says abruptly - Foggy looks up, startled - “You’re a good friend, Nelson.”

“Thanks?” Foggy replies, thoroughly befuddled.

“To Murdock, I mean.” Frank’s not quite looking at him. “People like me and Matt, I know we can be shit to deal with sometimes. So the people like you, and Karen, and some of my mates - the ones who stick around - you’re practically saints.”

“And here we all thought Matt was the martyr,” Foggy jokes. He has no clue where all this is coming from, but he’s weirdly touched. “Thanks, I guess. Glad someone appreciates it. No, that’s mean - Matt’s trying. I know he is.”

But not enough to tell me you two are banging, he thinks, then feels rather mean about it.

“Still!” he adds, with forced cheer, “Gotta learn to defend myself. Can’t leave it all to you superheros.”

“You really should,” Frank grunts, a bit disapprovingly, “At the rate you lot get yourselves into trouble.”

“Yeah, well, I’m trying. Krav Maga, bitch.” He throws out a very sloppy jab and instantly regrets it when Frank turns to him with the most disappointed frown he’s ever seen. “Okay, that wasn’t my best-”

“Jesus Christ, tell me that ain’t how you throw a punch.”

“I was just mucking around.”

“Hold up.” Frank limps around to his side of the car. “Show me again.”

“Really? Right here in the car park?” He shifts his satchel uncomfortably against his side, feeling terribly self conscious.

“Your best shot.”

I don’t know why I’m entertaining this, Foggy thinks, but grimly shifts into a fighting stance, lifts his fists and throws what he thinks is a perfectly respectable attempt at a jab-cross. Frank watches with narrowed eyes.

“Yikes,” he says finally.

“Well fuck you too,” Foggy snaps, and starts to walk off, but Frank heaves himself off the car and hobbles over, holding up a hand to stop him.

“Feet shoulder width apart,” he orders, and Foggy finds himself obeying. “Left foot takes one step forward. Not that far. Yeah, like that. Okay, right foot goes up on your toes. Perfect. That’s your fighting stance. Fists up - higher - they’re up to protect your face so they gotta actually cover your face. Okay. Good.”

Suddenly he’s even closer by Foggy’s side, close enough Foggy can hear him breathing; the sort of wheezy breaths you get with broken ribs, and feel his warmth against his side. He doesn’t turn to look at him, feels suddenly nervous. Rough, calloused fingers close around his left wrist.

“Extend your arm - straight, like this - all the way out. All the way. If you’re gonna throw a punch, aim like you’re punching through the guy. Shoulder up to protect your face. Rotate the fist. Just like that.”

He tugs Foggy’s arm into the right position. Pulls it back. Watches him try again. Takes his wrist, adjusts the angle a little. His hands are very warm and Foggy’s certain Frank must be able to feel his pulse pounding through the thin skin of his wrist. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous.

He sneaks a glance at Frank and is glad when their eyes don’t meet. The other man’s dark eyes are narrowed, brows furrowed in concentration.

Damn, okay. He can kind of see what Karen sees in the guy. He’s not exactly pretty, but there’s something magnetic about how intense he is.

My girlfriend and best friend are both into you, he realises - it’s kinda weird to think about - but look, Foggy’s only human, and he can kind of see the attraction. Especially up close like this.

“Show me your cross,” Frank orders, and Foggy shakes himself and throws his right. Frank nods slowly.

“Pivot your foot a little,” he suggests, “Throw your hip into it. Yeah, you’re getting there.”

He claps Foggy on the shoulder. His approval is oddly pleasing in a way Foggy once would never have wanted to admit. Now, he just gives a little smile, lets himself accept the compliment. Things are already weird as fuck. Not like they can get much more complicated from here.

“You’ll be kicking ass in no time,” Frank says, and Foggy scoffs a bit.

“I doubt that. Took a guy out with a baseball bat once but that’s the extent of my kick-assery. I’m not even the brains of the operation,” he adds, glumly, “That’s Karen, at this rate.”

“You were the brains of my legal case. Way I hear it, Red did fuck all to help me out.”

