It was almost Christmas, and it was very, very cold in Hell's Kitchen. The Daredevil, as he was known to the citizens of the city, seemed to have retreated from the streets because of the cold. This was partially true, but the real reason that the vigilante in question wasn't as active lately was because he was stuck in his bed with the flu, being hovered over anxiously by his best friend.

"You should not have been out in the cold the other night," chastised Foggy. "That was very stupid."

"I didn't intend to get knocked out and to lie in the snow for several hours," retorted Matt. Then he began coughing.

Foggy sighed. "I'll go make you some more tea." He headed off towards the kitchen.

Matt groaned weakly. "I've had five cups in the past two hours. Lighten up."

"Fine, soup, then!" Foggy called. The scent of the chicken noodle soup that Karen had brought over the day before filled the air.

"I'm not hungry." Matt felt slightly nauseous at the thought of food. Foggy walked back into his room and put his hand on Matt's forehead.

"You still have a fever," Foggy announced.

"I could have told you that." Matt's head was spinning slightly and his skin was hot and dry, but he was shivering. "Just let me sleep. I need to be able to go out again tomorrow night. I've already missed two."

"Unless you have a miraculous recovery, that isn't going to happen," Foggy informed him. "Claire says that it's been taking flu patients almost two weeks to fully recover, and that's in the hospital. She says that you're only going to get worse for right now and that I was supposed to do anything I had to do to keep you in bed."

"Ugh." Matt coughed. He could hear his breaths rasping through his throat and lungs. It sounded very strange and quite gross. He focused on it curiously, changing how he was breathing slightly to make it sound different.

"...att. Matt. Hello? Buddy." Foggy's concerned voice broke through Matt's thoughts. "Earth to Matthew."

"Sorry, I was just…" Matt's voice trailed off. Now there was a buzzing sound in his ears. He couldn't locate the source, and after a few seconds he came to the conclusion that the sound was coming from inside his own head. "I think there's a bee in my head," he said eventually.

Foggy snorted in amusement. "Of course there is. Alright, maybe you should go to sleep."

"'s what I told you," Matt grumbled. "It's cold in here."

"No, it's not."

"It is."

"Dude, the thermostat is set to 80 degrees."

"Fahrenheit or Celsius?" That was a perfectly reasonable question, wasn't it? So why did Foggy laugh?

"Stop talking, Matt," he said affectionately.

"Why?"

"Because you need to stop talking and go to sleep."

"Isn't it…" Matt tried to remember what time it was. Suddenly, sleep seemed utterly unreasonable. "Isn't it daytime?"

"Doesn't matter." Foggy let out a short huff of air and then Matt felt a weight settle down at the foot of his bed as Foggy sat. "If you want to get better and not have to go to the hospital, you need to sleep."

Matt winced. "Okay," he conceded, and tried to fall asleep. "I'm not tired," he remarked a few seconds later.

"Yes, you are," Foggy told him patiently.

"If you say so," yawned Matt. Then, he promptly fell asleep.

"I told you so," muttered Foggy, and tiptoed out of the room to let Matt sleep.

In Matt's dreams, the world wasn't on fire this time. It was coated in ice. Every time he tried to take a step, his feet would slip out from underneath him and when he tried to catch himself on things he was sure were right next to him, they would disappear and let him fall. It was freezing cold, too, and he didn't know where he was. Maybe he was underwater. After all, he couldn't breathe. That usually happened underwater, didn't it? Matt tried to swim up towards the air but he couldn't even tell which way was up and which was down. He reached for something, anything, to pull himself up and caught hold of something. Suddenly, the world tilted alarmingly and he could breathe again. Air rushed into his lungs, relieving the burning pain there, but it wasn't enough.

"You're okay," someone was telling him.

"I can't breathe."

"Yes, you can, you're breathing right now, Matt. You've sat up and now you can breathe." Who was that? Matt tried to think clearly but it was as if someone had their hands around his head, squeezing and stuffing his brain full of cotton balls, which was very distracting.

"Foggy," he said at last.

"Yeah?"

"Why...why was I underwater?"

Foggy sighed. "You weren't, Matt. You're in your bedroom with the flu, and I really should take you to the hospital-but I'm not going to do that," he said quickly as Matt began to protest. "Okay? I'm not going to. It's okay."

Just then, Matt began coughing. He would have answered Foggy but right then he was more concerned with the fact that every cough hurt his throat and stomach and he could barely get a breath in between them.

"Easy, easy. It's okay. C'mon, Matt. Breathe."

