Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Sleep fizzled into the groggy middle ground where sounds were beginning to sharpen, yet Foggy was sure he could will himself to drift back into sleep. Wind pressed against the curtain, penduluming light behind his still closed eyes. Without his permission, the tiny operator that lived in his head pressed the go button on his mind. As if he’d drunk a gallon of coffee, overlapping thoughts invaded the quiet morning. 

Why am I so cold? I need to get up. I don't want to get up. I can’t afford to play hooky from school. Need to finish that essay. Or did I finish that essay? There’s always an essay to be done. That’s all school is, one giant loop of writing. Need to talk to Karen.

Groaning, he rolled over, shoving his face into the pillow. Cool air hit across his back. 

Jolting upwards, he pulled the blanket around himself tight. 

Events of last night sped across his mind.

That’s right, we... Cutting off the thought, he peeled back the blanket to find that his completely bare body didn’t have any evidence of what had happened in this bed a few hours prior. Now fully alert, he glanced around the dorm. Matt’s bed was empty. The only source of warmth in his own bed was from the heat radiating off his face.

Matt’s at the gym, he reasoned, looking at the time. It wasn’t out of the norm for Matt. The man was practically a walking planner, scheduled into a routine that he knew by heart.

Last night wasn’t normal. Not our sort of normal. Second date, and- His stomach flipped at the thought.  Play it cool, Nelson. 

Despite telling himself that he could feel the operating system defying the request. 

That really happened. His heart cartwheeled inside his chest so hard he was sure it would fall right out. Another step had been taken. If he were fully honest with himself, he wasn’t sure that step would’ve ever been taken. A nonpriority that had been looming in the background. 

Hopping along the icy tiles, he rummaged through discarded clothing to find his phone.

Karen’s number appeared ready to speed dial.

Does she want to talk? he wondered, thumb hovering over the button. If he called, she’d answer, they had promised each other, still…

Could we talk later? he texted Dean instead. Not an emergency, he tacked on so that his brother wouldn’t spontaneously appear at his dorm. 

I would die of embarrassment if he did, he thought, eyeing the front door suspiciously.

After lunch rush? Dean responded, no doubt, readying the meat slicer for the day.

That just gives me about four hours to not get worked up about this. I can do that. Completely doable. Matt’s not here, I can take my time before-

The bathroom door opened. 

Freezing in place, he stared at Matt. A concerned brow hid behind wild brown bangs. If Matt could see him crouched on the floor over his phone, blacket draped over him, like a gremlin, there would definitely be more of a reaction. 

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah.” Completely dressed for the day, it seemed as if Matt was ready to head out the door. His eyes drifted to pant-clad thighs that he had once been slotted between.  Nonchalantly, Matt moved as if it were just a normal day. As if the things they had done didn’t matter, Matt followed the usual routine of tapping each of his items lined on his desk before placing them into his satchel.

Maybe it doesn't matter? he questioned. Was it supposed to be some colossal Earth-shattering event? 

“Heading out?” he asked, trying to regain the normalcy that Matt so easily took on as he watered the orchid.

“I was about to wake you to join breakfast with Karen.” The way he said her name was too hesitant. It reminded him far too much of the way his parents would sometimes say his biological mother’s name, as if it would hurt for him to hear it. Foggy hated the fact that it did hurt. 

Embers danced over his spine.

“Does she even want to see me?” he muttered, keeping his distance between them. 

“Of course she does.” 

Nodding, he strutted towards the door. I want to see her.

The tip of Matt’s cane hit the center of the door right as he tried to pull it open. Cocking his head to the right, Matt smirked. “I’m sure you’d be more comfortable talking to her clothed.”

Glancing down at his blanket-covered self, he jumped away from the door. Side-skimming against Matt’s side, he felt a hand snake around to rest against his hip for stability. 

A flicker of the hunger from the night before radiated from Matt. Lips hovered near his ear as Matt spoke in a low, sensual tone, “If you prefer going out like this, my jealousy may get the better of me.” The hand pressed against his hip tightened enough to truly feel through his blanket.

“Nope.” He pushed away. “Definitely going out dressed.” His whole body turned into a furnace at the way Matt’s attention narrowed on him. “I don’t want to know what Karen would think if I ‘Emperor’s New Clothes’-ed her.”

Shutting the bathroom door didn’t silence Matt’s laughter. 

***

I have to warn him, Karen thought, twisting her bracelet around so hard that she didn’t know how it hadn’t snapped apart. 

On paper, Eddie Brock could’ve passed as a typical reporter. If she hadn’t been looking into the Scratch Club, she might’ve been able to convince herself that he truly was following up on the appearance of masked people in the city. The masked man had been by the Nelson’s Meats shop. Hell’s Kitchen was hardly a stranger to the unusual or violent. A reporter hot on the trail of a story that seemed to be gaining traction would’ve made sense. His curiosity about Black Cat made sense.

What didn’t add up was Eddie’s true role in all of this. He had to be more than just a guy the club paid off. Eddie knew who the masked man was. And somehow that led him to look into the Nelson’s family business.

Foggy deserved to know the potential dangers, yet she didn’t know the full extent of what that was herself. How to even explain why or how she even knew Eddie was a hurdle within itself. Talking about Eddie in front of Matt wasn’t going to be a fun conversation either.

So I’m moonlighting as a thief, and I ran into your previous boyfriend, Matt, who thinks my name is Heather because I constantly lie about who I am. And yeah, turns out that same guy that you were with is tied to this seedy club that I’ve been investigating. Haven’t come up with shit except the same masked man that took down graffiti artists is somehow involved, which leads me to the fact that both may be circling around the Nelsons’, all because of me.

Dropping the bent spoon from her hand, she wrestled with a better way to say all that. 

Tugging at her hair, she watched as the pair entered. Fully glued together, they moved in sync. Face tucked into the crook of Matt's neck, Foggy was whispering something, forcing Matt to lead the way, which he did effortlessly. 

Another step in their relationship had been taken. 

