Fic: Will You
Title: Will You
Fandom: Daredevil (TV)
Rating: G
Summary: Foggy's always joking when he asks Matt to marry him. Matt's always serious when he says yes. OR: Five proposals Foggy forgot, and one Matt makes sure he'll remember.
Notes: For the "solemn vow" prompt on my Daredevil bingo card.
[1]
“Marry me,” Foggy says when Matt walks back into their dorm room with coffee and a bag full of donuts so greasy they’re soaking through the paper.
“Um,” Matt says. Foggy smells like last night’s sweat and a general miasma of alcohol and unbrushed teeth. His voice is scratchy and faint, his stomach’s gurgling unhappily, and when he pushes his way out of his nest of blankets far enough to sit up and take the coffee from Matt’s hand, he groans.
But his heart is totally steady.
Matt knows Foggy’s attracted to him. He can hear it in Foggy’s heartbeat and in his voice; he can smell it on him. Foggy’s initial nervousness settled down after the first few days, thankfully, but he still flirts with Matt here and there, even though it always makes his pulse swoop and lurch. It’s like he can’t help himself.
Matt never knows how to respond. It’s not that he doesn’t like Foggy, because he does, very much. Foggy is smart, and funny, and he smells nice when he doesn’t reek of hangover, and Matt never has to ask him to do something like narrate his gestures or keep the floor clear more than once before Foggy remembers to do whatever it is Matt needs, every time and always cheerfully.
But Foggy’s a guy, and Matt is straight.
Foggy sips the coffee and lets out a little sigh that is too far away to ruffle the fine hairs on the back of Matt’s neck. He feels it there anyway. “Seriously, you’re the best. Let’s get hitched. You can provide the coffee in the mornings, and I’ll hook you up with a sweet family discount at my uncle’s butcher shop. Win-win.”
Maybe it’s the fact that he’s still half-asleep that keeps Foggy’s heart so steady, or maybe it’s that it’s so ridiculous that it doesn’t even qualify as really flirting. Matt’s not marriage material, even if gay marriage was legal in their state. Surely even Foggy, who sees the best in everyone, has realized that by now.
It’s almost a shame, because they’re great roommates. And what’s marriage, really, but roommates for good, especially after the passion dies like everyone says it does and you’re left - hopefully - with friendship and an agreement over who does the laundry and who makes the coffee?
Matt can make the coffee. Or fetch it, as the case may be.
“It’s a deal,” Matt says, heart racing, and steals away to his bed with his own coffee and half of one of the donuts. It’s okay. It’s just a joke. They’re kidding.
Well. Foggy’s kidding.
Matt’s kind of not.
-
[2]
“We should elope,” Foggy says.
“Hm?” Matt asks, blinking. They’re laying on the floor of their dorm room, Matt’s head on Foggy’s stomach - what, it’s soft - and the gentle rise and fall of Foggy’s breathing is making Matt feel sleepy and silly, only half listening to Foggy gripe about a family wedding he’s expected to attend.
“Gretchen’s my age, which means all her friends are my age, which means my mom and aunts are going to be shoving me at all of them,” Foggy explains. “But if I’m like ‘oh, sorry, my roommate and I ran off to Massachusetts and got married last week, I’m off the market,’ they can’t make any of those poor girls agree to awkward obligation dates with me.”
Matt frowns. “Why would they be obligatory? Why wouldn’t they want to date you?”
“Says the man who’s currently using Reason Number One as a pillow.”
Matt’s frown deepens. “That’s stupid. You’re great.”
Foggy pokes his cheek with a finger. “All the more reason you should elope with me. I don’t have to convince you of my many excellent qualities, you’re already there.”
More than Foggy knows. Matt’s blithe assurance of his own straightness had puffed into nothingness like so many soap bubbles in their second semester, somewhere between one too many drunkenly affectionate smooches on the cheek from Foggy and a host of confusing dreams. Now Matt’s pretty sure that if Foggy ever kissed him properly, like Matt sometimes thinks Foggy still wants to, Matt would kiss back.
“Why not just bring a date?” he asks, instead of saying any of that. “They couldn’t throw any of your cousin’s friends at you then.”
“Ugh, I don’t know,” Foggy sighs, making Matt’s head dip and rise as he exhales. “Marci and I aren’t on the best terms right now, and it’s a little much to ask someone else - going to a wedding, meeting a whole swarm of Nelsons who’ve gotten into the champagne. That’s a lot for a first date, you know?”
“I could be your plus one.”
Foggy stiffens beneath him, and his heart thunders. “What?”
“I mean. I. I mean.” What did Matt mean? “Not, like, as a date.” There’s a little exhale from Foggy, but whether it’s disappointment or relief is beyond Matt’s senses. “Just, like, as a buffer. Or, you know, if your mom tries to push you on one of the bridesmaids, you can be like, oh, sorry, can’t right now, Matt’s having a blind emergency.”
Foggy lets out a snorty little chuckle. “What’s a blind emergency?”
“An urgent need to know what color the centerpieces are,” Matt says gravely, and beams when that gets a full-throated laugh out of Foggy. “Seriously, I don’t mind. And free cake, right?”
