A/N - this is a Daredevil Kinkmeme prompt. The original request was:
Badguys cut out Foggy's tongue. - Elden as mute Pollux in Hunger Games just gives me such a need for communication problems between Foggy and Matt.
There will probably be more to come, which is why this is marked as in progress. No guarantees but probably.
Frustration
His voice has always been his weapon. Not only in court, in life too. He has lost count of the times when a quick word has saved him from disaster. Of course, he conveniently forgets all the times it has gotten him into trouble in the first place.
Times like that day last year. If his voice offended them so much they could have just gagged him, or knocked him out, or anything else. He still doesn't know why they did it, all he knows is that they hurt him more than they would ever realize. Or maybe they did realize. Maybe that was the intention.
He looks up as the door opens and Matt walks in. He checks his watch, it's as late as he thought, late enough that he should have been home hours ago, which is exactly where he had assumed that Matt was, preferably asleep, and not running around the city beating up bad guys.
He taps on the desk twice in quick succession with his knuckles in greeting. Matt smiles.
"Working late?"
Foggy doesn't answer, obviously. He taps at the keyboard of his laptop a few times. He doesn't have anything to write, he types nonsense words, indicating with the sound how hard at work he is.
"Come up with any new ideas?"
He shakes his head. He doesn't know whether Matt will be able to notice the motion, he is still a little fuzzy on just how well his friend's superior perception works and his situation now makes it less easy to ask, but he is damn sure he will be aware of the raise in his heart rate as the frustration begins to build. He has come up with something, actually, but to express it would be too difficult.
Matt backs off. He sits down in the chair at the other side of the desk, slips off his glasses and places them on the desk in front of him. "Use the software," he says.
Foggy opens another text file and starts to type. He presses the button and the electronic voice begins to read what he has written. It's not a bad voice, not as computerized as some of them, but it fails to get the inflection right, and it simply won't channel his anger no matter how many exclamation points he puts at the end of a sentence.
"Screw the software," the computer says in a perfectly reasonable tone.
Matt raises an eyebrow but says nothing.
Foggy types again. He looks at the words, then deletes them. Hesitates, types it again. That's one of the worst things about it. The lack of spontaneity.
"I miss my voice," the computer says.
He looks away, not wanting to see Matt's reaction. Not wanting to see pity in his eyes.
"I know," Matt tells him.
Foggy drags his eyes across the room and forces himself to look at his friend. There is no pity there. There never has been. At first there had been anger, and then sorrow, but not once has he ever got the impression that Matt felt sorry for him.
"I miss it too," Matt adds.