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Franklin "Foggy" Nelson is not, by nature, a violent person. That's not to say he doesn't like confrontation, because he does. Thrives on it, sometimes. It's just that he's always had a way with words, and he learns at an early age that he is as good at talking his way out of trouble as he is at talking into it.
The closest Foggy ever comes to getting in a fight is when he shoves Mitch Warner for tripping Hannah Gomez on the playground in the second grade. Mitch isn't happy about being bodychecked by a kid a year younger, but the teacher monitoring recess notices the altercation and hurries over before things can escalate. It's in that moment, as he helps a teary-eyed Hannah up from the dirt, that Foggy realizes he wants to defend people, to protect the ones who are too weak to protect themselves.
He'd just really prefer to do it with words than with shoving from now on, if at all possible.
So Foggy makes it through adolescence and all the way into university with his violence-free pledge still intact. He's only gotten better at arguing as the years go by, and in his second year of law school, Foggy considers himself pretty damn capable of talking his way out of any predicament. To top it all off, he's now got Matt Murdock, a best friend who is just as good at it as he is - maybe better because there's more than one time Matt bails Foggy out when he puts his foot in his mouth. Together, Nelson and Murdock are kind of invincible.
Matt's pretty anti-fighting, too, which is cool with Foggy. He knows the stories from when they were kids, about Battlin' Jack Murdock, who was a hell of a lot better at taking a punch than landing one. When Foggy and Matt are relaxing one night in their dorm after an exhausting week of exams, Matt's feeling particularly open and talks about how he'd promised his dad not to fight. To use his brains instead of his fists.
Matt had been picked on a lot in school for his blindness, something that Foggy never would've imagined before his best friend admits it. Matt's so confident and charming that it's hard to imagine people not being nice to him. Also, it's just kind of a low blow to pick on a blind guy, in Foggy's opinion, even if he'll never say that out loud. Matt confesses that it was hard for him not to fight back in school, but at the same time, it always hurt because it constantly reminded him that he was different.
Desperate to lighten the mood because he can see Matt retreating into that dark place he goes sometimes, Foggy proposes a toast to using the law to bitch-slap the world's bullies. Matt grins and lifts the bottle of beer they smuggled into their dorm for Foggy to tap his own against it, and they enjoy the rest of the evening, giggling over stories of their school days.
It's mid-spring, getting closer to end of term exams every day, and the world outside seems to be comprised entirely of damp and muck. Foggy and Matt walk back from a study session in the library, having a hypothetical argument about property law and attempting to avoid the puddles that the morning's rain left on the pavement. (Foggy can't figure out how, but Matt seems to be doing a much better job than he is.)
When it happens, the whole thing goes so quickly that Foggy doesn't really process it until it's over. They're just passing a group of yuppie guys - the sort who got in Columbia by swinging in on daddy's purse-strings - headed the other direction when one of them lurches sideways. The lead guy collides with Matt, hard, sending him sprawling in a mud puddle with a startled yelp. His cane clatters away and his glasses fall off. Matt immediately tries to search them out by clawing his fingers through the mud in front of him. As Foggy turns to help him, the frat guy laughs loudly. "Hey, look, the mole's trying to burrow away."
Matt glances up, his wince barely visible. Without his glasses, Matt looks so much younger, innocent and vulnerable. At that moment, Foggy doesn't see his best friend, the one with confidence to spare and an incredible knack for rolling with the punches. He sees a scared kid, blind, confused, and hurt on more than a physical level.
He sees someone who needs protecting.
In one swift move, more graceful than he thought he was capable of, Foggy stands up and swings. The yuppie's nose cracks loudly under his fist, and he staggers back into his huddle of friends, clutching his face. Breathing heavily, Foggy snaps, "Watch where you're going next time, yeah?" Then, without a second thought for the guys, he kneels down and grabs Matt's shoulder. "C'mon, Matty."