“Yeah?” Foggy drums his fingers thoughtfully on his own sternum, and Matt feels the vibration in his bones. “You sure you want to risk it? You might wind up getting trotted around like a show pony, too.”
Matt knows. He’s spent enough Thanksgivings and Christmases and Easters with Foggy’s family by now, knows the way Foggy’s parents brag about him to aunts and uncles in the same breath they brag about Foggy with. So brilliant, the both of them. He’s always been treated like part of the family and he can’t help wondering what it would be like if he was presented as part of the family. He’s going to be a lawyer, too, our son-in-law. Foggy’s Matt.
But that’s not what this is. This is a favor for a friend.
“Yeah, I’ll brave it,” he says. “What are friends for?”
Foggy ruffles his hair, and Matt grins. “You’re a good egg, Murdock,” he says. “But seriously, if my mom starts handing my phone number out, we’re leaving the wedding and eloping, okay?”
“Okay,” Matt says.
Foggy’s heart is steady. He’s still kidding.
Matt’s not.
-
[3]
“MATTY! WE’RE GETTING MARRIED!”
Matt was already prepared to jump in faux surprise as Foggy crashed into the room - he’d heard him coming a block away, his heart racing excitedly - but Foggy’s words add some verisimilitude to Matt’s startle. “We are? Why?”
“Gay marriage, buddy! It’s legal in New York!” Foggy hauls Matt to his feet. “Come on, man, I know you’re straight but you’re a law student, you gotta pay attention to this shit.” It’s barely a scold, not with the joy radiating off of Foggy like something Matt could touch. “Marriage equality! We did it! We can totally get hitched!”
He grabs Matt’s face in his hands and Matt’s heart lurches - but the kiss, when it comes, lands on Matt’s forehead, a wet, noisy smack.
He forces a laugh. His legs feel a bit wobbly. “Did I miss the part where we started dating?”
“Hey, if you don’t want to tie a celebratory political knot with me, I can find someone else,” Foggy says, letting go of him. He’s not offended by Matt’s apparent dismissal - he’s still practically bouncing around the room. “There’s plenty of guys who’d like to shock their families by bringing this particular ball and chain home.”
Jealousy roars inside Matt’s ribcage, sudden and fierce, but he tamps it down. Foggy’s joking. It’s a joke. “If I had a family to shock, you’d be the only guy I’d want to shock them with,” Matt says instead, trying for a playful smile.
“Oh, dude, shit, I’m sorry,” Foggy says, sobering abruptly, and that’s not what Matt was going for.
“It’s fine,” he says quickly. “I know you didn’t mean - besides, you always say I’m practically a Nelson, right?”
“Definitely,” Foggy agrees, slinging an arm around Matt’s shoulders. Matt turns into his touch to feel the happiness radiating out of Foggy like rays from the sun. “And if you ever want to make it official, now we can.”
Matt grins up at him. This smile feels a little more solid on his face. “I’ll let you know,” he promises, although if that were true, he would have done it long ago.
Foggy’s kidding. Foggy’s always kidding.
Matt’s just lying.
-
[4]
They’ve only just gotten their first round, but Matt feels drunk already, giddy with excitement and nerves and a fierce, hot triumph. For the first time since graduation, he feels like he’s doing something with his life, doing something right. There’s leaving the soulless clutches of Landman and Zack, of course, but there’s also the stinging of his split lip; the reminder that somewhere out in the city, a little girl is sleeping safely.
And there’s the fact that Foggy’s right here with him; that Matt asked Foggy to give up everything he’d worked so hard for and come with Matt, and Foggy said yes.
“You really want to do this?” he asks, just to be sure.
“No, I’m pissing my pants. There is actual urine in my trousers,” Foggy says, and Matt laughs. Foggy’s voice goes soft. “But I trust you. You think this is what we should be doing...then I’m with you. For better or worse.”
Matt’s heart bangs against his ribs. That’s not - that can’t be a coincidental choice of words. For all that Foggy pretends to be flippant and careless, extemporaneous speaking is his trade, and one of his greatest charms. He rarely says anything by accident.
And Foggy’s still attracted to him, Matt knows that. Foggy still gives off all the signs. Not always, not often enough that Matt can game the system, but sometimes, when Matt touches Foggy or says something suggestive or smiles in what must be just the right way - he hears it, the way Foggy’s blood thunders through his veins for Matt. Just for Matt.
There’s a wide gulf between the attraction Matt can sense, and what he wants, which nothing but Foggy’s words can tell him. But sometimes...sometimes when Foggy’s voice gets soft like this, Matt lets himself hope.
He forces a laugh to cover up his sudden thrill of nerves. “Sounds - sounds like we’re getting married.”
“This is way more important than a civil union!” Foggy crows, the softness gone, and Matt’s heart sinks down to his navel.
Oh.
It was a joke.
“Come on, we’re gonna be business partners,” Foggy continues. “We’re gonna share everything with each other: our thoughts, our dreams, bills, crushing debt…”
He doesn’t say secrets, but Matt knows it’s because he doesn’t think there are any left to share. But Matt has two he’s never told Foggy - three, now, he thinks as he probes the inside of his split lip with his tongue. One secret he thinks Foggy might be happy to hear, if Matt told him exactly the right way. He doesn’t deserve Foggy, but he thinks he could convince Foggy to take a chance on him anyway. Maybe.
