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Contention on the Scale

Part Two of the Nelson and Murdock Scale of Pain Series

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Creating the Nelson and Murdock Scale of Pain was one thing, Matt following it was another. On two very different nights, one just after the Scale was agreed upon but before it had been actually used and another months later when they were settled into it, Foggy Nelson lays awake and waits for Matt Murdock.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Foggy lay in his bed sometime after midnight, awake and fiddling on his phone. Or rather, awake, fiddling with his phone and brazenly ignoring that he was purposefully breaking the rules of the Nelson and Murdock Scale of Pain.

He was supposed to be asleep. He had created a whole Scale of Pain just to get that sleep. He and Matt had carved out a system that involved Foggy only being woken up when Matt's injuries tallied themselves a high enough score. If Matt only got something like a split lip, Foggy didn't needed to be jolted awake for it.

Truthfully, though, a big part of him would have liked to have added 'wake Foggy up' to every level on the Nelson & Murdock Scale of Pain. Matt was so utterly bad at taking care of himself at even the basest level. He turned lack of self-care into an art form and Foggy didn't just mean that he didn't take cracked ribs seriously enough (although he totally meant that too). Whether it was eating or wound care or getting enough sleep, Matt was stunningly bad at it.

Pick an area of self-care and Foggy could do a powerpoint presentation on why Matthew Murdock purposefully sucked at it. All that said, was it really so that strange that Foggy found the Scale of Pain to be as hard to follow as Matt did sometimes?

But the Scale was in place for a lot of different reasons. One of them was to open communication between them, another was to give Foggy piece of mind, yet another was his eternal hope that if Matt had normal reactions to injuries hammered into him eventually something would stick… but there was also the fact that Foggy was only human and as much as he wanted to stay up every night and clean Matt up it just wasn't feasible.

They both occasionally slipped up. Matt tried to argue himself down a level constantly. Every once and a while Foggy pretended that he was woken up by Matt coming down the stairs when really he had totally been lounging in bed waiting for him to come home, just in case there was a level two that could use a kiss.

They were both ridiculous, honestly.

So him sitting up in bed messing around with his phone and waiting for his vigilante boyfriend to wrap it up and come home already wasn't a regular occurrence exactly but it wasn't a first time situation either. If he wasn't tired, he wasn't tired. It had nothing to do with Daredevil's lack of self preservation skills.

Really.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Foggy laid tense in bed, afraid of letting his eyes shut even though he was damned tired. He was waiting for Matt to call him out on all the yawning at work but so far he hadn't. Karen had quietly taken him to the side the other day when Matt had left the office, worried and confused. Wasn't the scale he made and Matt agreed to supposed to alleviate this kind of thing?

Of course it was… if Matt followed it.

So far nothing had gone wrong. Matt didn't mention his bloodied knuckles unless Foggy asked like he was allowed to but he had dutifully informed Foggy about his level three twisted ankle last Monday morning before he had even gotten out of bed. He was doing like he promised he would.

So why couldn't Foggy relax?

He knew why and he didn't dare say it out loud to Karen in case Matt was closer to the office than they thought.

Foggy didn't trust Matt to actually follow the Scale when it came right down to it.

And that made him feel shitty because Matt's word meant something to him. Maybe it was because of the lies that he had forgiven but not managed to forget or maybe it was because he knew that Matt would always choose to spare Foggy worry and sleeplessness even if it meant he bled all over the place. Matt wasn't wired to accept help, plain and simple. If he thought he could get away not saying something, he would try. He always had.

Nearly every night in the twenty-one days since they had made their agreement, Foggy had laid in bed waiting for Matt to come home. He waited to hear Matt cleaning and stitching his own wounds instead of waking Foggy up.

The crushing paranoia and distrust was spilling out into other parts of their days too. He had pretended to need to pee during Matt's morning showers three times, just to see him naked and check for wounds as discretely as he could. He had instigated some sleepy Saturday morning sex because Matt had gone to bed in a t-shirt and Foggy couldn't live with not seeing if he was hiding something underneath.

And so far, nothing had been wrong. Matt hadn't been caught in a lie because there hadn't been one.

Yet.

He wanted to let that proof be enough. What his traitorous head argued, though, was that Matt hadn't really been tested yet. Thankfully, he hadn't received a level five injury since the start of the Scale. And damn it, that should be a great thing. It was a great thing. Foggy should have been singing his joy from the rooftops.

But he wasn't.

He was so scared.

Not just because it was dangerous for Matt if something serious happened and no one helped him or knew he was hurt. No, Foggy was even more scared because if Matt lied to him about this, if Matt broke his trust, well… he wasn't sure where that left them. He didn't want to find out.

