-.-.-.-.-.-.-
The Nelson & Murdock Scale of Pain
His ribs were cracked, his thigh was bleeding and he was probably a little bit concussed... he was done for the night. That he could even admit that was a testament not to himself but to Foggy. Well, Foggy and his ridiculously named injury scale.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
The sound of his own boots touching down on the rough surface of his roof sent another throb through his skull. Matt bit back a groan; every sound felt even more amplified than usual. He knew it was only because he was tired and hurt, that his senses weren't really any stronger than usual, but when a man a building over and two floors down coughed so loudly that Matt could honestly diagnose him with bronchitis made him flinch, he had a hard time remembering that.
Matt walked slowly and the wound in his thigh steadily leaked blood with each step. Add in the crack to his head and the rapidly developing bruise in his side and Matt was done for the night. That he could even admit that was a credit not to himself but to Foggy.
Foggy was going to be so upset.
Matt flinched again at the thought. He hadn't been injured above a level four on patrol in thirty-seven days. He knew that because Foggy had made a cheerful sign that he happily updated every morning. When it hit thirty, Karen made him a cake.
Anything above a level four on Foggy's Scale of Pain wiped out his record. This was definitely more than a level four.
Matt shuffled to the door and opened it as quietly as he could. Even the hinges grated on his nerves. He took the stairs down into their apartment and stood in the middle of the living room for a long moment, just listening.
Everything was so loud but Foggy's heartbeat drowned it all out, at least well enough that he could focus again. Matt tilted his head back and sighed.
The sound of his blood dripping on the floor interrupted, insinuated itself in the rhythm of Foggy's heart. Matt shifted his weight from foot to foot and tried not to let his hurt leg buckle. Was it so bad if he didn't wake Foggy up?
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
"The only way we can keep going is if you're completely honest with me, Matty. If you've got some big… case or whatever you call them and you can't give as much to the firm, I need to know. You can't just ghost me during a case again. More importantly, if you're hurt, I need to know immediately. I need to trust that you'll tell me what's happening."
"I'm not going to bother you because I stub my toe on a patrol, Foggy. That's not fair to you."
"What's not fair to me is laying up all night waiting for you to come home and freaking out the whole time. That's what I'll do if you don't promise me the truth and then actually follow through with it. I'll worry every minute. But if I can trust that you'll tell me if anything is wrong, then I can actually relax."
"So you want to get woken up every night I bruise my knuckles just so you can sleep?"
"Don't be a smartass, Murdock. I think you can let me sleep the sleep of a lawyer's boyfriend on those kinds of nights. You know the kind of injuries I mean."
"Considering how much you freaked out about that cut on my shoulder last week, I think I don't."
"You needed three stitches!"
"Three, Foggy. No one bleeds out and dies because they needed or didn't get three stitches."
"I'm literally not even going to argue with you about that, although I want to just throw the word 'infection' out there just for fun. But I see your point. I want you to wake me up for things that need stitches but not for bruised knuckles - you know what, I'm making a chart.
"Are you ser… a chart? A chart of what?"
"A Scale of Pain, if you will."
"You've got to be kidding me, Foggy."
"I'm really not, Matt."
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Matt's lips quirked at the memory of Foggy's not so brilliant (but kind of brilliant) idea. Foggy had worked on it for three days and had even called an extremely supportive Claire five times before he had gotten it to where he liked it. Matt had been less enthused but if promising to follow the rules meant Foggy stayed then he was grateful for the chance.
Because Matt and Foggy had a different definition on how painful and serious any given injury was, Foggy took Matt's ability to decide himself right out of the equation. Bruised knuckles – level one. Busted up and bloody knuckles – level two. Minor stab wounds (which followed certain criteria to be classed as 'minor') – five. Matt had tried to argue certain injuries down a level and all he had gotten for his troubles was a glare from Foggy so strong Matt could literally feel it.
Matt tallied his injuries up in his head and knew he was dealing with a level six, probably. Foggy might even upgrade him to a seven, which was an automatic call to Claire.