“You did fuck all to help yourself out,” Foggy points out, and Frank pulls a yeah fair sort of face. “Still. The law shit’s one thing. All this… investigating, Daredeviling, Punishing stuff, it’s beyond me.” Maybe a bit too much bitterness seeps into his voice. “I’m the moral support. I’m the one who sticks a bandaid on Matt and makes sure he’s eaten breakfast.”

Maybe there’s a bit too much frustration in it.

Maybe he’s been feeling a bit too left out lately, with all these new revelations. Not even so much with Karen, anymore, just-

Frank. Frank-and-Matt. Frank who understands all the things Foggy can’t. Frank who provides something Matt apparently needs, something he doesn’t want Foggy for. Frank who’s even taking that away from him - the one to talk Matt down from a freak out on a fire escape. Okay, maybe he’s still a bit salty about that one.

Frank who, now, gazes at him intently and then shakes his head.

“Don’t underestimate the importance of bandaids and breakfast,” he says. Foggy starts to scoff, and Frank reaches out and grabs his arm. “Hey, ‘m serious. End of the day, you need something to come home to. Need a centre of gravity to stop you falling off the face of this shitfest of an earth. Trust me, I - I got people for that. I think Murdock needs some too. Don’t underestimate yourself, Nelson. He needs you. Karen does too. Just be patient. You’ll see.”

Foggy stares at him. There’s a lump in his throat and he can’t quite figure why. Just-

It means a lot.

Something about it means a lot, and coming from no-bullshit Frank Castle? It’s maybe the one person he trusts not to throw empty platitudes in his face just to make him feel better.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, and Frank shrugs.

“You’re gonna be late for your meetin’,” he points out, and laughs as Foggy swears and hurries off down the street.

Well, I guess we can’t put it off any longer.

Matt, huh?

Okay, so it’s like this. They’re early twenties and roommates and there’s something about Matt, yeah? Foggy doesn’t know how to put it into words, just that it’s not really like any friendship he’s ever had before. Matt’s all broken glass to interact with; his eyes are locked windows. Most people would’ve given up after two weeks, but Foggy isn’t a quitter.

Curious. That’s what it is at first. He’s so fucking curious he can barely stand it. Then, later, he finds he cares too much; there’s something about Matt that makes him want to get close. Make sure he’s okay, because he’s pretty sure half the time he isn’t. The way he goes too quiet, or pretends he didn’t spend half the night tossing and turning, or how when he jumps at a loud noise his hands fly up ready to protect his face.

Matt just - intrigues him, manages to worm his way into Foggy’s heart. He’s just intense and sincere and clearly super fucking damaged in a way Foggy hasn’t quite managed to work out, and he reacts sometimes like he’s never had a proper friend before. He gets protective when Foggy stays out late, and makes a pretty damn good study partner, and sometimes the sight of his rare smile makes Foggy’s heart skip a beat, but he tries not to think about that.

Matt’s just - an anchor. He really makes Foggy believe that between the two of them they can save Hell’s Kitchen, they can do some good in this city.

Purpose.

He gives him purpose, in a way nothing else has.

And then everything changes, and nothing Foggy knows is the same anymore. And then Matt’s gone, and he doesn’t think anything will ever, ever compare to how fucking empty everything feels. His heart seems to drop right out of his chest; the whole world seems a little dimmer. He carries stones around in his stomach for months.

Some days that all seems very long ago. Other times he wakes up from startled dreams and it takes him several slow, dreadful seconds to remember that everything is fine now - Fisk is gone, Matt is alive, and they are okay.

He knows what Karen thinks. Are you jealous?

He knows because he’s thought it, too, a hundred times since she told him what she saw. Frank and Matt - it seems so impossible he can barely believe it. Frank was everything Matt stood against - or at least, he used to. And even now, there’s a flicker of resentment.

It took me years for Matt to trust me. And now he trusts Castle in a matter of days? Enough to… to…

He doesn’t want to think about it. He doesn’t want to, but he does, anyway. Castle’s hands on Matt - in his hair, lifting his glasses gently off his face, running over his scarred body.  It makes something twist, deep in his stomach, something ugly and bitter tasting.