But his lip burns like a brand, a reminder. He’s not fit to touch Foggy. And if Foggy ever finds out, he’ll leave Matt behind. He’ll be right to.
Matt can’t quite let the moment pass without saying something, though. A confession, even if Foggy won’t understand it.
“There is no one I’d rather be doing this with, buddy. Seriously,” he says, as earnest as he knows how to be.
Foggy’s heart beats steady and true in his chest as he says, “Me too, pal.”
Foggy’s not kidding about that, at least. Matt doesn’t have the right to wish for more.
-
[5]
“We should just get married,” Foggy says as he walks into Matt’s bedroom with a glass of water.
Matt, concentrating on levering himself up into a sitting position without pulling his stitches, is so startled he nearly falls. “What?”
“Careful,” Foggy says, hurrying forward to provide a steadying hand. He gives Matt the glass and hovers until Matt drains half of it and hands it back. “Anyway, yeah. Married.”
His heart is steady. Matt is baffled. Foggy’s hardly been overflowing with affection for him ever since he found Matt collapsed on his floor. He did eventually come back, a miracle Matt still can’t quite believe all these months later, but he’s angry - angry and tense and worried and sick to his stomach, if the scent of Tums on his breath more often than not is any indication. Some days it feels like he can barely tolerate Matt, let alone be fond of him.
It’s still more than Matt deserves.
“Did I miss something while I was...mm.” Unconscious, but reminding Foggy that he’d passed out while Claire was stitching him up - ridiculous, Stick would have a field day with that - wouldn’t go over too well. “Did I miss something?”
“Buddy, what haven’t you missed,” Foggy mutters, sitting down next to him. Matt’s not sure what that means, so he lets it slide. “I just figure, someday you’re gonna wake up handcuffed to a hospital bed, and I’d like to be able to be there when you do. Plus it’ll come in handy when I have to defend your crazy vigilante ass in court. They won’t be able to put me on the stand.” The words have the cadence of a joke, but Matt doesn’t have to dig far to hear the bedrock of anger beneath them.
Matt’s not brave enough to dig, not right now, so he takes refuge in joking back. “We’d have to change the name of the firm. Can we afford a new sign right now? Nelson-Murdock and Murdock-Nelson?”
“Maybe we can add it to our gift registry,” Foggy says. “Better a new sign than a new blender, anyway. Your ears wouldn’t survive its inaugural margarita.”
“That’s what I love about you, you’re always thinking ahead,” Matt says, and tries a grin.
It must not be much of one, because Foggy doesn’t say anything for a long minute. Then he pats Matt’s thigh through the blanket and stands up. “Get some rest, Murdock-Nelson. I’ll let Karen know you’re taking the morning off.”
Stay, Matt wants to say, but doesn’t. I’m sorry, Matt wants to say, but doesn’t. I know you were only joking, but I wish to God you weren’t, Matt wants to say. But doesn’t.
Jokes might be all they have left.
-
[+1]
“I feel like we should be renewing our vows or something,” Foggy says as he sets a box down on his desk. Matt smells the leather of a baseball glove and the cheap plastic of an army of tiny dinosaurs from inside it, and hopes how emotional he is over something so silly doesn’t show on his face.
It’s a smaller office than the last one. There’s a tiny waiting area, no kitchenette, and barely enough room for a desk and two chairs inside each private office. But it’s in a nicer building, on a nicer block, thanks to Foggy’s frugality with his HB&C salary and the money Elektra left to Matt. Matt can’t hear the skittering of rats or the hiss of electric wiring on its last legs.
There’s no Karen. They didn’t even ask her to leave her job at the Bulletin; it would be an insult, when she’s so clearly thriving there. She’s speaking to Matt again, and that alone is far more grace than he’s earned.
The old sign is sitting under a pile of miscellany on Foggy’s desk, waiting to be installed. For now, they’re back to a hand-scrawled sign taped to the door. It is not, Foggy assures Matt, astoundingly professional-looking.
But Foggy’s here, and Matt can’t stop smiling.
“You never did give me that big church wedding I wanted,” he says, feeling punchy and glad, giddy enough to risk joking about this. “Father Lantom is concerned about your intentions.”
“Oh please. With all those names on your dance card?” Foggy teases. “How could I be sure you’d say yes when I pledged my troth?”
Matt raises an eyebrow. “If the counselor will examine the record, he’ll see that I have said yes every single time you’ve pledged your troth, but I don’t see a ring on this finger.”
It’s a perfect setup, and he waits for Foggy to bat it back over the net - Buddy, you don’t see a ring on any finger - but Foggy goes quiet for a second, and then says, “Uh...what other times?”
Heat rushes to Matt’s cheeks. “I. Uh. You know. When we’ve...when you’ve joked about us getting married. I know it’s just a joke,” he adds hastily, then silently kicks himself.
“When did I joke about that?” Foggy asks. The question’s a little too gentle, like he’s trying not to upset someone delicate. Matt’s too embarrassed to be annoyed.
