Work Text:
Foggy stares at the vibrating phone, hand twitching, desperate to pick it up and shut it up. The incessant mechanical voice repeats a name emotionlessly.
‘Pete. Pete. Pete.’
He almost picks it up, partly out of curiosity at whoever ‘Pete’ is, partly to end the noise. The only thing holding him back is the fact that any time he gets even a bit too involved in Matt's life, it doesn't go too well.
At this thought, he turns his attention to the bruised and battered man on his couch, the normally light sleeper not even stirring. Clumsy stitches adorn the fresh gashes on his face, encrusted with dried blood and sweat. He sighs inwardly, tearing his attention from Matt and back to the phone, which had since finished ringing, now replaced with a notification, read out by the same female voice.
‘One New Voicemail From: Pete.’
He sighs for what feels like the fiftieth time this evening, thankful the noise has stopped. He gets up, back complaining - God, he’s getting old - and walks to the sink to get a glass of water for whenever Matt hopefully wakes up. He makes it to the kitchen and grabs a glass, fills it up, and-
The phone starts to ring again.
‘Pete. Pete. Pete.’
It takes everything in him not to break the stupid phone. He sets the glass down on a table and marches over.
‘Pete. Pete. Pete.’
His finger hovers over ‘Decline’, tempted to put an end to the assault on his ears. But you never know with Matt. Will declining anger some obscure ninja gang? Maybe send an assassin his way? Oh, the joys of having a vigilante friend.
His brain ticks… Pete? He doesn’t ring a bell. Matt never mentioned a Pete. Did he? He tries to recall all the times he was half-listening to a story of Matts. Pete… some guy in the news? No. Matt never… wait, Matt never talks about him… Why would he call now? He spirals. What if he is involved in something? What if it IS an assassin!?
A groan snaps him out of his thoughts. He distantly realises the phone is now quiet.
“Matt? Buddy? Can you hear me?” Matt nods slowly, wincing at the head pain.
“Dont sit up- uh-” he fetches the glass of water and hands it to Matt, gently guiding his hand to the water. “Drink this.”
“Thanks” He rasps out, a grateful smile aimed at foggy. Well, a few inches off.
They sit in silence, the hum of the city outside filling the space between them. He watches Matt close his eyes and bring a hand up to his face, wincing again - probably at the awkward stitches on his forehead. Finally, he speaks.
“Look, I'm sorry for coming here. I know you don't like getting involved, and with Marci out-”
“It's fine, man.” he gives Matt a smile. Not that he’d know. “As long as you’re safe.” he says, hoping he sounds as genuine as he feels.
“Thanks, Fog.”
Silence stretches. Foggy’s stomach twists—Pete.
He glances at Matt. Still staring into space.
Time to ask.
He shifts, clears his throat, then second guesses himself. He asks anyway.
“So, uh…”
Here goes nothing.
“Who's Pete?”
Matt's head snaps to him, shoulders tensing and mouth open slightly. That reaction’s never a good thing. Matt stutters out a few syllables, his brain short-circuiting.
“What? How do you- did he call?”
Bingo.
“Who is he?” Foggy asks again, a little bit more force behind his words this time. He watches Matt swallow, then turn away.
“Nobody.”
“Matt.” He presses, narrowing his eyes.
“Foggy.” Matt echos.
Frustration flares in Foggy's stomach.
“No. Matt. You don't get to do this again. You said you wouldn’t lie.” He watches something flash over his face. Shame, maybe? Whatever it is, it disappears as quickly as it arrives. Matt shifts uncomfortably, sighing.
“Its not like that-”
“Oh really? Tell me why it feels like I've seen this before?”
Because you have.
A distant realisation slaps him across the face. Matt, injured on the couch. Foggy patching him up. A secret out of Matt's control. Holy shit.
“Is this Daredevil again?”
“Foggy-” Matt weakly protests.
“Is this about him? Are you working with someone?”
“Foggy.” Matt repeats, desperation working his way into his tone.