So he was stuck with lying and inventing excuses to check Matt's skin and laying in bed with a pounding heart that was going to give him away sooner rather than later. He was stuck either not getting the sleep that was the catalyst to all of this or dozing off and guiltily jolting awake.

He was stuck poisoning them with lies while he waited for Matt to poison them with lies.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

His ear had been half-trained to the roof access door for the last hour. Finally, about a quarter past two, his diligence paid off. He heard Matt's boots on the stairs and he purposefully shifted in bed sleepily and made a little humming noise like he was reacting to the noise despite being half-asleep.

He wasn't sure if Matt was internally laughing at him every time he tried to pretend but so far he hadn't been called out on it so he was going to call his acting skills Oscar worthy and ignore any alternatives.

He slowly swung his legs over the bed and just sat for a second to listen to Matt come all the way down the stairs. His steps sounded a little heavy like he was tired but he certainly didn't seem like he was struggling or in serious pain or anything. The little bit of tension that lived in Foggy every night Matt left him to go save Hell's Kitchen eased.

Foggy stood up, because guessing was one thing but seeing that Matt was okay with his own two eyes was a very different thing. He slid the door to their bedroom open, "You home?" He called softly.

"You should be asleep." Matt said in answer.

Foggy switched on a lamp to see Daredevil in all his glory. Well, all his glory usually needed to include the blood of criminals smeared over his suit somewhere and, from what Foggy could see, he was absent that. He was without any blood, which was always nice.

He walked to Matt and gently undid his mask so he could actually see his face. Once he was free of his stupid horns, Foggy pressed a quick, soft kiss on his infinitely kissable lips. "I've been messing around on my phone for a while, no big."

Matt didn't really look like he agreed but he didn't say anything so Foggy took the win. For a man who insisted three hours of sleep was more than plenty for himself, he had strong feelings about any sleep that Foggy missed unless it was vitally necessary (or because of fun things, he didn't seem to have any objections then).

"You okay?" Foggy asked, just to be sure.

Matt grimaced, "Nothing major."

Someday, Foggy thought with an internal sigh so loud he was surprised Matt couldn't hear it anyway, I'll get him to just tell me what's wrong straight off the bat, no evasion, no pulling teeth. Foggy raised an eyebrow, which was obviously lost on Matt. "That's not what I asked."

He got an annoyed look in return that he completely ignored. Matt relented, though, because it was late and he was clearly tired. Also he always seemed to be unable to really commit to lying to Foggy when it was past midnight and Foggy had given up sleep for him. So sue him if he used it to his advantage.

"Wrenched my wrist is all." Matt finally answered.

Which wrist was pretty obvious, now that he was paying attention to it. Consciously or not Matt was holding it tight to his body to protect it from more harm. Foggy immediately went to his gloves and started pulling the strap away as carefully as he could so he could ease it off. "Broken?"

Matt shook his head, "No, I'd hear that. It's just sore. Might be a little swollen because I did something to the muscle."

"Can't you like taste swelling or something?" Foggy asked a little absently. He had gotten Matt's glove off relatively easily and though his sleeve was in the way, he could already tell that it was swollen. There was also some light bruising already developing from what he could see.

Matt snorted, "Yeah, sure. It's not so bad, level three maybe."

Foggy hummed a little, not yet willing to agree or disagree with that assessment. "Let's get the sleeve off."

Without a word, Matt reached his good hand behind his back to start undoing the clasps of his suit. It took quite a bit of effort for Foggy not to go around to his back and help him get himself free but Matt was weirdly insistent on independence when he was only slightly hurt. Like letting Foggy help with something not catastrophic made him feel weak and he needed to compensate or something. He was sure that if he could get Matt to acknowledge and explain the impulse it could be traced back to Stick (the bastard).

Matt pulled the suit down his shoulder and gingerly reached to his opposite sleeve with his hurt wrist. The thing was so skintight he really needed both hands free to get it off, which was probably a design flaw that they couldn't do much about.

"Whoa, absolutely not." Foggy said. He gripped the opening of the sleeve instead of letting Matt do it and kept it in place so Matt could pull his arm out. He also took the opportunity to check for any other injuries. Luckily, other than some old bruising by his collarbone, there was nothing to see. Well, besides Matt's impressive pecs, but Foggy checked those out on the regular so they didn't count in the current assessment.

That left his hurt arm and Foggy decided he had been patient enough. He peeled the suit down as far as he could, turning the material inside out as he went so Matt didn't need to do any actual maneuvering himself. Matt stayed still and silent, proof of just how sore his arm was. Or maybe not? He was big on the stoicism during pain thing, so it was kind of hard to tell with him.