Matt stands up, dripping mud from his clothes, while Foggy gathers up his cane and glasses. He cleans the lenses as best as he can on his shirt before pressing them into Matt's palm - he knows how much Matt hates not wearing them in public, doesn't like the way people stare at his eyes. Matt mumbles something that might be 'thanks,' and when Foggy bumps him with his elbow, Matt grabs on for the lead tighter than usual.
Neither of them speaks until they're back in their dorm. Matt awkwardly strips out of his soaked clothes, carefully folding them onto his desk chair to avoid getting mud all over more than they already have. Foggy brings him a set of clean clothes from the methodically arranged dresser to find Matt staring in his direction thoughtfully, rubbing his hip, which will surely be bruised come morning.
"You okay?" Foggy asks, nudging Matt's hand with the folded clothes.
"You punched that guy," says Matt, like he's only just realizing it. Foggy makes a noncommittal noise and foists the clothes at him again. He knows Matt is fiercely independent and hopes he hasn't just crossed some line. Matt accepts the clothes, brow furrowed. "Like, you actually punched that guy in the face."
"Well, I, uh," Foggy stumbles over his words, wondering what it is about Matt that always makes him lose all of that eloquence he usually possesses. His brain is swimming a little, the adrenaline leaving him in a rush, and he feels equal parts exhausted and restless. Foggy tries to wring his hands but is suddenly acutely aware of how much his hand fucking hurts - Jesus, was that guy's face made of brick or something?
"Thought you didn't believe in violence?" Matt asks curiously. Foggy looks up as the brunet's head pops through the collar of his teeshirt, and there's a vaguely bemused smile on his lips, the one he gets when he's teasing Foggy. The look reassures him, and Foggy dares for a little open honesty.
"Yeah, well, there are loopholes in every law," he says and shrugs, trying to sound nonchalant.
Matt's expression turns thoughtful at that, and he cocks his head to the side slightly as his gaze settles somewhere over Foggy's shoulder. "I'm a loophole?"
Foggy snorts. "You are the exception to everyone's rules, and you know it," he jokes playfully.
"You flatter me," Matt says dryly, but he's grinning. "You know, for a guy who doesn't like fighting, you have one hell of a right hook."
"How do you know?" asks Foggy, curious. He's not afraid of offending Matt with that; Matt's told him repeatedly that he likes the fact Foggy will ask the questions nobody else dares.
"My dad was a boxer," Matt reminds him. "I know what a good hit sounds like. I also know what a broken nose sounds like." Foggy kind of hates himself for it, but he feels a little flush of pride. Matt wanders around him to the mini-fridge tucked into the kitchenette and pulls a bag of frozen vegetables out of the freezer drawer.
"What's this for?" Foggy asks when Matt presses the bag, wrapped in a hand towel, into his good hand. In response, Matt touches the back of his right hand lightly - their unspoken signal, asking if further physical contact is acceptable - and when Foggy hums, Matt takes his hand gently. His fingers are deft as they probe over his tender wrist and hand, feeling the scrapes on his knuckles with a concentrated frown.
"Doesn't feel like you broke anything," Matt announces. "You're lucky; it's a pretty easy thing to do when you go bare knuckles with someone's skull. There's definitely some swelling though, which is what the vegetables are for. The cold helps. You're still going to be sore once the adrenaline wears off, though." Foggy opens his mouth, but Matt beats him to it with a smirk. "Dad was a boxer, remember?"
"Right," says Foggy. He presses the bag of frozen vegetables against the back of his hand and bites back a hiss as the cold penetrates through his already tender joints. "Dude, it's a shame you're blind though, you totally missed out on seeing some crazy mad ninja skills."
Matt barks a laugh, loud and inelegant. "Yeah, sure," he says, humoring Foggy even as he shakes his head. But Matt's broad smile and the light brush of a hand below his shoulder are fond, and Foggy can read the words there that aren't being said. The ones Matt's a little too proud to say just yet. Thanks. Somehow, in that moment, Foggy can't feel bad at all about breaking his nearly two-decade pacifist streak.
Some things are worth defending.