Chapter Text
For Matt, the sounds of the city were nothing compared to the single heartbeat moving around his apartment. He listened from the roof, tracing its route back and forth across the living room. It was faster than normal, most likely due to stress or anxiety, and louder to Matt than even the sound of footsteps. The person didn't speak, but Matt didn't need them to.
He already knew that heartbeat, almost better than he knew his own.
Matt swung down to the fire escape, his body protesting the whole way. There was nothing he needed to bother Claire for – the blood loss was minor, and nothing was actually broken – but he didn't want Foggy to see him like this. As grateful as he was that the other man could joke about his body armor, he wanted as few reminders of Daredevil as possible between them.
The moment his feet touched metal, however, he heard Foggy stand up and move toward the bedroom. Matt hesitated for just a second, but there was no help for it. The only other option was to run away from his best friend, and that was never going to happen.
By the time he'd opened the window, Foggy's hands were there on the other side. His heartbeat had slowed down, closer to its normal rhythm. "You seriously need a secret entrance," he muttered, reaching to help Matt inside. Unfortunately, Foggy placed his hand against a particularly sore spot – he was nearly certain his ribs weren't broken – and Matt couldn't stop himself from wincing.
Foggy jerked his hand back. "Damn it, Matt." He took a step back while Matt made it the rest of the way inside, his swallow a tiny sound.
"It's okay." Matt pulled his mask off, careful around his scraped cheek. "Looks worse than it is."
Foggy let out a breath. "Forgive me if I don't trust your judgment in that area." He scrubbed his hands across his face, then gestured to the bed. "Off with it. I know you don't like to call Claire unless you're dying, but I'm capable of at least managing bandages."
Matt didn't move for a moment, thrown by the unexpected offer. "It's okay, Foggy," he tried, throat oddly tight. "I can—"
"I'm sure you can." Foggy's voice was ragged at the edges. "But there's no way in hell I'm going to be able to sleep tonight unless I can convince myself you're not bleeding internally."
Matt's chest ached in a way that had nothing to do with his physical injuries. "There's a first-aid kit under the bed."
He peeled off the rest of the body armor while Foggy got the kit, then the workout top he wore underneath. Foggy set the kit on the bed, then left for a moment. Matt heard him moving around in a kitchen, and when he came back he placed a cold pack in Matt's hand. "Put this on your ribs," he said quietly, turning on the light before sitting down next to him on the bed.
Matt held the cold pack against his ribs, trying to focus on his breathing instead of Foggy's careful hands. "I see a bright career in nursing in your future," he said lightly, the words not quite as steady as he might have hoped. He hadn't realized how much he and Foggy had touched each other until they'd stopped doing it, and he missed it more than he'd ever be willing to admit.
"Hey, it's either research basic medical skills or drink every time you make the news." It was clear from the position of Foggy's head and the direction of his voice that he wouldn't look up at him. "I thought this was probably better on my liver."
"Yeah." Matt ached to reach out and touch him, curling his fingers into a fist to help him fight the urge. "But it isn't what you came here for."
Foggy applied antiseptic to a wound. "Yeah, it was, actually." The words were tight, but there was no change in his heartbeat. "Only way to stop myself from picturing you bleeding in a dumpster somewhere."
Matt wished he could deny the possibility, but he tried hard not to lie to Foggy anymore. "I do patrols all the time. Normally, there's not a problem."
"Yeah, except the fact that you call bruised ribs 'not a problem' is kind of a problem for me." Foggy smoothed a bandage down on Matt's shoulder, fingers tightening for just a moment. "I used to worry about you falling into manholes, Matt. How do you expect me to be okay with this?"
Foggy's voice cracked on the last question, the sound of it like broken glass against the inside of Matt's chest. "I don't know," he said quietly, dropping the ice pack so he could cover Foggy's hand with his. "Just don't go. Please."
Foggy went still at that, and Matt could hear his heart jump. Then he leaned forward, forehead resting against Matt's shoulder. "Damn it, Matt," he whispered, voice choked with emotion.
"I know," Matt whispered back, curving his hand around the back of Foggy's head to hold him there for a little while. Eyes stinging, he pressed his lips against his best friend's hair. "I know."