Once the sleeve was off, Foggy was pleased to see that his wrist didn't look any worse than he imagined it would. A little swollen, a little bruised. No lumps or obvious breaks, no lacerations, no blood.

So, a level three after all.

He was not going to admit that to Matt.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The door to the roof closing barely woke Foggy up. He was getting so used to it that he was imagining some day in the not so distant future where Matt coming home didn't immediately wake him. How nice would that be? That level of trust was what they were going for. Foggy listened to Matt's footsteps and tried to keep himself as relaxed as he could. He strained his ears; almost never did he wish for Matt's hearing because it seemed awful but even he had to admit that sometimes it would come in handy.

Sometimes being now.

Was it just him or did Matt seem like he was really gripping the railing? He could hear the slide of his glove along the metal, like Matt was barely letting go enough to move his hand down it.

He felt a sick twist in his stomach, both fear for Matt and fear for how paranoid he was getting.

But maybe this time it wasn't paranoia? He heard Matt reach the bottom of the stairs and pause. He was breathing heavily, not panting like he had run home but in a more restricted way like he was trying and failing to manage pain.

Foggy told himself he was being stupid.

He knew he wasn't.

The sound of the mask dropping to the ground almost made Foggy flinch. Was Matt getting ready to get himself out of his suit alone? Was he planning on waking Foggy up at all?

Please, Matt… Please…

Matt paused again, unmoving and breathing deeply.

Trust me. Let me trust you. Choose us, Matt.

Foggy chanted his pleas in his head and tried not to let his body give him away. He wanted to see Matt's choice, not wonder forever what it would have been if Foggy's heartbeat hadn't of let Matt know he was awake and that lying was especially useless.

Matt shuffled forward just a little, maybe towards their door? Foggy could hardly let himself hope.

Then the door slid open quietly and Matt stumbled in. "Foggy," He called softly.

Foggy sighed and ran a hand over his eyes like he was clearing sleep away and not grateful tears. Hopefully Matt wouldn't smell the difference. "Matty?" He whispered back.

"I need your help."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"Let's get some ice on it." Foggy said as he gently pushed Matt towards the couch.

"I'm going to change first." Matt said as he pushed away from where Foggy was trying to send him. He walked towards their bedroom and Foggy resisted the urge to follow to help him get the rest of his suit off and new clothes on. A level three, he reminded himself, meant that technically Matt would have done all of that himself while Foggy slept on in blissful ignorance.

He didn't have to like it though.

With one ear to the bedroom in case Matt needed help, Foggy put some ice in a bag and then got antsy and made him some cinnamon toast and tea to go with it. He was turning into his mother.

"You hungry?" Matt called as he came back out in sweatpants.

Foggy brought the supplies over to the coffee table. "No, it's for you."

Matt laughed softly and smiled at him like he thought Foggy was confusing but adorable. "I get the Nelson remedy for a level three?"

"I would make you Grandma Nelson approved cinnamon toast for a level one, if you asked." Foggy said honestly as he plopped down onto the couch. "Don't think I didn't see you skip half your dinner, either. Sit, eat, drink."

"Yes, mother." Matt grumbled good-naturedly. He sat down beside him and let Foggy hand him the ice first. "You realize this is barely an injury, right?"

"It's an injury, so I want to fix it regardless of severity." Foggy said, "One day you're going to just accept that and stop fighting me."

Matt immediately jumped in to protest, "I let you help me get the suit off, I am sitting here with ice, I am eating cinnamon toast," He exclaimed and took an exaggerated bite, "I am accepting your help!"

"You're also talking with your mouth full and if I'm going to be the mother in this scenario then I have to call you out for it. I raised you better than this, young man." Foggy joked.

Matt's laugh felt like a reward after a long day. Sure, his bed was calling to him but sitting here with Matt, knowing that he was making the love of his life feel better after going out and saving lives had left him banged up… that was worth a little missed sleep occasionally.

He was so glad that his wild idea had worked out the way it had and he was beyond grateful that Matt had agreed to it. He was even more glad that Matt had actually followed through with what he had agreed to. There were some nights in the beginning when the idea that Matt might not had sent him into tears. Just the thought of those old fears and how they had never come to pass made a surge of affection for his stupid vigilante swell. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Matt's cheek.

Matt turned to him, bemused, "What was that for?"

"Because I love you," Foggy said simply, "Even if you talk with food in your mouth and run around in a glorified fetish suit fighting crime."

Matt snorted like the dork he absolutely was, "Gee thanks, I love you too."

Foggy leaned back and practically beamed as Matt took another bite of toast.

They were so lucky.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

They were both a little weepy.

