rp | all the hurt that brought me here

[aworldonfire]

It's a miracle, he thinks, that he got away from Nobu, from Fisk. It's a miracle that he made it back to his apartment, as beaten as he is. It's a miracle, but singing the praises of God doesn't follow him much past the door, not because he doesn't want to but because, while he's still alive, still fighting, he's rapidly devolving into hysterical thought thanks to the blood loss, and what he's stricken by, standing in the doorway of the rooftop access, is that he remembers what red looks like, would swear he could see it.

It's in the taste of his own blood in his mouth, after all, the wash of pain in his stomach and chest that rushes over him whenever he draws breath, the smell of metal (not his own, not copper, so much blood, oh, God), clinging to his wounds, where he was stabbed again and again and again. It all permeates as much as Clint's cover's body spray did, the red, making it hard to think, hard to see beyond his absent sight, and he takes a drunken step forward, presses his fingers to the wall that runs alongside the steps that come down into his apartment, hoping it will help, praying for a touchstone. He makes it down a handful of stairs, something like wild optimism rising in his chest, alongside the pain (he can make it, if he can just make it to the phone, make it to Claire), before it all goes to hell.

His foot catches on something, something likely broken by him, by Stick, less than a handful of days ago, and he trips. He hits the remaining steps face-first, so fast it takes him a moment to register what just happened, to grunt, no more winded that he already was (is his lung punctured? he can't tell. it hurts. father forgive him -- both of them), and try to sit up. All he manages is to slide the rest of the way down the steps to the ground and for black to join the red, a memory of tunnel vision closing in on the edges of his mind's eye, as what little he can get from his other senses slips, stutters, unconsciousness creeping up on him. He doesn't try to get up again, after that, just lays there, panting. He doesn't even hear the door opening again above him, practically miles away.

He doesn't know how many minutes pass, him laying there, but eventually and what seems to him suddenly, something occurs to him. He shifts again, not trying to get up this time but to press his shaking fingers to the comm at his ear, always worn, just in case, but rarely used outside of his team ups with Clint and Natasha. It takes him three tries to actually get there, actually find his ear, and when he manages, it takes a moment more of false starts to fight past the black and find the breath for his words. It never occurs to him to think that the Avengers, if they're listening, already know what's going on, if only to a certain degree, that the comms are always transmitting, always receiving, that help may already be on the way.

"Little -- little help here?" he chokes out. "I need help. Please."

The red and black catch up to him, after that, as relentless as he's ever been in the same colors, and he slips into something like twilight.

Comments

[avocado_atlaw]

Foggy huffs out a breath. "Yeah." He still feels bad about believing everything the media told them - and he feels bad for being so wary of the suit when he knows it's just Matt. He's a little afraid to get into it, too, though, considering he doesn't want to make anything more awkward than it's already drifting.

[aworldonfire]

"Yeah," Matt echoes. He can tell this is getting uncomfortable again for Foggy, and -- well, maybe they can come back to it later. Maybe they never will. Either way is fine. He promised Foggy as much time as he needs, after all, and this, this right here, is what he has a priest for. If he really wants to get into morality, he can talk to Father Lantom about it.

(Never mind the fact that it won't be the same. There's a difference between telling your priest you carry your guilt with you and telling your best friend. Priests expect that sort of thing. It's why people take confession.)

"Anyway, uh," he continues after a moment, after he lets where that was headed go. Not that he continues; he really has no idea what to say, now. Again, Foggy isn't the only one that needs to regain his equilibrium.

[avocado_atlaw]

"Uh...." Foggy begins, too - and then jumps on the first thing that comes to mind. "Did I mention Karen had you some kind of ridiculous 'get well' thing?"

He knows what it is. He's also so not ruining the surprise because it sure is ridiculous. But well-intentioned, of course.

[aworldonfire]

"It might have come up." And he might know that you know what it is, Foggy, even if he's not going to call you on it. He knew the first time he brought it up, too. It's just not that big a deal to risk terrorizing his best friend again to call him on it.