“You know. I don’t know. A bunch.” Matt shrugs - too big, a marionette flopping its arms around. “Like when you said - you know, when we started Nelson and Murdock the first time, and you said it was for better or worse…” No, too touchy a subject, considering how much worse they’d had to contend with. “Or, or when we went to your cousin Gretchen’s wedding, and you said we should just elope…”
Foggy’s heart is starting to beat faster, somewhere under the thunder of Matt’s. “Gretchen got married...God, we were still in undergrad. You remember all that?”
“I guess,” Matt mumbles, trying to calculate how many people might see him if he jumped out the window right now.
“Why do you remember all that?”
Matt ducks his head. “Look, can we just drop it?”
“...Not just yet.” Foggy takes a step closer. Matt’s not sure, but he gets the sense that Foggy’s peering at his face, trying to read him. He turns away. “You know I would, right? Marry you.”
“Yeah, so you’ve said,” Matt says, trying for lightness. “For hospital visitation and spousal privilege. I know.”
“Well, yeah, that would be handy,” Foggy says. He takes a deep breath. “But also just to, you know. Be married to you.”
Matt stiffens. “That’s not funny.”
“I’m not joking.” He’s not lying, either; Foggy’s heart is racing but its pace is steady.
“You’re always joking about this,” Matt says, a little lost. “Every time...every time you bring it up, it’s a joke.”
Foggy laughs a little, a bright puff in the air. “Yeah? Matt, you ever notice in lo these many years of friendship that I tend to joke about things that scare me?”
“Oh, so the idea of marrying me scares you?” Matt asks, trying for humor again. He misses by a mile.
“No.” Foggy’s entirely serious. “The idea of telling you how I feel scares me. Or it used to.”
Matt can’t breathe. Foggy pushes a cardboard box aside and leans against the edge of his desk, half-sitting.
“It’s been a crazy couple of years,” he says. “I’ve been shot. I’ve been injured in a bombing. I’ve watched you nearly die more times than I want to count, and been held at knifepoint more times than I want to remember. I’ve even had Jessica Jones get mad at me and lived to tell the tale. There’s not much that scares me anymore. And you and me…” He sighs. “We’ve been through the ringer, buddy, but here we are. If our friendship can survive the past two years, it can survive me confessing that I’ve never been kidding when I asked you to marry me. Not really.”
“Foggy,” Matt says. It’s more of an exhale than a sound.
“I always figured you knew, and just weren’t saying anything because you didn’t feel the same way,” Foggy says. “But now...was I wrong, Matt?”
Matt shakes his head, a little desperately. “No,” he says. “I mean, yes, I mean, I knew, but...I wasn’t sure. But I thought that...that you liked me.”
Foggy holds out a hand to him, a bright point of heat, the thrum of a pulse point. “Liked you? You’re underselling it a bit there, buddy.”
“I wasn’t sure,” Matt repeats. He takes Foggy’s hand, lets Foggy reel him in towards the radius of his warmth. “And I didn’t…”
Foggy can be very coaxing when he wants to be. “Didn’t what?”
Matt sighs. “I didn’t deserve you.”
“Oh, Matty.” Foggy tugs him in closer, slots Matt in between his legs so that he can wrap his arms around Matt’s waist and rest his cheek against Matt’s chest. Matt wonders if Foggy can hear his heart pounding like this. “It doesn’t work like that. People aren’t a blue ribbon, or an annual bonus at work. You don’t have to earn love. You just get it. At least, from me you do. No matter what.”
It takes Matt a couple of ragged breaths before he’s able to speak. “So...are we engaged now? Or what?”
Foggy laughs and gives him a little squeeze. Matt drapes his own arms around Foggy’s neck, lets his fingers wander into Foggy’s hair. He cut it short when he started at HC&B, Matt knows, but it’s growing out again. “Finally gonna make an honest man of me?”
It’s insane. They’ve only just started speaking to each other again a few months ago. They haven’t even kissed. “If you’ll let me.”
“My mom’ll be thrilled, she’s been trying to get me to lock this shit down since Thanksgiving ‘06,” Foggy says.
Matt laughs, a choked wet sound. “Can I kiss you?”
“Be a pretty crappy proposal if you didn’t.”
“I thought you proposed to me.”
“Yeah, but you’re the one who made all serious.”
“I’ve been serious this whole time, counsellor. You just weren’t listening.”
Foggy snorts and leans back so that he can reel Matt in by his tie. “Get down here.”
Matt ducks his head obligingly, leaning in to give his fiance - his fiance, he thinks dizzily - their first kiss. Foggy stands up to press in closer, twining his arms around Matt’s neck, and then Matt...sort of loses track of time. A lot of time.
That’s okay, though. They’ve got the rest of their lives, if Matt doesn’t screw things up again.
“I can’t believe you tricked me into joke-proposing to you,” Foggy finally says, smiling against Matt’s cheek.
“Weren’t you just saying that I proposed to you?”
“Changed my mind. I want the credit.”
“But if I tricked you into doing it, don’t I get the credit?”
Foggy laughs out loud and gives Matt a smacking kiss on the cheek. “Murdock, this looks like the beginning of a beautiful argument. You think we’ll still be bickering about this when we’re eighty?”
His heart beats happy and bright and absolutely true. Matt grins.