Neither of them needs me to dredge up an ex right now.  

They don’t need you at all, Kevin informed. 

Foggy’s eyes tried to hold her gaze as he sat down, the best she could do was settle her vision on his half smile. 

Thank you, she tried to send the thought towards Matt. Clearly, whatever happened on the date had refilled true happiness in Foggy. Continue to make him happy.

“You’re late,” she tsked, tapping against her nonexistent watch.

Tops of ears pinking slightly, Matt smirked.

“Oh, so no apology this time? Foggy, you have to do something about your boyfriend!” 

Foggy’s eyes widened as if he were completely prepared to spend the morning being ignored by her.

“Sure.” He fiddled with his hands. 

Come on, you can play the role better than this, she told herself.  A fraction closer, she scooted her chair. “I have rope in my car whenever you need it.”

“That’s not necessary. A hundred percent not necessary,” he laughed.

She had to squint against his burst of brightness. 

Back to fiddling with his hands, Foggy began studying her face. 

I hate when you do that, she thought, hoping that this time her makeup did a better job of covering up the scrape across her cheek from last night. Her ankle still hurt like a bitch. Stop looking. She pulled her arms around herself. You’re not going to like what you find. So stop, please.

Chair scooting back, Foggy’s gaze fell onto his plate. 

Matt remained silent, picking at his food. There was no lifeline he could throw to her right now. Foggy deserves an explanation.

How do I apologize? Sorry that I utterly ruined everything. Sorry that I can’t be your sister. Sorry that I had to reject your family. I rejected you.

“I’m s-”

Blaring ringtone from Foggy's phone cut her off. 

Glancing at her lucky bell, she wondered if it was some sort of sign.

“It’s Dean,” Foggy said apologetically.

“Go on. We can catch up after class?” she asked hopefully.

“I’d like that.”

Her face dropped the second Foggy was out the door. “You think he’d give me one of those resets if I asked?” 

Matt nodded, ear tilting more towards the cafe exit.

A little too hard, she slapped his hand. “Let them talk.” 

I need to talk, she thought.

“Congrats by the way.”

“For what?”

“A successful date. Foggy would be supernova-ing if it wasn’t for me… Ahh!”  Hard, she tugged at her hair. “Why do I feel like a horrible parent who missed their child’s first recital?” 

Matt’s fond smirk could’ve been interpreted as “you didn't miss a thing”, but she knew she had. 

There would be way more things that she’d miss out on, all because she didn’t know the right way to move forward. Murdock and Nelson, that plan would come to fruition after graduation. No matter how much Foggy tried to squeeze her into that life, there wasn’t actually room. She wasn’t a soon-to-be attorney; these two had that to fall back on, intrinsically tied by a profession that all but ensured they’d work with one another in some capacity. Maybe she’d be lucky enough to get assigned to report on some big case of theirs, catching a few comments for her paper before the next job. If she laid that all out for them, Matt could concede to that possibility. 

Of course, a journalism career wasn’t at all what separated her from them. It was only a reasonable excuse. 

***

“It’s not after lunch rush,” Foggy said, practically sprinting away from the cafeteria.

“What happened?”

A security guard speeding in their golf cart shook their head at him as their paths crossed.

Slowing his pace, he glanced around the otherwise empty sidewalk. 

“Did Karen-”

“-She’s fine,” he interrupted. 

Liz and Dean were carrying so much of the load to keep the others from prodding into the mess that he’d created. A thousand times over, he should’ve been thanking them. He barely knew what they said to his other siblings that night. Dean had simply told him “the roof” when he’d run into the storefront chasing after Karen. After he’d convinced her to go back with him, his family had disappeared. Everyone was left in an undefined state. He wondered if they also felt like a loaf of bread not cooked completely all the way through. 

“Thank you.”

“It’s nothing, little brother.” Slicers began to hum in the background. A door opened, then closed.  “In the alley, just me and the dumpster,” Dean tapped against the metal as proof.

Closing his eyes, Foggy could imagine the stench and the large globs of paint covering the spray paint. That nagging feeling wanted him to ask what Karen had talked about when Dean had painted over the vandalism. 

Was it then that you knew she’d reject becoming a Nelson? he wondered.

 It was too cruel to put even hypothetical blame on Dean. At every point in his life, Dean had been there with protective stances, soft encouragements, and embarrassing tales. All his siblings were like that, all bursting with love for one another. Despite the rocky meeting of the two, he’d been so sure that once Karen became part of the family, all that love would be funneled into her as well. She’d deserved that. Still deserved it even if she rejected it. 

His stomach squirmed.

“You on your way to class?”

“Almost. In the alcove that may have been a garden at one point, just me and the trees.” He held his phone up to the swaying leaves.

“You got the better view,” Dean chuckled. “What’s going on, Foggy?” Even through the phone, his brother’s worry was palpable. 

“I…” He started picking at his cuticles. “Matt and I… we.”

As mortifying as it would be to say directly to his brother’s face, he preferred it to this call. On the phone, he couldn’t read Dean’s body language. Couldn’t adjust his own tone to be more comical or serious depending on all the microexpressions of his brother. And yet if Dean were physically here, he knew that he would not be brave enough to say anything.

“Foggy?”

“We went on our second date.”

“Did it go well?”

“So much better than my attempt. No mess-ups.” He smiled into the receiver. “It was perfect, really.”

“So you wanted to brag?” Dean asked carefully, a small smile in his tone. “Congratulations.”

A boulder of grief plunked into his gut. Were things not messed up between him and Karen, he was sure she’d pull a page from the Nelson playbook and make a huge spectacle about this milestone. They might’ve even gotten another custom-printed t-shirt if he hadn’t royally screwed up. Right now, she’d be fishing for every possible detail, relentlessly teasing him, all while telling him that she was proud. 

“There's something more?” Dean carefully prompted. 

“There always is,” he laughed. There was a never-ending pool from which he could pull questions from. Answers were always so hard to receive. If he possessed the right words, he wondered if the people he cared about would provide answers to all the questions that he’d collected.