"Though, speaking of ... " He might want to think about heading home before too much longer. Karen can call, if he's not in, sure, can call Foggy when he doesn't answer his phone, but he doesn't want to upset her, either. God knows he's done enough of that, already, between -- well, everything. He's given them both a lot of cause to worry, even without knowing the truth.

"I don't suppose you have a bag or something I can stick the suit in?" he finishes, rather than turn back to his guilt.

[avocado_atlaw]

"You're welcome to hang around," he replies immediately, because he really doesn't want Matt to think that's changed in any way, shape, or form. "But yeah, I've got some duffle bags. Or a backpack?"

Whichever works better.

[aworldonfire]

Matt gets that and he appreciates it. He flashes Foggy a smile, too, hoping to convey that, though it's short-lived, shifting sooner rather than later into something genuinely apologetic. He'd love to hang around, honestly, despite how up and down their conversations have been, so far, as they both readjust, but, "I should probably get home before someone shows up to check in on me and thinks I went looking for more ninjas or something."

He really doesn't want to explain to -- well, anyone, really, why both he and the suit are missing, assuming they know where to look for his gear in the first place. Clint might.

Rather than say that, however, he starts to tell Foggy that either or would work for him and then stops abruptly, something, some association half-forming on his face behind the sunglasses. Backpack. Blind guy with a backpack. He can't quite make the connection he wants (the Chinese man in the back of the taxi to the heroin he found in the apartment of the man who'd murdered Elena Cardenas), it sitting on the tip of the proverbial tongue, but --

He shakes his head abruptly, trying to clear it. It'll come to him, if he stops trying to think about it.

"Sorry," he starts after another moment, the puzzle harder to banish than he'd hoped. "Either or would be good."

[avocado_atlaw]

Foggy raises an eyebrow at him curiously at the pause, and then shakes his head, dismissing the apology for whatever that was about. "Be right back," he says instead, heading for a different closet and coming back a few moments later with a duffle bag.

[aworldonfire]

Matt waits patiently, still struggling with the connection and trying pointedly to let it go, even if he manages to keep that war off his face, albeit barely. It doesn't help that he's not gaining ground on either front, and -- and in turning his thoughts, however briefly, to his frustration, it hits him like a ton of bricks. When Foggy returns, he looks stunned, eyes wide behind his glasses.

"Foggy," he starts insistently, "you've seen other blind guys running around the city, right? Probably Chinese. Carrying backpacks."

[avocado_atlaw]

"Uh..." Foggy begins after a pause. "Unlike half the city, I don't stare at the handicapped when they walk by considering I can stare at you anytime I want..." He cuts himself off, there. "That didn't come out right. Anyway. Maybe? I think so? Why?"

[aworldonfire]

"Maybe not so much," Matt agrees, though it gets a smirk out of him, however brief. When it fades, and rather than actually answer that question, he asks, "I'm guessing you don't remember where you saw them?"

[avocado_atlaw]

"Not really?" He frowns, though, still trying to think. "I don't know, Matt. Maybe over on 10th somewhere?" That really doesn't help, he figures, but that's all he can remember.

[aworldonfire]

"No, it's -- that's good. That's a start," he tells him.

He's not a mind reader, but he can read the cues in Foggy's breathing patterns, in everything else, and more than that, he knows his best friend. Either way, it narrows things down -- as does the fact that it has to be in the Kitchen, so he won't end up having to search all of 10th. It also makes him itch to put the suit back on and go check it out, and he can't help but not-quite-glance in that direction, the fact that he's still supposed to be resting be damned.

[avocado_atlaw]

"Can you tell me what's going on?"

This isn't one he'll push on - if Matt wants to tell him he needs to stay out of it, he will, but that doesn't change the fact that he worries.

[aworldonfire]

"It's complicated," Matt answers. He means that honestly, too, if the look on his face is any indication, thoughtful, frowning as he tries to find words to explain it all. Eventually, he gives up to a certain degree and with a shake of his head, and goes with the nutshell version.