“I thought we were past this!”
Matt's jaw clenches, his fist tightening around his glass. He is still, save for the uneven breathing.
“This isnt… about you.”
Foggy scoffs.
“He’s not like that.” he adds quietly.
He takes a step back, a humorless laugh escaping him.
“Are you working with him?”
“No.” Matt responds, a little too quickly.
“Then why’s he calling you on a burner phone?” he presses, accusatory.
“Because it's easier.” He snaps.
“For what!?” He's close to tearing his hair out.
He watches regret flicker over Matt's face.
Neither of them say anything.
Finally, Matt breaks.
He slumps into the couch, reaching for the phone next to him, and throwing it to foggy with scary accuracy.
“Play the voicemail.” Matt sounds exhausted, too tired to argue properly. Foggy looks at Matt's resigned face, then back to the phone. Its screen is cracked, and its way too old to work properly, but the screen glows with a single notification;
‘One New Voicemail From: Pete.’
With the slightest hint of hesitation, his thumb hovers over it, then taps ‘play’.
“Matt.”
A gruff male voice travels out of the tinny speakers.
“I, uh.. Saw what happened.”
Foggy glances up at Matt, who is listening intently. The voice is familiar. He can almost place it.
“Call me back, Red. Before I drag you home myself.”
The voicemail ends abruptly, just as foggy realises who it is.
“Are you… working with the punisher?” It comes out more as a statement than a question. Ice travels through his veins, anger spreading through him. Matt shifts uncomfortably, not saying a word. This only fuels his anger. He steps forward, clenching his fist around the phone.
“He kills people, Matt! He almost killed you-”
“Its not what you think.”
“You don't get to tell me what I think.”
Matt looks away. Like a kicked puppy. Heavy silence stretches on.
“You wouldn’t understand-”
Foggy cries out in exasperation. “Then tell me Matt!”
Matt looks down, shoulders slumped. His eyes briefly flicker to the phone.
“He..” Matt pauses, carefully choosing what to say next. “He looks out for me.”
“I don't care if he looks out for you! He's a murderer! Why is he calling you? Why does he know who you are? Why are you defending him!?”
He hesitates, eyes wet. After a minute of silence, Foggy sighs.
“Whatever Matt. I don't care. Get yourself killed by the punisher or something. Be out of here by morning.” He turns, walking over to the bedroom.
“...wait.” Matt quietly says.
Foggy pauses, looking back at Matt.
“He keeps me safe. He looks out for me in ways no one else can. I don’t have to pretend with him. I know he won’t judge me. Not me - or Daredevil.”
Foggy bites back the retort he knows is coming. He looks at the man, who was bleeding out on his couch not even thirty minutes ago. He watches the way his eyebrows crease, conflicted and choosing his words carefully. The way his troubled frown tightens, the slight flush on his cheeks. Foggy feels a pang of guilt in his stomach, then reminds himself why he’s angry. He swallows.
“We’re, uh, together.”
Foggy practically feels his eyes pop out of his head. His brain scrambles for a response.
“...why?”
Matt looks somewhat surprised. He hesitates before answering.
“I can let my guard down, and he won’t… he won’t judge me - not for what I do, or who I am.” his voice drops, almost whispering. “He makes it easy to breathe. I don’t have to pretend. He just sees me, and I can be okay.”
He narrows his eyes. His chest tightens, he feels a pang of hurt.
“So, you can relax around the mass murder but not me?’
Matt's face twists in confusion.
“What-? No, i just-”
Foggy steps back, crossing his arms.
“What am I Matt? Someone to fall back on when it goes south? Someone to clean up your messes?”
He is silent.
“Yeah. I'm going to sleep.”
He turns around, ignoring Matt's frustrated sigh, and walks into his bedroom.
“Get some sleep. Let's talk tomorrow.”
They probably won’t. Matt will leave in the middle of the night, take his anger out on a mugger, and avoid Foggy for a week.
“Night, Matt.”
He closes the door.