“I do.”
Fandom: Daredevil (TV)
Rating: G
Summary: Foggy's always joking when he asks Matt to marry him. Matt's always serious when he says yes. OR: Five proposals Foggy forgot, and one Matt makes sure he'll remember.
Notes: For the "solemn vow" prompt on my Daredevil bingo card.
[1]
“Marry me,” Foggy says when Matt walks back into their dorm room with coffee and a bag full of donuts so greasy they’re soaking through the paper.
“Um,” Matt says. Foggy smells like last night’s sweat and a general miasma of alcohol and unbrushed teeth. His voice is scratchy and faint, his stomach’s gurgling unhappily, and when he pushes his way out of his nest of blankets far enough to sit up and take the coffee from Matt’s hand, he groans.
But his heart is totally steady.
Matt knows Foggy’s attracted to him. He can hear it in Foggy’s heartbeat and in his voice; he can smell it on him. Foggy’s initial nervousness settled down after the first few days, thankfully, but he still flirts with Matt here and there, even though it always makes his pulse swoop and lurch. It’s like he can’t help himself.
Matt never knows how to respond. It’s not that he doesn’t like Foggy, because he does, very much. Foggy is smart, and funny, and he smells nice when he doesn’t reek of hangover, and Matt never has to ask him to do something like narrate his gestures or keep the floor clear more than once before Foggy remembers to do whatever it is Matt needs, every time and always cheerfully.
But Foggy’s a guy, and Matt is straight.
Foggy sips the coffee and lets out a little sigh that is too far away to ruffle the fine hairs on the back of Matt’s neck. He feels it there anyway. “Seriously, you’re the best. Let’s get hitched. You can provide the coffee in the mornings, and I’ll hook you up with a sweet family discount at my uncle’s butcher shop. Win-win.”
Maybe it’s the fact that he’s still half-asleep that keeps Foggy’s heart so steady, or maybe it’s that it’s so ridiculous that it doesn’t even qualify as really flirting. Matt’s not marriage material, even if gay marriage was legal in their state. Surely even Foggy, who sees the best in everyone, has realized that by now.
It’s almost a shame, because they’re great roommates. And what’s marriage, really, but roommates for good, especially after the passion dies like everyone says it does and you’re left - hopefully - with friendship and an agreement over who does the laundry and who makes the coffee?
Matt can make the coffee. Or fetch it, as the case may be.
“It’s a deal,” Matt says, heart racing, and steals away to his bed with his own coffee and half of one of the donuts. It’s okay. It’s just a joke. They’re kidding.
Well. Foggy’s kidding.
Matt’s kind of not.
-
[2]
“We should elope,” Foggy says.
“Hm?” Matt asks, blinking. They’re laying on the floor of their dorm room, Matt’s head on Foggy’s stomach - what, it’s soft - and the gentle rise and fall of Foggy’s breathing is making Matt feel sleepy and silly, only half listening to Foggy gripe about a family wedding he’s expected to attend.
“Gretchen’s my age, which means all her friends are my age, which means my mom and aunts are going to be shoving me at all of them,” Foggy explains. “But if I’m like ‘oh, sorry, my roommate and I ran off to Massachusetts and got married last week, I’m off the market,’ they can’t make any of those poor girls agree to awkward obligation dates with me.”
Matt frowns. “Why would they be obligatory? Why wouldn’t they want to date you?”
“Says the man who’s currently using Reason Number One as a pillow.”
Matt’s frown deepens. “That’s stupid. You’re great.”
Foggy pokes his cheek with a finger. “All the more reason you should elope with me. I don’t have to convince you of my many excellent qualities, you’re already there.”
More than Foggy knows. Matt’s blithe assurance of his own straightness had puffed into nothingness like so many soap bubbles in their second semester, somewhere between one too many drunkenly affectionate smooches on the cheek from Foggy and a host of confusing dreams. Now Matt’s pretty sure that if Foggy ever kissed him properly, like Matt sometimes thinks Foggy still wants to, Matt would kiss back.
“Why not just bring a date?” he asks, instead of saying any of that. “They couldn’t throw any of your cousin’s friends at you then.”
“Ugh, I don’t know,” Foggy sighs, making Matt’s head dip and rise as he exhales. “Marci and I aren’t on the best terms right now, and it’s a little much to ask someone else - going to a wedding, meeting a whole swarm of Nelsons who’ve gotten into the champagne. That’s a lot for a first date, you know?”
“I could be your plus one.”
Foggy stiffens beneath him, and his heart thunders. “What?”
“I mean. I. I mean.” What did Matt mean? “Not, like, as a date.” There’s a little exhale from Foggy, but whether it’s disappointment or relief is beyond Matt’s senses. “Just, like, as a buffer. Or, you know, if your mom tries to push you on one of the bridesmaids, you can be like, oh, sorry, can’t right now, Matt’s having a blind emergency.”
Foggy lets out a snorty little chuckle. “What’s a blind emergency?”
“An urgent need to know what color the centerpieces are,” Matt says gravely, and beams when that gets a full-throated laugh out of Foggy. “Seriously, I don’t mind. And free cake, right?”
