A/N: Foggy is everything. Let's get inside his head.
And cheers to the already crushing feels of Season 2!
It gets easier.
That is the first lie that Foggy stops telling himself. It doesn't. One day it's a cracked rib; the next a dark stain barely hidden by Matt's suit jacket, little telling gasps of pain when no one's looking and almost no one's listening.
Maybe tomorrow, Matt won't come in at all. Maybe he'll die in an alley; maybe he'll die at home.
(Wherever—whenever—it happens, Foggy's greatest fear is that he won't be there).
Matt laughs it off, in between those barely audible gasps. Matt cracks jokes and is just—a complete lawyer about it, slipping out of the noose of accountability just as Foggy thinks he's got it tight.
But that's the thing with Foggy. He's never got things quite where he wants them to be.
Foggy Nelson is the second fiddle, the B+ student, the comic relief. And when that matters, he is content.
But it doesn't matter in the darkest hours of the night, when bullets ring like heartbreak, when Daredevil won't take a day off.
The Devil of Hell's Kitchen is its savior. The lawyer with the unseeing eyes and quiet laugh is Foggy's best friend. But Matt Murdock is a man of shadows and sin and sainthood, and Foggy Nelson is simple and small. Daredevil worships and broods on the rooftops. Foggy barely dares to lift his eyes to the cathedral doors.
There is a place for the hero. The hero, who lives to die and who dies to be remembered.
But what of the hero's best friend?
Foggy Nelson will never be the world's first choice. But say what you will, he's never known his place.
And maybe that means he just has to find it.
Cry 'havoc!' he thinks, almost giddily, and walks up to the bouncer at the gates.
The Dogs of Hell. The Dogs of Hell.
The Devil of Hell's Kitchen is its savior. And if the best friend is the willing sacrifice—
So be it.