Levels one and two meant that Matt didn't even have to tell Foggy, although Foggy still appreciated it if he did (but three level twos in one night meant that he did have to tell Foggy). A three or four meant that he had to tell Foggy in the morning and he got to keep his place in Foggy's "Days Without Incident" count. Five meant waking Foggy up though. Five meant he needed help the minute he got home.
He hated those nights.
Any thoughts that Matt had of not telling Foggy were pretty much immediately dismissed though. If Foggy woke up and saw the wound in his thigh and knew Matt hadn't told him…
He didn't want to think about what Foggy would do.
Matt sighed and shuffled forward, towards the sound of Foggy in bed. He hovered above him, feeling awkwardly like a little kid, and reached out to gently nudge Foggy in the back.
"Fog? Foggy?" He called quietly.
Foggy made a groaning sort of noise that made Matt feel even worse. Foggy was tired, they were in the middle of a hard case at work and they'd been pulling late nights all week and now because Matt hadn't been good enough Foggy was getting woken up in the middle of the night.
"Foggy?" He said again.
"Matt?" Foggy mumbled, "You home?"
"Um, yeah. I'm really sorry." Matt answered.
The apology woke Foggy the rest of the way. His heartbeat jolted as he shot up and clicked on the lamp on his side of the bed. "What's wrong?" He questioned, any trace of sleep in his voice gone. "Are you hurt?"
Matt shifted nervously again. He could feel Foggy's eyes raking over him, his careful hands reaching out and just barely touching the stab wound in his thigh. "Yeah,"
"Fuck, Matty. You've got blood all down your leg." Foggy said. He shifted off the bed and stood. "Come on, let's get to the couch."
Foggy's warm arm wrapped around his side gently and he helped Matt walk back out to the living room. He eased down onto the couch and heard Foggy switch another light on.
"Let's get all this off you and see the damage." Foggy muttered. His hands found the latch of his mask and soon the sort of stifling heat of wearing it was gone. Foggy hissed at the sight of his face and Matt knew it was because there was blood from the impact of the bat he'd been hit with. "Jesus, Matt."
"It's not so bad," Matt hedged. It really wasn't. He wasn't even sure he had a concussion, which meant that he probably only had a mild one if at all. Sometimes, with his senses, exhausted and concussed were hard differentiate.
Foggy scoffed but didn't say anything else. He started the slow process of peeling the suit off of Matt. Luckily for both of them, Foggy was getting to be kind of an expert at it.
"What should I be extra careful of?" He asked as he started to free Matt's shoulders.
Matt tried to sit up straighter to help but not make any noise doing it. "I think I've got some cracked ribs. And my leg, obviously."
"You think you've got some cracked ribs?" Foggy repeated skeptically, "How hard did you get hit in the head that you can't tell me any of that exactly?"
Matt sighed and sent silent to focus. He breathed in and out as deeply as he dared and listened, "I have two cracked ribs."
"See, now that's more helpful." Foggy answered. Matt heard his slowly settling heart rate kick back up a notch in response to the information, even if the tone of voice he used was as purposefully casual as he could manage. "All right, hips up."
Matt obliged and let Foggy pull the bottom half of his suit free, leaving him sitting in his underwear. The suit got caught at his laced up boots and Foggy knelt in front of Matt to get them off. Matt knew better than to protest or try and bend down to do it himself. That would just upset Foggy worse.
The second he was finished getting the suit off, Foggy's hands were hovering over the wound in his thigh. "How did this happen?" He asked slowly.
Biting back a grimace as Foggy carefully touched around the bloody gash, Matt answered, "Glass." He paused and braced himself for Foggy's reaction to the final revelation, "There's still some shards inside."
The response was immediate, "… And we're calling Claire." Matt could hear him fumbling for his phone, his heart beating even faster somehow.
He hated scaring Foggy. He also really hated dragging Claire out of bed when he'd already woken Foggy up. "Minor stab wounds are a level five, Foggy. Don't wake Claire up for a five."