“Yeah?” Foggy drums his fingers thoughtfully on his own sternum, and Matt feels the vibration in his bones. “You sure you want to risk it? You might wind up getting trotted around like a show pony, too.”
Matt knows. He’s spent enough Thanksgivings and Christmases and Easters with Foggy’s family by now, knows the way Foggy’s parents brag about him to aunts and uncles in the same breath they brag about Foggy with. So brilliant, the both of them. He’s always been treated like part of the family and he can’t help wondering what it would be like if he was presented as part of the family. He’s going to be a lawyer, too, our son-in-law. Foggy’s Matt.
But that’s not what this is. This is a favor for a friend.
“Yeah, I’ll brave it,” he says. “What are friends for?”
Foggy ruffles his hair, and Matt grins. “You’re a good egg, Murdock,” he says. “But seriously, if my mom starts handing my phone number out, we’re leaving the wedding and eloping, okay?”
“Okay,” Matt says.
Foggy’s heart is steady. He’s still kidding.
Matt’s not.
-
[3]
“MATTY! WE’RE GETTING MARRIED!”
Matt was already prepared to jump in faux surprise as Foggy crashed into the room - he’d heard him coming a block away, his heart racing excitedly - but Foggy’s words add some verisimilitude to Matt’s startle. “We are? Why?”
“Gay marriage, buddy! It’s legal in New York!” Foggy hauls Matt to his feet. “Come on, man, I know you’re straight but you’re a law student, you gotta pay attention to this shit.” It’s barely a scold, not with the joy radiating off of Foggy like something Matt could touch. “Marriage equality! We did it! We can totally get hitched!”
He grabs Matt’s face in his hands and Matt’s heart lurches - but the kiss, when it comes, lands on Matt’s forehead, a wet, noisy smack.
He forces a laugh. His legs feel a bit wobbly. “Did I miss the part where we started dating?”
“Hey, if you don’t want to tie a celebratory political knot with me, I can find someone else,” Foggy says, letting go of him. He’s not offended by Matt’s apparent dismissal - he’s still practically bouncing around the room. “There’s plenty of guys who’d like to shock their families by bringing this particular ball and chain home.”
Jealousy roars inside Matt’s ribcage, sudden and fierce, but he tamps it down. Foggy’s joking. It’s a joke. “If I had a family to shock, you’d be the only guy I’d want to shock them with,” Matt says instead, trying for a playful smile.
“Oh, dude, shit, I’m sorry,” Foggy says, sobering abruptly, and that’s not what Matt was going for.
“It’s fine,” he says quickly. “I know you didn’t mean - besides, you always say I’m practically a Nelson, right?”
“Definitely,” Foggy agrees, slinging an arm around Matt’s shoulders. Matt turns into his touch to feel the happiness radiating out of Foggy like rays from the sun. “And if you ever want to make it official, now we can.”
Matt grins up at him. This smile feels a little more solid on his face. “I’ll let you know,” he promises, although if that were true, he would have done it long ago.
Foggy’s kidding. Foggy’s always kidding.
Matt’s just lying.
-
[4]
They’ve only just gotten their first round, but Matt feels drunk already, giddy with excitement and nerves and a fierce, hot triumph. For the first time since graduation, he feels like he’s doing something with his life, doing something right. There’s leaving the soulless clutches of Landman and Zack, of course, but there’s also the stinging of his split lip; the reminder that somewhere out in the city, a little girl is sleeping safely.
And there’s the fact that Foggy’s right here with him; that Matt asked Foggy to give up everything he’d worked so hard for and come with Matt, and Foggy said yes.
“You really want to do this?” he asks, just to be sure.
“No, I’m pissing my pants. There is actual urine in my trousers,” Foggy says, and Matt laughs. Foggy’s voice goes soft. “But I trust you. You think this is what we should be doing...then I’m with you. For better or worse.”
Matt’s heart bangs against his ribs. That’s not - that can’t be a coincidental choice of words. For all that Foggy pretends to be flippant and careless, extemporaneous speaking is his trade, and one of his greatest charms. He rarely says anything by accident.
And Foggy’s still attracted to him, Matt knows that. Foggy still gives off all the signs. Not always, not often enough that Matt can game the system, but sometimes, when Matt touches Foggy or says something suggestive or smiles in what must be just the right way - he hears it, the way Foggy’s blood thunders through his veins for Matt. Just for Matt.
There’s a wide gulf between the attraction Matt can sense, and what he wants, which nothing but Foggy’s words can tell him. But sometimes...sometimes when Foggy’s voice gets soft like this, Matt lets himself hope.
He forces a laugh to cover up his sudden thrill of nerves. “Sounds - sounds like we’re getting married.”
“This is way more important than a civil union!” Foggy crows, the softness gone, and Matt’s heart sinks down to his navel.
Oh.
It was a joke.
“Come on, we’re gonna be business partners,” Foggy continues. “We’re gonna share everything with each other: our thoughts, our dreams, bills, crushing debt…”
He doesn’t say secrets, but Matt knows it’s because he doesn’t think there are any left to share. But Matt has two he’s never told Foggy - three, now, he thinks as he probes the inside of his split lip with his tongue. One secret he thinks Foggy might be happy to hear, if Matt told him exactly the right way. He doesn’t deserve Foggy, but he thinks he could convince Foggy to take a chance on him anyway. Maybe.