****

Teeth pressed against nails right next to him. Matt couldn’t decide if the consistent soft clatter of enamel was more preferable to the off-tempo tapping of Karen's pen against her notebook. The shifting of her eyes from him to the classroom door was equally vexing. 

Foggy had yet to arrive at their shared class. 

Karen was hiding something. That thought often sprang up whenever Foggy wasn’t around. The events of the past months certainly stacked up various reasons why she would be less forthcoming about what was bothering her. Why she rejected becoming part of the city’s most loving family still didn’t sit right with him. Guilt was so familiar to him that he spotted it on her instantly. That angry inner child of his was glad that she held guilt about the hurt she’d caused Foggy. The man that Foggy deserved him to be, hoped for resolution. 

He wanted to trust that all of the strain was temporary and that she was a far more capable person to repair relationships than he was.

I have to check in with Eddie, he realized. Dealing with Black Cat was a problem that he was more capable of handling, so he didn’t completely understand Eddie’s involvement. Consequences of the whole endeavor should’ve fallen solely on his shoulders. It should’ve been his penance.  I need to flush her out of hiding somehow. 

Door creaking open, Foggy zoomed into the open seat next to Karen. Face flushed, nervous sweat practically dripped off him. Pulling out his things, Foggy seemed to fall in line with the rest of the class. 

“I didn’t mean to ditch breakfast,” Foggy whispered midclass. 

With a small twitch in her shoulders, Karen turned towards him. “I know.” 

“Oh.” Foggy cast his gaze downwards. 

Pencils scribbled. 

Pages turned. 

The keys of his brailler tapped. 

The lack of note passing was a sharp contrast to last week’s class. 

“Fix this,” his plea was spoken far too softly for her to hear, yet he hoped that God did. 

The three of them together that was what Foggy wanted. It wasn’t something that he was able to give. Anger flickered at that. No one could truly control who came or went in their lives. For Foggy, he’d do everything in his power to provide what he wanted.

“Do you want to sleep over?” He overheard Foggy ask an hour later.

“Raincheck? I have to do something tonight.”

Knowing that was true didn’t prevent the instinctual need to pull Foggy away when his heart dipped. 

“Okay,” Foggy’s smile didn’t shine at all. 

Slight tremors met as Karen laid a hand onto Foggy’s. 

“I,” Karen's voice dipped. “I need a bit more time.”

Eerily, Foggy’s heart went silent. “Okay.” 

Karen’s heart stalled at Foggy’s strained smile.

Matt pressed his fingers harder onto the brailler’s keys. 

***

Karen hesitated to get up from her seat once class was dismissed. On one hand, she wanted to hit reset; on the other, this temporary distance could be put to good use. All the evidence about Eddie, the club, and that man in the mask needed a step back to fully fill in the gaps. Instinct told her that she was close to piecing it all together.

It’s just a step back, she reminded herself, catching specks of blood gathering at Foggy’s cuticles. You still have Matt.

Rising from his seat, Matt patted the seat of his chair with a quizzical look. 

“What are you doing?” Foggy asked.

“Checking to see if the rubber cement I put on the seats has solidified.”

“Matt Murdock is making jokes?” She gasped dramatically. “Isn’t that a sign of the apocalypse?”

Foggy laughed, a true, joyful laugh that helped unclench her heart slightly. 

“Now I am afraid that he might’ve actually glued us to our chairs,” Foggy wiped away a tear. 

“I do have access to many things in the art department.” Matt gave a wicked smirk that made her proud.

“Well, this is where I live now, I guess,” Foggy sighed. “Got enough food and water to last at least a week.” He tapped his backpack.

“Not the worst place to be stuck in,” she agreed, practically grabbing onto the lifeline with all her might. “Brightside is we wouldn’t have to pay rent.”

“Bad news is we would have to sit through endless lectures.”

“That’s not bad,” Matt said, sitting back down. “Think of all the knowledge you’d gain.”

“Nerd,” Foggy snorted. 

“The point of school is to learn.”

“Nerd,” she agreed right as her phone rang. Skidding across her desk, it illuminated the caller ID of her home phone.  Pages always ruin everything, she thought, refusing to answer her father’s call. 

“You have to go,” Foggy said, his tone lifting up almost into a question, a beg for her to stay.

“Yeah.” Hands flat on the table, she pushed herself up. Turning her head to the seat, she then looked to Foggy. “Well, looks like it's rubber cement free.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” again, there was that half-questioned tone. 

She nodded.

***

Things didn’t sit quite right. Karen asked for time. Foggy was sure that he could give her that; there was plenty of it, or so he hoped. The school year was dwindling quickly. Hardly two more months left. The countdown splashed in bright highlighters that he’d written on the first day of the year now mocked him. Sighing, he traced the bullet point list of things that he’d planned to do this upcoming summer. 

• Take Matt and Karen to a concert

• Redecorate my room

• All summer long, sleepovers

• Tackle the long list of movies/ music Matt doesn’t know about

• Convince them to find an apartment for the three of us

• Figure out how much rent is for a small office after graduation

“Maybe you do have to parent trap us,” he said.

Lifting his head from his book, Matt turned in his desk chair. “Assuming that’s a movie, add it to the list of not yet seen.”

The list of movies he had to catch Matt up on was already staggering. Enough to fill a few years, he thought happily.

“What happens in this movie?”

“Basically, these twins who were separated early on come up with a plan to get their parents back together.”

“So, you are asking me to lock you and Karen in a room until you get back together?”

“Think it will work?”

“If that’s what you want, I will make it happen,” Matt said, deadly serious. “Tell me what you want.”

Want, the word, sent a pleasing shiver down his spine.

 I’ve wanted you like this, Matt had told him between hot kisses over his skin.

“I want too many things,” the unconscious words were depths too honest. 

There were the wants that Marci considered “Kumbaiya shit,” like wanting all the people he loved to be safe and happy. He wanted the world not to look down on people for just being different. Wanted to be someone capable of making that happen, through law practice or upholding the Nelson’s teachings. 

