Chapter Text
PETER
The world is too loud.
He can hear the tick tick tick of the clock on the wall and the loud snap of gum from the guy standing down the hall. Somewhere there's a baby crying, and somewhere else a woman is arguing with her husband on the phone. Peter thinks the husband is losing the argument, but it's hard to tell.
Above him, the AC kicks on with a rattling clank that bounces in his ears, and he grinds his jaw as the knife behind his eyes twists ever so deeper. He wants to close his eyes, close his eyes, and drift off into an endless sleep where nothing can touch him. Where he feels nothing and sees nothing, and he can pretend that nothing ever happened and everything was alright.
But the lights are too freaking bright.
They bathe the waiting room in a harsh white that burns every corner and surface, and no matter how hard Peter screws his eyes shut, it still paints his eyelids a blinding red.
The fabric of the chair he's sitting on feels rough against his skin, each brush of his fingertips is like dragging his hands across asphalt. Peter tucks his hands in his lap and ignores the scratchiness of his jeans. It's still better than the chair.
He used to say, after ‘the incident’ a couple months ago, that it felt like his senses were dialed to eleven. Peter had thought he'd gotten better at managing it, had learned how to tune out the chaos of the world, to focus in on the here and now. But tonight, tonight it feels like someone has taken that dial and twisted it until it snapped off. Now the big red alarms are ringing, and the systems are failing, and everything is out of whack.
Off kilter.
That’s-yeah.
That’s probably the best way to describe the floaty, spacey, wrongness he’s been feeling for the last couple of hours.
But he can’t…he can’t think about that. About the why. Because if Peter thinks about that, then…
Shouting. Hot, angry tears as he spits out harsh, venomous words that are meant to pierce and dig deep. The loud slam of a door. Quiet, tense whispers in the kitchen that are still too loud to his sensitive ears-
The woman on the phone curses out her husband, and the man with the gum blows a bubble that pops so loud it echoes in his skull. There’s a pressure building at his temples, and Peter pinches the bridge of his nose as he forces his lungs to breathe. He can feel the telltale prick of his eyes and a tightness in his throat, the same feeling he’s been feeling all night, but no tears fall as he squeezes his eyes shut against the still too bright lights.
He can’t do this. Not right now. Maybe not ever.
And so he sits. And waits. And tries to ignore the twisting feeling in his gut and the stabbing pain in his head.
And his heart.
There's the distinct sound of heels clacking against linoleum. It breaks him out of the fog that had started to settle over his mind. And when Peter looks up, he finds the culprit standing before him in a cheap grey pantsuit. Her mousy hair is tied back in a bun that’s clearly been holding on for way too long, and her tired eyes carry a hauntedness and exhaustion that feels palpable in the air.
“Peter?” Her voice, though kind, is like needles in his ears, and he winces in a slight grimace. She takes a seat in the chair next to him, and Peter can feel the tension rolling off her in waves. He wonders if that’s because his senses are really that broken at the moment or if what she’s about to say is really that hard for her.
The tingling at the base of his skull tells him all he needs to know.
“My name’s Audrey,” she says, and her words are too soft, too cautious. Her fingers tighten around the manila folder in her hands, the quiet creak of the paper screaming in his head, and she gives Peter a smile that's barely there. “I'm your social worker.”
Her words hang heavy in the air, and somewhere a door slams shut as reality finally sinks in.
The world is too loud and the lights are too bright, and he's sitting in a chair that feels like sandpaper on his skin with a headache that won't go away, and he's brutally, horribly, achingly, alone.
MATT
There’s a spider on the wall.
He can hear the drag of its legs as it scurries back to its web. It’s nearly drowned out by the symphony of sound that fills Josie’s bar, but if Matt concentrates just hard enough, he can pick out the distinct wobble of the spider’s silk as it crawls along the intricate woven lattice tucked into the corner of the ceiling.
It’s such a small, mundane thing. But it’s something insignificant that he can focus on to realign his senses. Usually, when he’s out with Foggy, like tonight, he’ll focus on his best friend. The steady thump of Foggy’s heartbeat, the warmth of his body heat, the smell of his shampoo. It’s familiar, something he knows he can pick out easily in a crowd. But Foggy’s gone for the moment, putting a pause on their celebrations to take a leak. So Matt has to find something else in this sea of chatter and booze to focus on.
And so he sits, and he waits, and listens to the pitter-patter of eight tiny legs.
There’s an ache in his ribs, and the bruise on his face is still throbbing, but tonight has been a good night, a long one for sure, but a good one nonetheless. Sure, he may be sporting a nasty cut above his brow, and his left shoulder twinges a bit when he moves, but Foggy’s energy is infectious, and it’s hard not to smile while Foggy toasts to their latest financially dumb decision.
Leaving Landman and Zach was a significant risk. He knows that. And he’ll be forever grateful that Foggy trusts him enough to take that plunge with him. Matt has always known that Foggy is loyal, it’s one of the things he loves about him. But being loyal and following someone off a financially unstable cliff are two completely different things. Still, this was the right choice. And despite how much he’ll joke and complain, Matt knows Foggy understands that too. They’re going to be able to help so many more people with their own firm than they ever would have at L&Z. To help out the little guy. To truly make a difference. And for every person the law can’t help, well, Matt’s got that covered.
His thoughts are interrupted by the familiar sound of Foggy’s footsteps as he returns from the bathroom. His hand finds Matt’s elbow and he gives it a gentle squeeze as he retakes his seat. “I’m back,” he announces, and his fingers pull away to grab his drink. If his hand lingers a second longer than usual, Matt decides not to comment on it.