"Long story short, Fisk's running the drug trade in the city." A beat. "Heroin, if you want to get specific." And another. "It's where most of his off the books income's coming from." He shrugs, that said, and tries to get himself back on track as he realizes he's edging into confusing things with all the threads running together on this. "I've been trying to figure out where so I can shut it down, and I think -- I think I've got it.

"It's the guys with the backpacks, they're the ones doing the trafficking. No one would looks twice at a blind guy. They're -- perfect."

[avocado_atlaw]

"Holy shit," Foggy returns by way of agreement, because they really are. Most New Yorkers don't even notice when a superhero in full uniform walks down the street. They're definitely not gonna notice a few blind people. "So... what are you gonna do?"

Because he knows Matt needs to deal with it, but he's worried about Matt getting hurt again at the same time.

[aworldonfire]

"I need to find out where they're coming from, first," he answers. Knowing it might be somewhere around 10th narrows it down, yes, but that's still a lot of ground to cover. "After ... " He shakes his head. "I don't know. It depends."

On if whoever's in charge is there. On if the people doing the trafficking are being held against their will. On a lot of things, really.

[avocado_atlaw]

"Can we just assume I'm going to tell you to be careful on all of these conversations? Because I feel like you might get tired of me saying it." He knows Matt knows he worries, and he doesn't want to make Matt feel bad about it, doesn't want to make him resent Foggy.

[aworldonfire]

Matt offers him a thin smile, albeit not one without gratitude. He appreciates Foggy's worry -- or at least that he cares enough to worry, still, after everything that's happened these last few days.

"I'll be careful," he promises when it fades. "And it's -- nothing's going to happen tonight."

Even if he gets restless enough, waiting around for Karen or whoever else to show up, to break doctor's orders, he wants a lay of the land, first. Find where ever Fisk's people are making their drugs, stake it out so he knows whether or not to expect another ambush, and then come back and do something about it. It's a little slower than he'd like, especially right now, knowing another blow to Fisk is so close, but -- he needs to be patient. He knows that, too.

[avocado_atlaw]

If he was a mind-reader, he might slap Matt for thinking he wouldn't worry. Even if this was canon he had stayed more angry about Matt keeping secrets from him, he would still worry.

"Okay," Foggy returns with an equally small smile, mostly to get the sound into his voice - and he means it. He appreciates the reassurance.

[aworldonfire]

Sorry, Foggy, but a part of him is still terrified that this, them, is going to end horribly. Like he told him before, he isn't sure he'd be taking it so gracefully, Steve there to be a character witness that first night or not, if their positions were reversed.

But at any rate, dutifully, Matt repeats, "Okay," before pausing a beat. "Anyway, I should probably ... " At least get back to his own apartment before someone has a fit.

[avocado_atlaw]

Foggy nods. "Right, yeah. I'll, uh... see you in the morning?"

[aworldonfire]

Using the counter as a guide, Matt feels along it so he can drop his empty water bottle in Foggy's trash, and nods as he turns back around. "I might be a little late, depending on whether or not Father Lantom's around, but yeah. I'll be there."

That said, he takes a handful of steps forward, towards Foggy, and holds out a hand for the bag he's borrowing. He still needs to collect his suit, after all.

[avocado_atlaw]

Foggy immediately hands over the bag, taking an automatic step back out of Matt's way. "I didn't put it in there yet." He figures Matt can tell by weight even without the extra stuff, but he says it anyway.

[aworldonfire]

"I can tell," Matt says, not unkindly. It's more confirmation than not wanting Foggy to narrate, and he nods along with that statement, hoping he gets that. He flashes him another brief smile, this one warmer than the last, too, figuring it can't hurt, and then heads back towards the bedroom, feeling along the walls with the tips of two fingers, the others tangled in the bag's handles.

It doesn't take him long to get the suit packed inside, and when he's done, he shoulders the bag and heads back the way he came. He pauses just short of Foggy, just so he can repeat, "I'll see you in the morning." Then he makes for the door.

[avocado_atlaw]

Foggy lets Matt past him - and then back the other way when he comes back with the suit. "Night, Matt," he adds, and then heads for his bedroom, to actually start getting ready for bed.