There were selfish wants like all the things listed in his planner. Were he able to just tie the three of them together, he could be happy forever. Being part of a “them” was a colossal want. 

Even a little want sometimes felt too huge of an ask. 

And there were the wants that he still didn’t know about, but could feel forming in the background. 

“What do you want?” Matt asked again, his tone nearly melodic. 

“I,” Gently, Matt’s hand took hold of his. “I want you to want me.”

Brow raised, Matt stepped closer.

Taking his other hand, Foggy laughed. “I want you to want me,” he began singing. Waiting a beat, he studied the ever-evolving confusion on Matt’s face. “I need you to need me,” he sang the next, like giving them a small turn. “I’d love you to love me.” His heart practically fumbled at the barely held desperation in those lyrics. Dropping their hands he scurried to the CD player. 

“Foggy?”

“Ten Things I Hate About You,” he said, finding the mixed CD he’d made over the summer. Drums kicking alongside a guitar riff shifted the strange pressure in his chest. “That’s what I know this song from.”

Hands linking back together, he encouraged Matt to practically twist with the music. At the bridge, he tried to get Matt to jump in time, but he seemed concerned with the lyrics. 

“Come on, Matt. It’s not that many words, sing along!” he said with as much energetic enthusiasm as he could. “Didn’t I, didn’t I, didn’t I see you crying?”

Discomfort wrinkled the corners of Matt’s mouth. 

Slowing down his silly dancing, he mentally stomped out the disappointment. Song fading out, he moved to remove his hands completely, but Matt pulled him closer. The beginnings of Foreigner’s I Wanna Know What Love Is completely terminated the pitiful attempt to make Matt join in jumping.

“I gotta take a little time,” Matt said a half second before the CD sang. “A little time to think things over.” Solid and steady, Matt’s hand rested on his hip. Chest pressed together, they began to sway. 

Matt’s voice faded out at the chorus. Hesitant Matt took off his glasses, revealing an almost apologetic look. Pain danced in unseeing eyes, trying to find his gaze. 

“I do,” Matt confessed. Fingers brushed aside bangs before cupping his face. “I do want you.”

“I want you too,” he said, unable to explain how much encapsulated in that word; want. One day I will, he thought, capturing Matt’s lips. “I love you,” he said, as hot lips descended onto his neck.

Humming vibrated across his neck.

This was it. Matt was a bit guarded, didn’t say the words outright, but this? Foggy was sure this was his way of expressing his love. The desperation, the want, it had to be that. Foggy wanted it to be that.

I still want to hear you say it, he thought, closing his eyes.

Kisses mapped down the span of his throat halted.

Opening his eyes, he wondered if he had said that thought out loud. Matt’s head was turned slightly, listening. The music that had drowned into white noise was starting to sharpen in his own ears. 

“Mood killer?” he asked, realizing that What Is Love was playing. The slight twitch in Matt’s frown prevented him from singing along. 

Matt’s forehead pressed against his. 

Baby don’t hurt me no more, he sang in his head.

Deep breath flowed over him. “What time is it?”

“Six.”

“I’ll need to go soon.” Disappointment could not be any clearer in Matt’s tone even if he tried. 

“Can’t go to work like this,” he said, bravado guiding his hand to cup Matt’s bulge.

Buckling into the touch sparked something with Foggy’s chest. Unseeing eyes darkened with desire. 

“What do you want?” Matt asked in a raspy voice.

Heart a mess, Foggy couldn’t find words. Inexperience was still at play. Dean’s talk hadn’t gone as in-depth as he truly needed to feel confident. And a very risky internet search gave a bit too much to think about.

Want. Love.  He was unsure what would prove that they meant the same to Matt.

“Could I?...” His finger tapped against Matt’s zipper.

Biting his lip, Matt nodded. Remaining still, Matt only exhaled when he freed his cock. Stiff as a board, Matt waited. Always waiting for him to make the next clumsy move.

“I want you to show me how to make you feel good.”

The request might as well have been a command by the way Matt’s hand took his forcefully, wrapping it around his cock. 

Warm was the thought that hit first. Pulse practically thudded under his touch, a touch that he tried to relax into. Last time he’d been able to stroke Matt only for a moment, unable to really put much thought into it. Like this throbbing warmth in his hand as Matt kissed into the crook of his neck, set off that doubt he was doing the right thing.

Stop thinking. 

Experimentally, he rubbed his thumb over the tip of Matt’s cock. Head dipping, Matt’s kiss grew heavier against his skin. 

Gathering precum didn’t seem enough lubrication, but Matt’s hips jerked with every careful stroke. 

“Faster,” Matt gasped out.

Obliging, he picked up speed. So did Matt, lips, teeth grazing over the span of his chest that could be reached while in their position. 

I want to see you, he thought. Is this alright? Am I doing it right? I want to see your face. There’s no time.  The clock didn’t care how much he wanted to extend this feeling of being wanted. 

“Foggy, I-” Matt grunted out. Hands slid from their hold on Foggy’s shoulders, lightly skimming his back.

Grip instinctively tightened against Matt’s cock, cutting off his words. 

Cum dribbled onto the floor as he stepped back. Hot coals burned where Matt’s fingers had touched his back. 

Heart pingponged in his chest at the nearly giddy smile on Matt’s face. 

“Your turn.” 

All interest in reciprocation had vanished. Burning had replaced it.  “You’re going to be late for work,” he reminded.

“Work?” Matt asked too giddily. 

“Yeah, that thing that you’re always ditching me for.”

Pensive washed over Matt’s face. Ridgidly, he tucked himself back into his pants. “I wouldn’t leave you if it wasn’t important.”

“I know.” Pressing a chaste kiss to Matt’s cheek, he turned to clean up. 

“Forgive me.”

Not knowing how to respond, he simply nodded.