There was definitely no machismo in their apartment, except for when Foggy had briefly needed to phone a friend and Claire's voice had filled the otherwise silent space. Where Matt and Foggy were both still so raw with the idea that the Scale was actively being used properly, Claire was gleeful. She thought the whole thing was wildly funny and she tallied Matt's injuries up to a solid six with a laugh in her voice. Eventually she noticed Foggy sounded off but from the way her voice went gentle for the instructions for cleaning Matt's near-road rash by his jaw and ear (who injured their ear, seriously?), he was pretty sure that she thought he was just upset that Matt was hurt.

And he totally was but he was also so wrung out from every moment of worry that had come before and so grateful that Matt had finally been tested and that he had passed that Foggy was about four seconds away from sobbing.

It was a weird response to the situation at hand but whatever, Foggy Nelson was not a man who shied away from his emotions.

Matt Murdock totally was, though, so seeing him a little weepy too was throwing Foggy for a bit of a loop.

Waiting for Matt to say something about it was kind of pointless and he knew that from a decade's worth of experience. Matt would sit there in emotional agony for weeks before he let Foggy in on whatever was bothering him. Somewhere along the timeline of a single father who was obsessed with the idea of 'strong men get back up and keep going', an emotionally and physically abusive ninja mentor and nuns with too many other children to take care of, Matt's emotional growth and stability had been kicked to the wayside.

Foggy had always done what he could to reverse all those years of damage but he was only one untrained guy and Matt was beyond stubborn.

Aside from the fact that he knew waiting on Matt to explain what was wrong was pointless, he also figured that asking Foggy for help like he had was probably all that could be expected of him in one night. Getting him to talk about his feelings within the same hour seemed a little cruel.

That was okay, though, because they had all the time in the world.

Once all the blood was cleaned up, Foggy gently pulled Matt up and towards their bed. Matt was a stumbling kind of exhausted, both in the way his feet dragged and in his complete lack of awareness towards his surroundings. If Foggy let his hand go he was half convinced that Matt would walk into a wall.

It made him docile in an absent kind of way. He let Foggy pull off what was left of his clothes and push him down onto the sheets that had gone cold in his absence. Cleaning Matt up had taken not quite an hour but Foggy was so far from the guy who had been laying in bed miserable and terrified that it almost felt strange getting back into already mussed blankets and pillows.

When they were both settled, Matt's shaky breathing filled the room and Foggy couldn't let it go anymore. He reached out and traced his hand down Matt's arm until he could tangle their fingers together. "What's wrong, Matty?"

"Nothing," Matt whispered back immediately.

Foggy resisted the urge to roll his eyes, because that was so obviously not true he wasn't even sure why Matt was bothering to try to lie. "Come on, buddy. Just talk to me."

"You're tired," Matt answered. "You should go back to sleep. We have court in a few hours."

Foggy turned onto his side so he could see Matt's profile in the dim light of their bedroom. He was biting his lip now that he wasn't talking. There were enough injuries done to Matt's poor face for one night, so Foggy reached out the hand not holding Matt's to rub a finger along where his teeth met his lip. "Is that what you're upset about? That you woke me up? Because, Matty, I'm not upset about it. I'm really happy to help you and I'm so glad you asked me to."

There was silence for another beat. Foggy took in a breath, ready to prod Matt some more.

"You shouldn't have to."

Whether Matt was saying that he thought most of his injuries weren't worth Foggy's fuss and worry or he was going through one of his 'Daredevil should stay away from Foggy Nelson' funks was unclear. Ultimately it didn't really matter. The answer was the same. "I want to. I want to take care of you like you take care of me and everyone else. I want to be here. I want to trust you'll let me."

Almost immediately, Matt curled onto his side so he could press his forehead to Foggy's, "I don't know why... I don't think I'll ever get why."

And that was the heartbreaking center to their tootsie pop of relationship issues. Matt was probably never going to intrinsically one hundred percent trust him. He didn't understand why Foggy loved him or why Foggy wanted to be there for him and since the answers were wrapped up in things like self-worth there was a good chance he would never understand. It was frustrating and upsetting but he'd had to make his peace with it years ago. All he could do was keeping telling Matt how he felt and asking for what he needed, like trust and Scales of Pain.

Foggy had to be patient and communicate as openly as possible to make them work.

Matt had to follow request that he didn't understand and make himself vulnerable to make them work.

It was hard but they were willing… they were so willing.

Foggy pulled back just far enough away so that he could press a firm kiss to Matt's forehead. "I love you so much."

Matt might not have understood why Foggy loved him but his answer was an instant and unequivocal , "I love you too."

They were so lucky.

Feedback is love. More to come in this series!