"I'm-trying-" Matt sputtered. A hand settled on his back, rubbing circles soothingly. After a few seconds, Matt's coughing fit died down. Foggy's hand stayed on his back, but he handed Matt a glass of water with the other one. "Thanks," Matt rasped. The cold liquid felt wonderful on his throat. "Are we...missing much work?"

"Karen knows that you're sick and that I'm staying here for right now. She might drop by later but she's keeping the office for us so it won't be until tonight." Foggy watched Matt anxiously in case he started coughing again, ready to catch the glass if it should drop. "And Claire is busy with plenty of other flu patients who have the common sense to seek medical help. She's bringing some medicine later, though, when she gets off work."

"I don't-"

"I don't care if you don't want to take it. You're taking it," Foggy said firmly.

Matt groaned pitifully and flopped backwards onto his pillow. "I don't like that kind of medicine. It makes my head...fuzzy," he finished anticlimactically, unable to think of a better word.

Foggy rolled his eyes. It was almost audible. "Matt, your head is already fuzzy. And sit up, I'm going to get you a couple more pillows so you're not lying down. That makes it harder to breathe."

Matt felt like he should have been protesting, but he didn't have the energy. "Okay," he said weakly, but didn't sit up. Foggy sighed and lifted Matt's shoulders himself, putting a few extra pillows underneath him. Matt had to admit, it did make it easier to breathe. He could feel himself starting to drift off again, but a hand pressed to his forehead startled him awake and he let out a soft whimper of protest.

"Geez, dude, you are burning up," Foggy said. "Wow. You got a thermometer?"

"Probably." Matt couldn't really remember.

"I'll be right back." Foggy stood up. Matt almost asked him to stay, but that would have seemed needy and childish. He didn't need Foggy to stay. He was fine on his own for a minute. Or, that's what he told himself. "I found one," Foggy called triumphantly and marched back into Matt's room. "Let's see if it still works-yep. Open your mouth." Matt did so, wincing as the metal end of the thermometer jabbed the underside of his tongue.

"One hundred and two point six degrees," the metallic voice of the device chirped. Foggy was so startled he almost dropped it.

"Whoa."

Matt even managed to smile. "Blind guy, remember? All my stuff does that."

"Huh. Cool. Wait, no, not cool, really, really hot. Matt, that's really hot. That's bad," Foggy stumbled.

"Not bad 'til it's a hundred and three," Matt murmured. "I'm going back to sleep."

"You don't think you can eat anything?"

Matt's stomach rolled at the thought. Apparently, the expression on his face was enough of an answer, because he didn't say anything and Foggy didn't press.

"Okay," Foggy sighed. "Go back to sleep."

"You should go to work," Matt mumbled. He was fine without Foggy. Wasn't he?

"Sure, as soon as you can put together a coherent sentence and your temperature is below ninety nine," Foggy said. "And by that time, you're coming to work with me. You can go to sleep, Matt."

"Okay." Matt realized that his eyes were already closed. He hadn't noticed closing them. He tried to take a deep breath and ended up coughing again, but that only lasted a few seconds. He was nodding off, but suddenly had the distinct, frightening sensation that he was falling and gasped, sitting up sharply.

"Matt? Are you okay?" Foggy asked worriedly. "What happened?"

Matt's heart was beating far too quickly. "I just...was I falling?" he managed.

Foggy's hands were on his shoulder suddenly and he carefully made his friend lay back down. "No, you weren't falling. You're okay, Matt, calm down." Matt relaxed slightly. "There we go."

The moment of terror had passed, and Matt was falling back into a slumber. Please don't leave, he thought to himself.

Foggy startled. "I won't," he said softly after a second, and Matt had just enough time to realize that he had spoken aloud before he passed out again.

Matt drifted in and out of wakefulness. He wasn't sure if he was just asleep or if this qualified as unconsciousness. Whatever it was, it was unpleasant. His sleep was filled with dark dreams and fears, and the few moments he was lucid were filled with coughing and a struggle to breathe. He caught a few snatches of conversation a couple of times.

"Thanks for bringing this, Claire. I'm kinda worried."

"He'll be fine. Stay with him, though."

"Wouldn't dream of leaving." Then Matt was plunged into another bout of nightmares and a few wonderful moments of rest.

The next time he was partially aware of his surroundings, he noticed that the air was thicker, warmer, and more humid than it had been, and it was easier to breathe. "Why is the air wet?" he whispered, not expecting an answer.

"Karen brought a humidifier, she thought that might help. You with me?" Foggy asked.