###

The duffel bags that occupied Karen's trunk contained everything she needed. Black Cat attire excluded, she’d kept its contents the same for years. For all her teasing about Foggy’s Mary Poppins-esque backpack having everything, her own duffel bag versions were more or less the same. The biggest difference was that hers were getaway bags. 

Going through one more year at Columbia before driving off somewhere to start anew no longer sat right with her. That grand plan to do what she needed with Felicia’s gifts then disappeared into some fantasy of “a better place”, all but crumbled the moment she realized how much Foggy and Matt meant to her.

And still you’re prepared to run, Kevin laughed. So much for taking what you want.

All week, the ghost had pestered her. A part of her hoped that once she patched things with Foggy that he would disappear, but things were never that easy for her. It would be her luck that she’d be forever trapped with this ghostly version taunting her.

“Coming or going?” Steven asked, popping up right as she slammed her trunk shut. 

“You’re lucky I did-” she stopped herself. Heather didn’t talk like that. 

Wide-eyed Steven shied away. “Didn’t mean to spook you.”

“Lots on my mind, sorry.” 

“No worries, birdies.” Steven smiled. “Lots goes up there, too,” he tapped against his own forehead. 

“Better than being mindless, right?” she asked, starting up the stairs to the large doors of the museum. 

“Suppose so.” Like a puppy, Steven trailed after her. 

It was still humorous how someone older than her still acted like that.

“You don’t work today. Can’t get enough of the ol’ exhibits?”

“Paycheck pick up, though if you are dying to practice those tour giving skills, I have a little spare time.”

“Not tonight, I'm afraid I got …plans.”

“With?”

“Shouldn’t say.” 

“Why am I surrounded by secretive people?” she huffed.

“I heard we attract what we see within ourselves. You are rather secretive as well.”

“Heather’s life is boring.” Her steps halted slightly. If Steven noticed her speaking in the supposed third person, he didn’t make a comment. “You must be excited not to be on locking up duty.” 

“Leaving before the moon is out will most definitely be a change.” He laughed as if recalling an inside joke. 

This is how I messed up, she thought. Heather could keep a friend like Steven because she had kept him comfortably ignorant of who she was. It was a mistake to have ever entered Columbia University under her real name. 

“Heather… that reporter you spoke to… be careful of him.”

“He has yet to assassinate my character.”

“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” he warned with that odd intense look she’d seen only once before. 

I will soon enough, she thought.

Blinking hard, Steven's head ducked slightly. “We shouldn’t keep you. Best get out before Martha schedules you for a shift.”

“Enjoy your evening.”  

Paycheck in hand, Karen roamed the exhibits one last time. The true beauty of museums was that there was always something more to look at. New details once glimpsed over. New ways to bypass the security systems. To her left a black blur rippled against the glass. Overhead, the security camera rotated in her direction. A blur moved on her right. 

Based on the bend of the image in the glass, whoever this was was on the second floor following her. 

And knows when the camera is switching, she thought. 

The frankly outdated cameras were easy enough to time; it was one of the reasons why Felicia preferred this museum, or so that’s what she said. Most of the layout was practically tailor-made for the equipment that Black Cat used. As Heather, she knew which walls were strong enough, which glass was weak enough, and which tight spaces she could use as an escape. 

If you want to follow Heather, then good luck, she thought. Calmly pushing into a hidden back entrance, she remotely tripped the alarm system.

Blaring muffled through the strong cemented walls. Through the labyrinth that housed partial remains and broken vases, Heather was replaced. Long brown wig switching out for silver, mask pressed firmly onto her face, spare claws wrapped around her fingers just in case her pursuer was near. She kept moving, slipping through narrowing areas where crates balanced on one another. Without her full outfit, she ran the risk of getting seriously hurt. 

Behind something knocked against the crate. 

The emergency exit swung open. Belt unlatched, she flicked it to the nearest fire escape. That familiar tug cradled her. 

The masked man burst through the door, head jutting around like a confused chicken. 

You want to play, let’s play.

***

Concrete walls distorted the light impressions of footsteps Matt was tracking. A second pair clattered behind him. One heartbeat read as frightened, while the other was closer to a cat’s when they were chasing after a mouse. It hadn’t been his intention to go into a chase after the museum worker. If he’d approached as Matt Murdock, perhaps he would’ve gotten some answers instead of cutting through slim spaces that threatened to catch on the loose fabric wrapped around his head. These backrooms echoed terribly, and the overwhelming smell of packaging material and decay accelerated his headache. He needed answers. From Eddie's recording that he’d been listening on loop for a week straight, he couldn’t tell which were truths or lies, but there was something off, and Heather was the only clear piece of evidence they had to figure out who this Black Cat person was. 

Traces of the intruder was washed away by the common in and out of the club by now. All his nightly patrols received were stopping pretty thieves and drunkards from escalating to actions that required police involvement. None of that put him at ease. It didn’t lessen the guilt of leaving Foggy nightly. He had told him that his work was important, but the lack of results that Elektra often reminded him of disagreed. Coming here, to the first place he knew of Black Cat’s activities was his only chance.

I should’ve asked Karen. She might’ve known more than Heather. She might not have run away, he thought, pushing the exit doors wide open. 

Sounds of the city battered at his tiring mind.  Heels ran down the street. Before he could follow or get a good reorientation of his space, a loud whistle drew his attention upward. 

The form was familiar, as was the tone of a huff. 

Something hard pelted his shoulder. 

Raising his hands, he stepped back. 

Metal claws tapped against rusted bars of the fire escape. Heeled boots heavily stepped higher. 

She was leading him up to the roof. From his past experience, he knew that she wasn’t averse to leaping away, but this was a deliberate ‘follow me’ pace. 

Good guy or bad guy, he still didn’t know what she was. 

Either way, he hurried to follow. Shoulder throbbing went ignored as he quickened his pace. It was dusk, far too light for his liking to be spotted dressed like this. 

At last reaching the top a canister of a condensed aerosol exploded at his feet. The plume of the same substance she’d used before coated him once again. 

His feet skidded back. 

“I should’ve known-” he choked, the chemical taste sizzling on his tongue.