Jealous? What’s there to be jealous of? He has Karen. And him and Matt-

It’s not like that-

It’s not, it never has been. He had Marci and Matt had Elektra and he’s always loved Matt, but not like that. He’s always just wanted to be the one person who never leaves Matt’s side, to be there for him. What they have is special and nameless and-

It’s not like that.

But the one thing - the one thing that nearly pushes him over the edge is that day when Matt comes back after two days’ sick leave and clearly is not fucking okay, is clearly lying through his fucking teeth that he had a migraine or whatever, and he goes off outside and Foggy makes to follow and Frank holds up a hand, easy as anything, and says, “I got this.”

That makes Foggy’s blood run cold.

That makes his heart squeeze so hard he thinks it might burst.

That makes him want to punch Frank Castle right in the fucking face and say, no, you don’t have anything, he’s not yours. He never was.

But he bites his tongue, and he goes to his office and tries to breathe, and wonders why it hurts so much. It’s just how easily Frank said it. How certain he seemed.

He should be happy for Matt. It’s stupid. God knows it’s good he’s not alone.

But he isn’t, and he doesn’t know why, just that he knows he should be the one out there. That feels right.

Anyway. He thinks he’s okay. He thinks he’s gonna swallow it down and get over it, wait and see what Matt says, how things play out. Maybe it’s nothing serious. Maybe Matt just needs a… a warm body, someone to hold, maybe it’s not actually a thing.

But of course - of course - it all blows up.

It’s innocuous. It’s that night after he gets back from his meeting and Frank’s taken Karen home and Foggy’s not even worried about the two of them any more, not really. Today with Frank, it was okay. And he trusts Karen.

It’s him and Matt, working late like old times, and they’re getting ready to head home. He watches Matt lean back in his chair, stretch his arms up and then wince and rub his side. He must catch Foggy’s disapproving frown; he turns to him and smiles a little.

“Don’t give me that look.”

“You can’t even see it,” Foggy complains.

“I can sense it. I’m fine. Frank got the worst of it. How were things, by the way? When you guys went out today.”

There’s something careful in the way he asks. Foggy’s heart beats faster, trying to get an angle. What’s he thinking? Does he want Foggy’s approval? Does he think he knows something? The fact that he’s sure Matt can tell he’s nervous really isn’t helping.

“It was fine,” he replies, slowly, “He seemed pretty busted up though. Why’d you ask?”

“I know you don’t like him,” Matt says.

“I don’t approve,” Foggy says, and takes a deep breath. “Look, he saved my life, I gotta be grateful for that. I’m not gonna get pissed he’s hanging around - it’s not like that. What happened last night?” he adds, “You’ve been rattled all day.”

Matt’s shoulders stiffen. It’s a giveaway, same as the way he’s been barely interacting with Frank all day. Both of them holding themselves too carefully around each other. Or maybe Foggy’s just paying way too much attention to the two of them.

“He nearly died.” His voice is very tight. “The scaffolding fell on him and-”

He breaks off. His voice is shaking a little. He’s staring across the room, vacantly.

“It was bad, Foggy,” he adds, softly, and Foggy bites his lip. It hits him, then - Matt’s track record when it comes to buildings going down - his heart sinks a little. He wants to reach out - and realises, after a moment, why shouldn’t he? So he does, hand going out to settle on Matt’s shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.

“Jesus,” he murmurs, “I can’t imagine..”

“He’s okay, though,” Matt adds, and takes a shaky breath.

If they’re together, Foggy thinks, it must’ve been even worse for him.

And God - suddenly, desperately, he needs Matt to tell him. He wants them to have that trust; he needs that validation that Matt will tell him things. That they can share things like that with one another. Maybe that’s why he pushes.

“Must’ve been a shock,” he says, and then, carefully, “You guys seem closer lately.”

Matt goes rigid under his hand.

“He’s been a good ally,” he replies, “It’s nice to have backup.”

“Yeah?” Foggy probes.