Foggy barked out a laugh that had no real humor in it, "Yeah, nice try buddy. That is definitely a moderate stab wound based on length alone. Add in debris and you've definitely wracked up a level seven. Not to mention your ribs or that cut on your head."
"Moderate stab wounds are a six." Matt answered stubbornly.
Foggy had already dialed Claire. He could hear the phone ringing and hoped Foggy would have to leave a message.
"I'm sorry, were you not the one that just said 'There's still some shards inside'?" Foggy retorted, "Because I think you were. I'm flattered you think my stitching skills have gotten that good but there is no way I'm qualified to fish shards of glass out of your leg without nicking an artery or something." A jolt in his heart beat and a horrified breath, "There's no nicks in your arteries are there?"
Foggy was clearly more than a little freaked out. Matt took pity on him instantly, "There's not. I promise."
If there were he would have been dead already.
He wasn't going to actually say that.
His answer coincided with Claire's sleepy voice answering her phone, "Foggy? What's he done now?"
"Probably a concussion, two cracked ribs and a wicked slice and stab combo in his leg. He says there's still some glass shards in it." Foggy answered. Foggy tilted his head up to address Matt again, "Anything you'd like to add, Matty?"
"I'd much rather just go to sleep." He answered kind of petulantly.
"Yeah, no," Foggy shut that down before leaning away to talk to Claire. "That's about it, apparently."
"Sounds like fun." Claire answered. Matt could hear her shrugging on what was probably a sweatshirt based off how heavy the material sounded. "I'll be there in twenty."
"I'll have coffee ready," Foggy promised. Claire made a sleepy sound in response and disconnected the call.
"I'm just going to grab a towel, okay Matt?" Foggy said as he stood up.
Matt nodded tiredly, "I'll be here."
"You better be." Foggy answered. Matt heard him moving around the kitchen, starting the coffee machine and looking for the bag of dishtowels that they kept just for being bled on. It was a surprisingly expensive bag to keep stocked. "So how did this happen?" Foggy called, because he didn't always remember that Matt didn't need him to raise his voice. Or maybe he did remember and he thought Matt's brain was too scrambled to focus.
"I got a little disoriented when I got hit in the head." He explained slowly, because he didn't want to explain at all. "There were three guys and I lost track of the one behind me for a minute."
"And then you got stabbed." Foggy finished as he came back into the room.
The couch dipped as Foggy sat on the same side as his wounded leg. "And then I got stabbed," He agreed, "I broke his nose in return, though, so there's that."
"Oh good," Foggy said. His voice sounded like he only half meant it. The violence Matt committed weighed on him but it wasn't quite as heavy if the people Matt hurt managed to hurt him back. He pressed the towel against Matt's skin in the attempt to slow the bleeding.
Matt leaned his head back against the couch, more tired than he had been in weeks. Maybe it was just as well that he was going to be banned from patrolling for a couple of days. Eight hours of sleep sounded nice, if a little too luxurious. He never managed such a thing in one solid stretch but he sort of liked waking up every few hours so long as he could actually fall back to sleep fairly quickly, so that was okay.
Tomorrow was Saturday, he was pretty sure, so he and Foggy could even sleep in together. He loved waking up next to Foggy and getting to have a dozing couple of hours with him.
"Hey, Matty, keep talking to me, okay?" Foggy said. He nudged Matt's arm gently.
"I'm awake." Matt breathed out. "Just tired."
"I know." Foggy said. "When Claire's done you can go to sleep. I want to get her opinion on your head too."
Matt turned his head so he was facing Foggy, "Nowhere near coma territory, promise."
"That's reassuring," Foggy said and Matt could hear the sincere smile in his voice, "But also kind of not."
"Why not?" He asked.
"You shouldn't know what coma territory feels like." Foggy explained simply.