Heels seemingly came from every direction. Black Cat’s outline appeared and disappeared.

Focus. Painfully tight, he shut his eyes, keeping his hands lifted in a boxing stance. Focus. If she’s anything like Elektra, she won’t hesitate to kill. 

Even through the fog, the steadfast hatred was sharp. 

His limbs were dragging down on their own. Whatever she’d hit him with this time was stronger. 

Anxiety sank onto him. Mouth agape, he tried to swallow the air his lungs desperately needed.

His feet stumbled back. 

Heels followed. The warping form swayed, then reshaped into a jutting out hand.

Uselessly, he slapped it away.

Gravity was taking him. He could hear the wind whip by his ears that were now parallel with the street below. 

Metal talons grazed against flesh. Suspension held him somewhat upright. Head lulling, he could no longer feel the rest of himself. 

Something stung over his left cheek.

“Not yet,” the woman warned through gritted teeth. 

“Black Cat,” he spat.

“Man in the mask,” she equally snarled, jutting his head up. “Or do you have a different name?”

True fear registered as claws ghosted over his face covering. He was powerless to stop her from revealing who he was. 

“Chasing after innocent people was all to gain my attention?”

“Worked,” he smirked.

Claws punctured through fabric as his head was yanked back some more.

“You and your reporter friend,”

He tensed.

A victorious huff came from his left. “Your friend should know better than to ask so many questions in Hell’s Kitchen.” Claws pressed warning against his throat. “You protecting that club is one thing, but your team-up to come after me is something that I will make you regret for the rest of your life.” Hellfire flickered in her hissed whisper. “I won’t just destroy Eddie Brock’s career, I will send him out of this city, out of the country.” Again, he felt the light pressure against his face covering. “I will expose you piece by piece.” 

Snarling like a caged dog, he tried to shake off her.

“I will take away everything you hold dear. I will kill you from the inside out.”

Truth rang out in his inner lie detector.

Fight! Pride demanded.

Fucking pathetic, Stick’s voice jabbed. You’ve lost your edge, kid. The weak-hearted deserve to die.

Feet refused to cooperate. 

“If you hold any value to those in your life, you will not seek me out again.” A distorted ring punctured her last word.

A featherlight tap sent him hurling back. Gravity sought to claim its prize. Right before it could, the sound of a tethered rope snapped in place. Red-hot pain shot up his left leg. The ground tapped against his limp fingers.

***

The drumming of fingers against the crook of Marci's crossed arms was not a good sign. Foggy was trying not to tip over into annoying territory. Jittering feet begged to take laps around the living area of her apartment; instead, he settled on watching the oven timer count down. Two already cooked frozen pizzas awaited the party guests. 

Technically, this wasn’t a party, more of a “I’m sorry for being a dick” get-together. The lack of music playing and the cued-up DVD player were adding to the tension. If they had agreed to a real party, there would be ample distractions while they waited to see who, if anyone, from their study group would arrive. 

Marci’s house slippers thundered behind him. Every object seemed to rattle as the fridge door opened. “They’re not coming,” she said, glass bottles clicking in one hand while the other slammed the door shut. 

6:45 read the digital clock. “It’s still early.” He countered. “Fifteen minutes early,  which is perfect,” he said, pointing to the oven timer.

“On time is late.”  The caps clattered off into the trash can beside him.

“This is humiliating,” she mumbled the same way that she had when they’d personally delivered tonight’s invite instead of sending a text, which Marci insisted was more efficient.

“Apologies have to be personal.”

She rolled her eyes. “Any more personal and you’d be walking around campus with a sign listing all your mistakes.” 

“Someone will show up,” he said, hopeful. 

“You have to work on that.” Her index finger pointed at him before she took a sip. “Your lack of confidence is abysmal. Opposition will eat you alive in court. Practically fish food.”

“You,” He took the second beer, “have to work on having a little faith in people.” 

“Because you love everyone you meet? Everyone is a friend until proven otherwise, and probably still you’d welcome them with open arms.”

“I do not love everyone I meet. I'm not that much of a doormat, thank you very much. I do have standards.”

“I have yet to see it. Look at this,” she motioned around her apartment. “Why am I even letting you do this? They should’ve been grateful to even get a texted apology from me.” 

“Give me an authorized doctor note stating that you would literally die if you apologize, then I’ll drop it,” he sassed. “Apologies are not supposed to be this tooth-pulling.”

Humourless, she laughed.“I haven’t apologized for anything in my life.”

Carefully, he stepped a little closer. “No time like the present to fix that.” 

“They are not coming.” Marci leaned against the counter, her shoulder barely touching his. “No one wants to hear excuses.”

“Then don’t give them any.”

“That’s rich coming from the master of skirting around things. Mr “I’m sorry for existing”, let’s not rock the boat just to keep the peace.”

“Right, because you have it all figured out. Mrs. “Let’s keep jabbing away just to see what happens.” 

“Better than mistaking your silence for peace. You just let it eat you with that stupid smile on your face.”

“You keep pressing buttons to see who rises to the challenge!”

“And you do every time!” 

Something akin to pride swelled in his chest at her smile.

“Because I’m soft, right?” he asked, noting that both their decibel levels were rising.

Heat zizzled in the room.

“Codependent marshmallow that’ll melt away if everyone isn’t playing all nicely together,” she shot back. Her gaze didn’t leave his face. Just like in a mock trial, she’d pinpointed her target and kept going. “How’s that going for you? Boyfriend and would-be adopted sister still chained at your side?”

“Why can’t you just admit that you don’t want people to be as miserable as you make it seem?”

“WHY DO YOU ACT LIKE EVERYTHING IS FINE ALL THE TIME?” 

“IT’S OPTIMISM!”

Marci’s feet were practically on his, any sort of distance shrinking despite their shouting. “IT’S DELUSIONAL!”

“SO IS YOUR INSISTENCE THAT YOU DON’T CARE ABOUT ANYONE!”