“Yeah,” Matt says, cautiously.

Foggy remains very tactfully silent, even as his hand slips back down to his side. As he expected, Matt starts shifting uncomfortably after a moment.

“Why?” he demands, “Did he say something?”

“Something like what?” Foggy asks, and it comes out maybe a bit too hostile. And thing is, he’s not aiming for hostile. He shouldn’t be. He has no reason to be. But suddenly he needs Matt to be honest, maybe a little too much, maybe to prove something Foggy barely realises he needs.

Matt’s turned his head now, staring at him - or his equivalent of staring - probably figuring out a hundred small tells. The room is filled with the most excruciatingly awkward silence.

Why the fuck did I think this was a good idea?

“Foggy…” Matt says after a moment - questioning, a bit pained, a little vulnerable.

But Foggy waits. Waits, thinking, tell me. Waits expectantly. Suddenly he is done giving in, giving up. His heart’s hammering. He thinks, if I mean anything, he’d tell me. He’d trust me.

Years, fucking years of friendship, surely he’ll tell me.

But Matt’s idea of a response is apparently to just go silent and wait too.

Okay! This is fine! This is a fucking standoff, alright, so it’s like that then.

The silence feels like it lasts forever. Matt breaks first, reaching up to adjust his glasses and then asking, “Is everything okay?”

“You tell me.” The disappointment’s setting in and it comes out colder than Foggy intends.

“It’s fine,” Matt says, like always, and something breaks. Foggy turns away, shoulders hunched.

Karen was right. He doesn’t want us to know. It somehow hurts far more than he should expect by now.

“Okay,” he mutters, and maybe it’s petty and passive aggressive, but he can’t help it. “So it’s like that, then.”

“Like that?” Matt asks.

“Nothing,” Foggy replies, coldly, “Just, I thought we were over all the secrets.”

“What secrets?” Matt asks, and fucking hell, it’s the fact that he’s actually daring to play dumb that sends Foggy right over the edge. Like fine, be like that, but no need to be fucking condescending, no need to act like Foggy’s some sort of clueless idiot.

He gives up. He sort of explodes, actually.

“Well!” he cries, with a lot of very angry gesticulations, “Well! I was trying to give you the chance to tell me, because I thought we were best friends, but okay! If it’s gonna be like that - I know, alright, Matt? I know about you and Castle!”

Dear God.

The look on Matt’s fucking face. The colour drains from his skin; his mouth falls open a little bit. It’s shock, first, then sheer horror, and Foggy realises with a sinking resignation that he was never intending to tell them. It feels like a stab in the gut.

“Karen saw you two,” he adds, and maybe it’s mean, but he feels a vindictive satisfaction at the way Matt flinches, and hates himself for it, just a little.

“Foggy…” his voice is soft, and very pained.

“So what is it?” Foggy asks, tiredly. “Are you guys just fucking or are you actually together? ‘cause I kinda thought you’d tell me something as important as that.”

“As what?” Matt demands, a little life coming back into his voice. “Every single person I sleep with?”

“You say that like there’s loads but I know you haven’t been seeing anyone,” Foggy snaps, “I don’t know, I thought stuff like that was important, after… after everything that’s happened. But maybe I was wrong, God. Half the time I feel like I don’t even know you.”

He’s aiming to hurt, but he still feels guilty at the way Matt clenches his jaw and turns away a little, like he’s been hit.

“It’s not like that,” he replies, tightly.

“Then what is it like?” Foggy cries - the raw hurt and anger coming out in force now.

Matt’s getting upset.

He can see it, in the way he’s gritting his teeth, in the flushed spots of colour high on his cheeks, how he’s swallowing. His voice, now, is thick and choked.

And Foggy? Foggy’s getting kinda upset too. There’s a lump rising in his throat and his eyes are burning and-

He doesn’t know why, doesn’t know why, doesn’t know why.

“Just the other day,” he continues, hysterically, “You were telling me you’re not over Elektra. So what is it, Matt? Where do the lies-”

“I wasn’t lying,” Matt snaps. His voice is shaking so hard he can barely get the words out. “Unless lying by omission counts, but - for fuck’s sake, I get some secrets, Foggy!”