In Foggy's perfect world Matt also wouldn't know what stab wounds, stitches or gunshot wounds felt like but he'd enjoyed most of those before he had even met Foggy (thanks Stick!). If anything, Matt thought the catalogue of feelings were helpful. It made it easier to tell when he was really and truly hurt.
"Broody silence is not talking to me, Matty." Foggy said. He nudged Matt's arm a little harder, "You that sleepy?"
"Kinda." Matt admitted.
"In a the Chen case is kicking our asses kind of way or a wow, I've lost a lot of blood kind of way?"
There was another question he didn't want to answer.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
"Honesty is all I'm really asking for here, buddy."
"I don't like honesty that's going to hurt you."
"Well, I don't like fetish suits and hero complexes that are going to hurt you but I'm finding a way to bear that cross, aren't I?"
"Foggy,"
"Matt, I'm serious. I need to know and I need to trust that you'll tell me."
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
"Both."
Foggy's sigh was shaky and tremulous. "Okay... okay, we're going to fix that."
"Meditation will help." Matt offered.
Foggy's snort summed up his thoughts on Matt's meditation. "No, a couple of days home and a lot of rest and Nelson Brand TLC will help. But sure, quietly meditate if you want."
Matt heard Claire's heartbeat downstairs. He was surprised he hadn't noticed her sooner. "Claire's here."
"Where?" Foggy asked.
"First floor, she's in the staircase." Matt said.
He could practically hear Foggy's body relax just a little. Claire meant more competent help for Matt, which was Foggy's goal. A shallow cut that only need cleaning and maybe a couple of stitches and they could have already been curled up in bed together. If he had to get hurt, that was what they both preferred. Needing Claire was not something any of them – Claire included – enjoyed.
Speaking of, they really needed to invite her over for a non-medical emergency kind of thing. "We should have a movie night with Claire and Karen soon."
Foggy huffed out a laugh, "I was literally just thinking that." He picked up Matt's hand and pressed it to the bloody towel, "Hold that tight while I get the door."
"Claire has a key." Matt reminded even as he put pressure on the wound a shade harder than Foggy had. It hurt.
Foggy crossed the floor with the soft steps of bare feet and unlocked the door. "We'll save that appalling lack of chivalry for some time when you're really bloody, okay? Or like never. Never works too."
He opened the door and Matt shivered a little when the cooler air from the hall hit his skin. He was kind of nearly naked for the weather they were having.
"Hey, Claire. I'm really sorry we woke you up." Foggy said.
Matt heard Claire enter and squeeze Foggy's arm in lieu of answering. The soft smells that made up Claire's scent came in with the air and Matt twisted a small smile into place for her. "Hi, Claire."
"Hey, idiot." She greeted fondly. Her duffle bag of "Matt-Mending Supplies" dropped to the coffee table and he heard her unzip it to grab some gloves. "So, glass in your leg?"
"A little bit." He answered.
Foggy came up behind him and pulled a free chair right up so his knees pressed against Matt's uninjured leg. "The bleeding isn't really letting up much."
"Well, it's not going to get better until I get the glass out." Claire said as she snapped on her gloves. "Can you help me with that, Matt?"
"Yeah," Matt said. Better he focus on guiding her tweezers than let her poke around blind.
"He's really tired." Foggy warned, or maybe tattled, "Like, he admits to it and everything."
"You're a whole new man, Matt." Claire marveled, "A thirty seven day streak and actual admission of exhaustion?"
Matt was not surprised that Claire knew the exact amount of days in his lack-of-injury streak. She and Foggy texted alarmingly frequently.
Foggy laughed in a pleased sort of way, "While Claire digs, you can start thinking up what you want your reward to be for hitting thirty eight days."
"Something kinky?" Claire suggested. She pulled the towel away from his leg and her heartbeat stayed steady. It was one the things Matt liked best about her.
"I would be open to that sort of reward system." Foggy said. "What about it, Matt?"
Claire gently started getting to work on getting out the glass shards and Matt grit his teeth for just a minute. He breathed through the spike in pain until he got more used to it.