 A confession waited in the brief pause. Whether it was hers or his he wasn’t sure. 

His heart was refusing to slow down, his mouth readying for another verbal clash. Still, he knew it was dangerous to keep going. All the proding would make him say more things that he was pushing down. All the doubts would fly out in heated words that Marci didn’t shy away from, even though it was wrong. 

Foggy Nelson wasn’t supposed to be some angry person holding onto little things until it became a grudge or regret. That’s not the son his mom raised; it wasn’t the friend that people preferred; it wasn’t him. It couldn’t be him. There was no reason for him to turn into this angry person. 

Maybe that’s what I am deep inside, the worry tapped into a sudden wave of nausea.

Marci hadn’t flipped on his anger switch. She challenged what she saw within him from day one.

Happy, kind, fun, peaceful Foggy, that’s who he always longed to be. 

You see more than that, he thought, gazing into her eyes. “I’m weak,” he whispered.

“I never said that.” Despite her definitive tone, that nameless thing twinkled in her eyes again. 

Please don’t say it, he mentally begged. He didn’t want to keep holding onto the question of what she meant when she called him unfair. The answer to that question may be the last thing she’d ever admit.

“I said you were soft…That’s not always a weakness.”

The beeping of the oven overlapped with the knocking of the front door. As Marci pulled away, he felt compelled to apologize. The relief in his chest felt wrong. 

It’s fine, he told himself as he pulled out the pizza. The tapping of house slippers hurried his feet to Marci, who was standing in the door with her arms crossed once again. A strand of hair twirled around her finger. 

“Is it the RA?” he whispered; their yelling had gotten a bit loud. 

Stepping aside, she motioned to the closed door. Through the peephole, he saw Amaya and Claire. 

Marci’s face paled. 

Laying a hand on her shoulder, her questioning eyes turned towards him. “It’ll work out.” 

Together they opened the door.

“Thanks for coming,” he greeted, dialing up his happy-go-lucky charm to a degree that sent Marci’s nose wrinkling in disgust.  Lightly, he nudged her.

“Come in,” she said robotically.

“Pizza?” He offered as the pair entered slowly. 

“Sure,” Amaya said, clearly trying to break the tension. 

“Good cause, I went overboard.” He motioned to the stack of frozen pizzas. 

Amaya smiled. 

Claire chewed on the inside of her mouth. 

Marci kept a three-foot separation from all three of them. 

“Wrenly said they might stop by later.”

“Have you spoken to Charlotte?” Claire cut right to the point. 

Almost indignant, Marci turned her nose upward. “I tried to text her.” 

Charlotte was the one person that he hadn’t pushed to invite in person. For purely selfish reasons, he couldn’t stand by if there was another tidal wave of hurtful words towards Marci. It was too late for him to even think about turning off his attack dog mode. Even under his current smile, he was ready to snap. 

“Clearly, she doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore,” Marci dismissed.

“It was messed up what you said.”

Defensiveness raised Marci's shoulders. Again, he laid a hand on her shoulder, absorbing some of the flames. This wasn’t a battle that she had to fight alone. 

“It was,” Marci agreed. 

“So this is an actual apology?” Wrenly gawked, video camera slung over her shoulder.

“What is all that?” Marci sighed.

“We’ve known each other for years, and not once have you ever apologized for anything.”

Marci gave him the “I told you so” look.

“I needed to get this on tape.” Wrenly held up the camera. “Give us your best performance.” Their fingers counted down before the small red light turned on.

“This is ridiculous.” Marci’s fingers subconsciously tapped against his hand. 

“You can do this,” he whispered encouragingly.

Huffing, Marci glared right down the lens of the camera. Foggy was sure that it might spontaneously combust. 

“I was wrong. My actions went against the agreed upon ultiliatrian approach of our group.” 

Foggy tried not to laugh as she stubbornly dug her heel into the carpet. 

“I will say things like that again. You know it’s going to happen…it’s not always right…I'm sorry.”

“So am I,” he said, stepping into frame. “We are sorry for hurting you. I’m not going to be sorry about defending someone I lov-”

“-Erase that last part!” Marci demanded.

“Sure.”

“Foggy can’t handle not being the center of attention.” She pushed him out of frame. Holding her stance, Marci softened slightly. “I’m sorry, Charlotte.” After a pause, she excused herself.

“Do you think that’ll help?” He asked, attempting not to look over the footage.

“Maybe.” Wrenly laid the camera on the counter. “Basically a miracle for her to admit that she was wrong... You can’t make her admit anything really.”

“We’re watching a movie,” Marci declared when she returned. 

With pizza in hand and Elle Woods defending in court on the tv things fell into a comfortable silence. 

“This is the best part,” he whispered towards Marci. 

Elle’s tearing down Ms. Windham’s alibi was memorized word by word after the first time he’d watched this movie. He could see that Marci's mouth also moved, silently following along with the dialogue. 

Next, we should watch My Cousin Vinny, he thought, working up a script to convince Marci to make movie nights a weekly thing for the group. 

As the credits rolled, he clapped. “Peak cinema.”

“It was alright,” Claire said, helping Amaya to her feet. 

“It’s Reese Witherspoon!” he defended. “She’s the best!”

“Is she or are you just saying that because you’ve modeled your bubbly personality after her portrayal?” Marci prodded.

“You are a lot like her,” Wrenly agreed, packing a few pizza slices into a ziplock. 

“I expect to receive a pink suit on graduation day,” he laughed. “How can anyone not like that movie?”

“It was a good movie,” Amaya nodded.

“Terrible love interest, though,” Marci said, practically corralling them out of her palace. 

His ears perked at the chance of having a debate with her. “Don’t tell me that you would’ve preferred it if Elle got back with Warner.”

“That asshole?” Marci’s face scrunched in disgust. “I  always thought it would’ve been better if Elle ended up with Vivan.” 

“They did have good chemistry,” he admitted. “Yeah, that could’ve been really cool.”