But his lip burns like a brand, a reminder. He’s not fit to touch Foggy. And if Foggy ever finds out, he’ll leave Matt behind. He’ll be right to.
Matt can’t quite let the moment pass without saying something, though. A confession, even if Foggy won’t understand it.
“There is no one I’d rather be doing this with, buddy. Seriously,” he says, as earnest as he knows how to be.
Foggy’s heart beats steady and true in his chest as he says, “Me too, pal.”
Foggy’s not kidding about that, at least. Matt doesn’t have the right to wish for more.
-
[5]
“We should just get married,” Foggy says as he walks into Matt’s bedroom with a glass of water.
Matt, concentrating on levering himself up into a sitting position without pulling his stitches, is so startled he nearly falls. “What?”
“Careful,” Foggy says, hurrying forward to provide a steadying hand. He gives Matt the glass and hovers until Matt drains half of it and hands it back. “Anyway, yeah. Married.”
His heart is steady. Matt is baffled. Foggy’s hardly been overflowing with affection for him ever since he found Matt collapsed on his floor. He did eventually come back, a miracle Matt still can’t quite believe all these months later, but he’s angry - angry and tense and worried and sick to his stomach, if the scent of Tums on his breath more often than not is any indication. Some days it feels like he can barely tolerate Matt, let alone be fond of him.
It’s still more than Matt deserves.
“Did I miss something while I was...mm.” Unconscious, but reminding Foggy that he’d passed out while Claire was stitching him up - ridiculous, Stick would have a field day with that - wouldn’t go over too well. “Did I miss something?”
“Buddy, what haven’t you missed,” Foggy mutters, sitting down next to him. Matt’s not sure what that means, so he lets it slide. “I just figure, someday you’re gonna wake up handcuffed to a hospital bed, and I’d like to be able to be there when you do. Plus it’ll come in handy when I have to defend your crazy vigilante ass in court. They won’t be able to put me on the stand.” The words have the cadence of a joke, but Matt doesn’t have to dig far to hear the bedrock of anger beneath them.
Matt’s not brave enough to dig, not right now, so he takes refuge in joking back. “We’d have to change the name of the firm. Can we afford a new sign right now? Nelson-Murdock and Murdock-Nelson?”
“Maybe we can add it to our gift registry,” Foggy says. “Better a new sign than a new blender, anyway. Your ears wouldn’t survive its inaugural margarita.”
“That’s what I love about you, you’re always thinking ahead,” Matt says, and tries a grin.
It must not be much of one, because Foggy doesn’t say anything for a long minute. Then he pats Matt’s thigh through the blanket and stands up. “Get some rest, Murdock-Nelson. I’ll let Karen know you’re taking the morning off.”
Stay, Matt wants to say, but doesn’t. I’m sorry, Matt wants to say, but doesn’t. I know you were only joking, but I wish to God you weren’t, Matt wants to say. But doesn’t.
Jokes might be all they have left.
-
[+1]
“I feel like we should be renewing our vows or something,” Foggy says as he sets a box down on his desk. Matt smells the leather of a baseball glove and the cheap plastic of an army of tiny dinosaurs from inside it, and hopes how emotional he is over something so silly doesn’t show on his face.
It’s a smaller office than the last one. There’s a tiny waiting area, no kitchenette, and barely enough room for a desk and two chairs inside each private office. But it’s in a nicer building, on a nicer block, thanks to Foggy’s frugality with his HB&C salary and the money Elektra left to Matt. Matt can’t hear the skittering of rats or the hiss of electric wiring on its last legs.
There’s no Karen. They didn’t even ask her to leave her job at the Bulletin; it would be an insult, when she’s so clearly thriving there. She’s speaking to Matt again, and that alone is far more grace than he’s earned.
The old sign is sitting under a pile of miscellany on Foggy’s desk, waiting to be installed. For now, they’re back to a hand-scrawled sign taped to the door. It is not, Foggy assures Matt, astoundingly professional-looking.
But Foggy’s here, and Matt can’t stop smiling.
“You never did give me that big church wedding I wanted,” he says, feeling punchy and glad, giddy enough to risk joking about this. “Father Lantom is concerned about your intentions.”
“Oh please. With all those names on your dance card?” Foggy teases. “How could I be sure you’d say yes when I pledged my troth?”
Matt raises an eyebrow. “If the counselor will examine the record, he’ll see that I have said yes every single time you’ve pledged your troth, but I don’t see a ring on this finger.”
It’s a perfect setup, and he waits for Foggy to bat it back over the net - Buddy, you don’t see a ring on any finger - but Foggy goes quiet for a second, and then says, “Uh...what other times?”
Heat rushes to Matt’s cheeks. “I. Uh. You know. When we’ve...when you’ve joked about us getting married. I know it’s just a joke,” he adds hastily, then silently kicks himself.
“When did I joke about that?” Foggy asks. The question’s a little too gentle, like he’s trying not to upset someone delicate. Matt’s too embarrassed to be annoyed.