"You…" His voice cracked so he cleared his throat and tried again, "You make it sound like I'm your pre-schooler and it's my sticker chore chart or something."
"Hey, I had one of those!" Foggy crowed. His effort in ignoring Matt's pain was pretty valiant. "Although the rewards were never 'all the blowjobs you can stand in one night'."
"I hope not." Claire laughed. "Matt?"
"To the r-right a little." Matt answered.
Claire pulled a blood-warm piece of glass out of his body and dropped it down on the coffee table. Foggy went still beside him and Matt hated that. Foggy was trying so hard to be okay with everything and he just kept fucking up. He reached out and caught Foggy's hand in his. Instantly, Foggy's fingers tangled up in his and squeezed.
"More?" Claire asked.
Matt hummed an affirmative. Talking felt like too much effort.
Claire went back in the wound and Matt was forced to whisper a little direction, "Just a little deeper."
Another piece of glass came out.
What felt like seconds later, Foggy's stomach made an unhappy noise as Claire pulled a fourth shard out. Matt was sort of right there with him. He was glad they'd skipped dinner because of their huge lunch of things that were in risk of expiring over the weekend at the office. Food payments weren't his favorite but they were still pretty nice. Better eat long before a patrol, no matter what Foggy thought. Any food in his stomach would have felt like lead by now.
"Anymore, Matt?" Claire asked again.
Matt had to fight harder to focus and answer. "No," He said after a long moment of Claire and Foggy holding their breath waiting. "No, that's it."
"Okay, let's get cleaning, then." Claire said. And out came the dreaded stinging bottle. Matt sighed.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
"Okay, can you stop frowning silently and start telling me what you think?"
"It's um… extensive?"
"Of course it is. You were nearly gutted by a ninja once. I do not and will not underestimate your ability to get all kinds of injured."
"Level ten is kind of ominous. Automatic hospital visit?"
"Level ten should be ominous. I hope it scares the hell out of you, because it scares the hell out of me."
"I can't say I'm never going to…" Fingers over Braille, "Get a 'gunshot wound to the chest' but I'm definitely actively avoiding it, Foggy. I don't know that you should make that a hard and fast hospital visit."
"I'm just going to skip right over that statement because I am not dealing with a world where you make an argument about getting shot in the chest not meriting a trip to actual doctors. If you agree to this then you're agreeing to all the stipulations of each level. Level ten meaning a hospital visit is non-negotiable."
"And what if it's not safe, Foggy?"
"Then we'll figure it out. I'll figure it out, probably, because you'll be out cold."
"This is really what you need? All of it laid out like this?"
"Yes, Matty, this is what I need. Well, this and your word that you'll adhere to it. Can you give me that?"
"There's not a whole lot I won't give you Foggy."
"Besides the thing I want most?"
"Foggy…"
"Yeah, that's what I thought. So, second best. Your complete honesty and adherence to the Nelson and Murdock Scale of Pain."
"You're… you're really going with that name?"
"Yes, I am, and stop deflecting. What's it going to be, Daredevil?"
"I, yeah, of course. If this is what makes you feel better then this is what I'll do."
"You swear?"
"I swear."
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Later, Matt laid in bed and listened to Foggy cleaning up in the other room. His leg still throbbed but since a level six included enforced use of at least some sort of over the counter pain med ("Or something stronger if you want it, Matty. I would count that as an alternative to make-up sex, just so you know") it wasn't as bad as it could have been.
When Foggy came back to bed, he would carefully curl around Matt and trace his fingers down his skin and it would be… right.
If Stick could see him now, bandaged and mildly medicated and wrapped up in soft blankets and silk sheets with a boyfriend/best friend who knew everything and loved him anyway, he'd be disgusted. Matt was still thrown off by it and he was the one choosing it.
But as he listened to Foggy's steps get closer and heard his finally calmed heartbeat as he slid into bed beside Matt, he knew he wouldn't go back and change anything.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
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