****

Sitting at his desk, reading wasn’t at all what Matt should’ve been doing. Technically, it was what Matt Murdock was supposed to be doing: studying to ensure that he passed the next exam, but as the man in the mask, there were more pressing tasks. That version of him had to get back to the club for an updated report. 

The texture of braille beneath his fingers mirrored the scrape of gravel that he hit against trying to pull himself into a sit-up position so that he could untie the rope from his leg. When he’d managed to get loose, the hard impact on his back had left him motionless for a moment. All the disorientation, the numbness had been blissfully temporary, long enough for Black Cat to get away without a trace, but not long enough that he couldn’t find his way back to the dorm.

God had to be watching over him tonight as he’d been able to once again avoid the overwhelming questioning that would come if Foggy had been here to see his pitiful return. 

Reading was supposed to decrease his rise in cortisol, but it hardly distracted from the ache in his hip that had to be slightly dislocated from the drop. 

Familiar heartbeat stole his attention. Easily, he tracked its arrival from cutting across the quad to the stairwell, then right behind the door. Keys fumbled in occupied hands.

Rising from his desk, he opened the door. “Welcome back.”

“How did you know it was me?”

He tapped his nose.

Looking down at his hand, Foggy gave an amused huh. “You could smell the pizza I brought back. Not as greasy as Pizza Time.” With the back of his foot, Foggy closed the door.

“The apology party went well, then?”

“I think so. Marci was a nervous wreck.” Foggy laguhed to himself. “So was I, if I’m being honest. Watched Legally Blonde, which is a movie you have to see. It’s so good!”

“You say that about every movie.”

“I’ll have you know that I pick out the very best for you.”

“Only for me?” 

“Jealous that I am sharing my movie recommendations with others?”

“Perhaps.”

Foggy’s laugh tickled against him as he tried to move to his side of the dorm.

“I missed you.”

Heart breaking out into a sprint, the bag of pizza fell to the floor. 

Mouth halfway to asking what was wrong was instantly taken over by a devouring kiss. Arousal blossomed alongside the warming skin under his fingers.

The lightning speed at which touches lost their hesitancy should’ve initiated a pause. Foggy was getting more comfortable with more than just kissing. Matt could hear the determination in every firm grasp or pull closer. Somehow it was far too fast and not fast enough. 

Tucked in doubt, Matt wondered why they hadn’t talked about the first time. Whatever Dean had said or perhaps hadn’t said dangled above his head. Matt knew he should’ve been the one to slow things down, back into the aggravating slow pace that Foggy had been comfortable with before he’d crossed the line. 

The electricity that lips against his and hands slipping under his shirt made a strong case against breaking the moment to talk things through. He’d never been a talker. Sex was always devoid of talk, only action. Chasing the numbness that accompanied pleasure was a selfish act that his body knew too well. Lust shielded out all around him; encapsulated all his sins into flesh on flesh, a tactile means to rid the swirling feelings that he didn’t dare acknowledge. 

Different, he thought, lips pressing a kiss over the jackhammering heart.

With Foggy, he wanted things to be different. The way Foggy opened himself to be mapped out, to be pliant under his touch, was different from how he’d been with Eddie. Quick, rough, bordering on unsafe, had to be replaced with this slower tender hesitation. And somehow his lust became a tidal wave with every small acceptance of his kisses against furnac-ing skin. Every hitched breath was a stamp of approval. 

Springs squeaked as he carefully guided Foggy onto the bed. Clothes no longer stood as an obstacle between them.

“Say it,” Foggy panted. 

“I missed you,” he repeated the words that had ignited desire in his boyfriend. 

“Not that,” Foggy encouraged.

Matt was still figuring out the words that shifted the way Foggy’s hands sought him out, brought him closer. He needed those words, needed the defined trigger that confirmed that his own desires were allowed. He needed to hear every part of Foggy call out to him, to scream that he was following the correct pace. 

“I want you.”

Tang of arousal filled his senses. Heart rate in front of him swooped before skyrocketing. 

There were other words that he should’ve said to Foggy, words that his boyfriend so effortlessly told him over and over. The words “I love you” weighed in his throat with each passing day. 

Foggy loves differently,  jumping in with fear and all. It’s not just words to him, he remembered. Is it just words to me? he thought, continue to pepper devotional kisses.

Not too long ago, he wouldn’t have even considered that thought. Love was a weakness. Love was a dangling hook. 

For years, he’d avoided such danger. After losing his family, he couldn’t understand why anyone would willingly attempt to love another person. 

Within us is the ability to love and be loved, Father Lantom had told him. 

Pain radiated from his hip.

Terrifying. It was too terrifying to test out that theory. How could he be loved when Foggy didn’t know the full extent of the person he claimed to love? How could he possess the ability to love another person when he’d been cursed to end up alone? 

Alone is what you deserve, Guilt spoke up.

It’s not what I want, he thought, laying kisses more onto Foggy’s thighs.

It’s what you deserve! Guilt shamed his tightening grip onto the softness that he himself could never embody. 

“I want you,” he repeated. 

Hips rutting against each other, he felt Foggy’s hands brace against his back. Closer. Foggy was always pulling him closer, yet it wasn’t enough. It couldn’t be enough when even flustered together like this sent off the warning that he should run away from the comfort.

Nothing lasts forever.

Nothing good stays.  

The man below him was the embodiment of good; of a love that he could never keep, no matter how badly he wanted it. 

“I want you,” he whispered into Foggy’s ear, earning a low moan. 

Greedily, he swallowed the sound. Every fluttering heartbeat, the friction of skin on skin, the building pressure of Foggy’s climax occupied his attention. Beyond it didn’t matter. 

Nothing good lasts.

The warmth, the softness, the openness, the honesty all only existed when he was with Foggy. 

I don’t want to lose you.

You will, Shame said.

Fighting that thought was pointless. He should’ve thanked God for having Foggy now. 

Pain in his hip jolted again. Harder he grined against Foggy. 

You’re going to lose him.

This was all he could get: a last meal before execution.

Hungrily, he devoured all that he could.