“I’m telling you, buddy,” Foggy grins, and Matt hears the distinct sound of Foggy tapping on the bar, “this, right here, is the start of something real special. Tonight our lives are gonna change, for better or worse!”
Chuckling, Matt shakes his head. “Still sounds like we’re getting married.”
Foggy scoffs and playfully shoves at Matt’s shoulder, “You’d be lucky to marry me, Murdock,” he laughs. The legs of his stool wobble as Foggy leans over the bar, and Matt feels the air shift as he flags down the bartender. “I’m getting us another round. This union is deserving of a toast!”
“We already made a toast, Fogs.”
Foggy waves him off, “Then we’ll make another toast. All the toasts! Come on, Matt, indulge me here. We’re about to make so many financially bad decisions. Let me live in this moment before we go into debt.”
The bartender finally makes their way over to them, and Matt waits patiently as Foggy rattles off their drink order. It’s not long after that their drinks are placed in front of them, Foggy sliding Matt’s over so that it’s closer to his hand. Their fingers bump against each other as Matt takes the glass in hand, and then Foggy is raising his in another toast.
“Come on, Murdock,” he says, “don’t leave me hanging!”
Foggy’s words are so…happy. So full of mirth and joy, it almost drowns out the nervous beat of Foggy’s heart that’s been present all night. It’s understandable for Foggy to be anxious. He’ll hide it behind jokes and smiles, but at the end of the day, they’re still taking a massive risk.
Matt knows they made the right decision. But the road they’ve set on is a long one, and after tonight, everything will be one uphill trek after another. They’re jobless, nameless, and trying to establish themselves in a field that’s highly competitive and cutthroat. Their lives from here on out won’t be easy, both in the office and out. And now that Matt’s committed to his… boxing, it’s only going to make things ten times harder.
But as he stretches his senses out toward Foggy, he feels the way the air bends around that warm smile that tugs at his cheeks, hears the nervous but excited thump of his heartbeat, and Matt gives in. He knows he’s not alone in this, that Foggy is standing on the same uneven ground as he is. But despite it all, Foggy is choosing to live in the here and now. To embrace the bright feeling of something new, of a fresh start. So, Matt pushes all the negative thoughts away for a bit and returns Foggy’s grin with one of his own. As he raises his glass for a second time that night, for this one, fleeting moment, Matt allows himself to indulge in the fantasy. Let’s himself believe that they can face whatever comes at them. Together. As Nelson and Murdock.
Unknown number, unknown number, unknown number.
“No, ignore it!” Foggy cries. “This is supposed to be our night of celebration! Whatever it is, it can wait!”
Matt chuckles softly and grabs his phone off the counter. “I’ll just be a minute,” he says, thumb already swiping to accept. “Then we can get back to celebrating Nelson and Murdock.”
Foggy hums, not quite satisfied but still not protesting. His glass scrapes against the wood of the bar as he lifts it again with an enthusiastic, “Nelson and Murdock!”
A soft smile pulls at Matt’s lips as he holds his phone to his ear. The night's lingering merriment bleeding into his words as he answers. “Matt Murdock.”
It’s a woman’s voice on the other end of the line, and while her tone is sweet and professional, Matt can still detect an underlying tiredness in her voice. “Mr. Murdock? Hi, my name is Audrey Mills, I’m a social worker with the Administration for Child Services. I was wondering if you’d be willing to meet with me to discuss some matters regarding a case of mine.”
Matt pauses, “Is this about a legal matter, Ms. Mills?” He asks, curiosity lacing his words. He feels the soft shift in the air as Foggy turns to look at him and gently places his hand on Matt's arm where it rests against the bar.
A silent question, ‘potentiel client?’
Matt makes a quick gesture with his palm, ‘not sure,’ it says, and the heat from Foggy's hand lingers on Matt's skin as the other man steps away. As much as he would like this to be about a possible case, there’s a twisty feeling in the back of his mind telling him there’s more to it. He and Foggy just left Landman and Zach, and while they may desperately need work, they haven’t exactly established themselves yet. Hell, the furthest they’ve gotten so far is the napkin with Foggy’s drawing soaking up spilled booze on Josie’s bar. Either way, they’re work at L&Z wasn’t exactly in family law.
No, whatever Ms. Mills is calling him about, it’s not about getting his legal opinion. It’s that thought that makes that feeling grow more intense.
“I’d rather not discuss it over the phone.” She answers, “Is there a time you would be willing to meet and discuss it in person? It’s somewhat of a delicate matter.”
There’s a tightness forming in his throat that Matt tries to swallow away. “Um, anytime works for me,” he replies. It's technically not a lie. He is currently unemployed. But it's also a total lie. But also, it's not like he can say to the social worker ‘actually I'm available anytime before 8 pm because after that I need to go out and beat up the scum of Hell's Kitchen’. Not to mention how he would explain that to Foggy.
“Perfect,” she says, and there’s some shuffling on her end before she continues, “how about Monday at one? I’ll send you the address for my office.”
Matt replies with “Sounds good,” but his voice feels miles away as his brain tries to wrap itself around the situation.
“What was that about?” Foggy asks when Matt ends the call.
He knows. There’s a part of Matt, deep, deep down, that knows what that call was about. Ms. Mills’ profession, the vagueness of the call, the insistence on meeting in person. He knows. Or he can at least make a very educated guess. But that’s… that’s preposterous. Insane. Not possible. So impossible that he can’t even bring himself to think about it. Besides, who knows? He could be completely wrong. He’s not. Maybe this is just a legal thing. It isn’t.
Either way, it’s Monday's problem, he decides. Tonight, like Foggy has said, is about Nelson and Murdock. With that thought, Matt wets his lips and finally takes a swig of his drink. “I don’t know.”