“You’ve had more than your share of fucking secrets-”

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you-”

“Well you did-”

“I’m in love with you.”

Wait.

What?

Time seems to freeze. Everything’s just - still. Silent. As soon as the words leave Matt’s mouth it’s like they suck all the air out of the room; he goes still as a statue and Foggy, Foggy feels a cold rush sweep over his body. He can’t move, can’t look away from Matt’s eyes - huge and dark and desperate behind the red lens of his glasses - and he can see his own face reflected in them, pale and shocked. Nothing seems quite real.

“What?” he whispers - sure he’s heard wrong.

Matt lifts his fingers to his lips, like he can’t believe his own tongue betrayed him. His hand’s shaking so hard Foggy can see it from here.

“No more secrets, huh?” Matt says, and gives a bitter, hysterical laugh. His voice is raw and breaking. “You want to know everything? Yes, I’m not over Elektra. She died in my fucking arms - twice - you think I can ever get over that? You think that hasn’t fucked me up irreparably? But you, Foggy - God, I’ve been in love with you since practically the day we met, and… and everything just got so fucked up. The lies, the secrets, it - it wasn’t fair-”

He breaks off, swallowing - again and again - reaches up and swipes angrily at his face. Foggy can’t move, can’t speak, is struggling just to draw breath.

“I know it’s stupid,” Matt says, and his voice is so thick he can barely force the words out coherently. “I know you don’t feel the same way, I know this probably ruins everything, I just - I didn’t want to lose you. I couldn’t lose you too.”

Foggy’s chest is throbbing, throbbing, throbbing with every beat of his heart, like a dull knife twisting somewhere between his ribs. He feels words rising up in his throat, but when he opens it, nothing comes out. He wants to scream but can’t give voice to it.

Matt’s turned away from him. He swallows again.

“Sorry,” he chokes out, and somehow the fact that he’s nearly crying just about makes Foggy spill over, too. “I can’t lose you - not to this, not to anything, I just - it’s stupid-”

“Matt,” Foggy chokes out, but Matt barely hears him.

“The last few months,” he barrels on, hysterically, “Have been so fucked up. I can’t - I’m barely holding it together, I… I know it’s not fair to you, I just - I don’t know what I’m doing, okay? With you or with Frank or with any of this. I know it’s all my fault-”

“Matt.”

“I fuck up everything I touch,” Matt says, hoarsely, “And it - I never wanted to hurt you, Foggy, but it couldn’t - I still don’t - I shouldn’t have told you this.”

He rises, stumbles for the door, but Foggy lurches forward and grabs his arm tightly.

“Matt,” he says - but that’s all he can get out. He just - doesn’t know what to say. Matt’s refusing to look at him. He feels sick and helpless.

“Forget I said anything,” Matt urges, and sounds so desperate that it makes Foggy’s heart ache. “It’s nothing. It’s stupid. I’ll get over it. I don’t want it to change anything. Please, Foggy. Don’t let it change anything.”

Foggy’s mind is blank. He has to reply, he knows he does, but it’s like his entire knowledge of the English vocabulary has fucked off all at once. In his second of hesitation, Matt gives his arm a practiced twist and breaks free of his grip. He leaves the room so fast that Foggy can’t even call after him before the door slams shut.

And then he’s alone.

He can’t move. He’s paralysed. Then, a second later, his legs buckle and he stumbles sideways, gripping the edge of the desk.

I’m in love with you.

I’ve been in love with you since practically the day we met.

He has no idea what to do with this.

All he knows is how much it hurts - how everything’s been so thoroughly turned on its head.

Why does it hurt so much?

He feels so stressed and lost that he could cry. He doesn’t know what’s happening. What will happen. What he might gain, what they all might lose.

Everything he had thought he was managing to pull together has suddenly slipped out of his control, scattered and shattered around him, and he squeezes his eyes shut and clenches his fists until his nails dig into his palms, and thinks-

What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck-

What are we going to do now?