“You know. I don’t know. A bunch.” Matt shrugs - too big, a marionette flopping its arms around. “Like when you said - you know, when we started Nelson and Murdock the first time, and you said it was for better or worse…” No, too touchy a subject, considering how much worse they’d had to contend with. “Or, or when we went to your cousin Gretchen’s wedding, and you said we should just elope…”
Foggy’s heart is starting to beat faster, somewhere under the thunder of Matt’s. “Gretchen got married...God, we were still in undergrad. You remember all that?”
“I guess,” Matt mumbles, trying to calculate how many people might see him if he jumped out the window right now.
“Why do you remember all that?”
Matt ducks his head. “Look, can we just drop it?”
“...Not just yet.” Foggy takes a step closer. Matt’s not sure, but he gets the sense that Foggy’s peering at his face, trying to read him. He turns away. “You know I would, right? Marry you.”
“Yeah, so you’ve said,” Matt says, trying for lightness. “For hospital visitation and spousal privilege. I know.”
“Well, yeah, that would be handy,” Foggy says. He takes a deep breath. “But also just to, you know. Be married to you.”
Matt stiffens. “That’s not funny.”
“I’m not joking.” He’s not lying, either; Foggy’s heart is racing but its pace is steady.
“You’re always joking about this,” Matt says, a little lost. “Every time...every time you bring it up, it’s a joke.”
Foggy laughs a little, a bright puff in the air. “Yeah? Matt, you ever notice in lo these many years of friendship that I tend to joke about things that scare me?”
“Oh, so the idea of marrying me scares you?” Matt asks, trying for humor again. He misses by a mile.
“No.” Foggy’s entirely serious. “The idea of telling you how I feel scares me. Or it used to.”
Matt can’t breathe. Foggy pushes a cardboard box aside and leans against the edge of his desk, half-sitting.
“It’s been a crazy couple of years,” he says. “I’ve been shot. I’ve been injured in a bombing. I’ve watched you nearly die more times than I want to count, and been held at knifepoint more times than I want to remember. I’ve even had Jessica Jones get mad at me and lived to tell the tale. There’s not much that scares me anymore. And you and me…” He sighs. “We’ve been through the ringer, buddy, but here we are. If our friendship can survive the past two years, it can survive me confessing that I’ve never been kidding when I asked you to marry me. Not really.”
“Foggy,” Matt says. It’s more of an exhale than a sound.
“I always figured you knew, and just weren’t saying anything because you didn’t feel the same way,” Foggy says. “But now...was I wrong, Matt?”
Matt shakes his head, a little desperately. “No,” he says. “I mean, yes, I mean, I knew, but...I wasn’t sure. But I thought that...that you liked me.”
Foggy holds out a hand to him, a bright point of heat, the thrum of a pulse point. “Liked you? You’re underselling it a bit there, buddy.”
“I wasn’t sure,” Matt repeats. He takes Foggy’s hand, lets Foggy reel him in towards the radius of his warmth. “And I didn’t…”
Foggy can be very coaxing when he wants to be. “Didn’t what?”
Matt sighs. “I didn’t deserve you.”
“Oh, Matty.” Foggy tugs him in closer, slots Matt in between his legs so that he can wrap his arms around Matt’s waist and rest his cheek against Matt’s chest. Matt wonders if Foggy can hear his heart pounding like this. “It doesn’t work like that. People aren’t a blue ribbon, or an annual bonus at work. You don’t have to earn love. You just get it. At least, from me you do. No matter what.”
It takes Matt a couple of ragged breaths before he’s able to speak. “So...are we engaged now? Or what?”
Foggy laughs and gives him a little squeeze. Matt drapes his own arms around Foggy’s neck, lets his fingers wander into Foggy’s hair. He cut it short when he started at HC&B, Matt knows, but it’s growing out again. “Finally gonna make an honest man of me?”
It’s insane. They’ve only just started speaking to each other again a few months ago. They haven’t even kissed. “If you’ll let me.”
“My mom’ll be thrilled, she’s been trying to get me to lock this shit down since Thanksgiving ‘06,” Foggy says.
Matt laughs, a choked wet sound. “Can I kiss you?”
“Be a pretty crappy proposal if you didn’t.”
“I thought you proposed to me.”
“Yeah, but you’re the one who made all serious.”
“I’ve been serious this whole time, counsellor. You just weren’t listening.”
Foggy snorts and leans back so that he can reel Matt in by his tie. “Get down here.”
Matt ducks his head obligingly, leaning in to give his fiance - his fiance, he thinks dizzily - their first kiss. Foggy stands up to press in closer, twining his arms around Matt’s neck, and then Matt...sort of loses track of time. A lot of time.
That’s okay, though. They’ve got the rest of their lives, if Matt doesn’t screw things up again.
“I can’t believe you tricked me into joke-proposing to you,” Foggy finally says, smiling against Matt’s cheek.
“Weren’t you just saying that I proposed to you?”
“Changed my mind. I want the credit.”
“But if I tricked you into doing it, don’t I get the credit?”
Foggy laughs out loud and gives Matt a smacking kiss on the cheek. “Murdock, this looks like the beginning of a beautiful argument. You think we’ll still be bickering about this when we’re eighty?”
His heart beats happy and bright and absolutely true. Matt grins.
“I do.”