"No," Matt managed, and was asleep again. This time, his dreams were haunted by the feeling of blood, wet and sticky. His father's face, still and lifeless under his fingertips. He tried to wake himself up, tell himself that it was only a dream, but he couldn't ever quite attain the willpower to wake up. At one point, he thought that he could hear someone shushing him and telling him that everything was okay. That helped, and the dreams became less intense after that, finally allowing him to get some actual rest.

Once, he thought that there was a wet cloth on his forehead, but he was never quite sure about that. Someone might have also been holding his hand and rubbing their thumb over the back of it, but he wasn't sure about that, either. He couldn't remember anything after that.

When next he woke, his throat was dry and sore, but he was breathing okay. Also, he no longer felt too hot or too cold, just a little bit warm. His thoughts were clearer, too, and after a moment he came to the conclusion that his fever must have broken. He didn't hear anyone else's breathing in the room with him, and struggled not to feel a pang of disappointment that Foggy must have left at some point. He tried to sit up, but all of the sudden every part of his body was incredibly sore and he let out a whimper and fell back down.

There was a commotion from the other room. "Not again," someone said, and Matt realized with a sense of relief that it was Foggy as the man came rushing into the room and put a hand on his forehead. "Matt? It's okay, it's just a dream."

"Foggy?" Matt asked. It came out as more of a croak than an actual word, but Foggy seemed to get the message.

"Your fever broke," Foggy said with immense relief. "Finally. Hey, let's get you sitting up." Foggy grasped Matt's shoulders and helped him sit up, propping the pillows up helpfully underneath him. He pressed a glass of water into Matt's hands. "Take a small sip," he instructed, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

The water was the sweetest thing Matt had ever tasted, and he found that after taking a couple of sips, he could talk without feeling like his throat was coated in sand. "Hey."

"Hey," Foggy replied. "How're you doing?"

Matt considered. "I feel awful," he decided.

"I'm not surprised. How's your throat? And breathing? You sound better," Foggy rambled. "I'm sorry I wasn't here right when you woke up, I just really needed to sleep so I was on the couch, I know you asked me not to leave."

"Did I?" Matt asked, surprised. "I shouldn't have done that, sorry. You could have left whenever, I'd have been fine."

"No, it's not like-" Foggy broke off in shock. "You really mean that, don't you?"

"Of course. I never would have asked you to inconvenience yourself if I was thinking clearly."

"Matt! You weren't-I wasn't-Don't ever think that. Okay? It's not an inconvenience, you're not an incon-" Foggy let out a sigh. "I wouldn't have left anyway, Matt. Really. Remember, I said that I was never going to fail in my best friend duties again? Leaving would have been a failure."

"I'm sorry," Matt said again. He wasn't sure why Foggy thought he had failed. He had done more than anyone else had ever done for Matt, since...well, probably forever.

"You don't need to apologize!" Foggy insisted. "Now, let's move on. We can talk about your dependency issues later. You think you could eat something?"

Matt was going to argue about the dependency issues bit, but then he realized that he was starving. "Yeah, I'm hungry, actually," he admitted.

"Awesome." Foggy stood up. "Don't get used to it, but I think breakfast in bed is a good idea today."

"Breakfast?"

"Well, I don't know. It's like, noon."

"Noon?" Matt exclaimed. "Wait, what day is it?"

Foggy groaned. "Right. You...um, you were really out of it for about five days...So, it's, uh, Monday."

"Five days?" Matt echoed, stunned. "But-"

"Dude, you were really sick," Foggy reminded him. "When Claire was over yesterday night, she said you might wake up any time in the next two days, and that you weren't supposed to go back to work for another two-and yes, that means your day job and your night one," Foggy clarified. "I think that the bad guys are just as reluctant to be out in the cold as you should be."

Matt was still thinking about the date. "It's Monday. That means...it's the 21st? Christmas is in four days?"

"Yeah. Don't worry, I got your present before you got sick," Foggy teased lightly. Matt didn't respond, and Foggy's voice lost the joking tone. "I'm going to go get you a mug of soup. That sound good?"

"Yeah," Matt said distractedly. All of the sudden, he felt very, very tired. He was dimly aware of Foggy talking in the other room, but his head felt heavy and he really just wanted to go back to sleep.

"Hey, buddy, wake up," Foggy called. Matt started.

"Wasn't asleep," he muttered.

"Right. You can go back to sleep in a minute, but you've got to get something in your stomach first. Here." Foggy handed him a mug. "It's mostly broth."

Matt took a cautious drink of the hot liquid, sighing with pleasure as it slipped down his sore throat. He probably drank the rest of it a bit too quickly, because after a minute his stomach began to cramp in protest at having food in it after not eating for so long. He handed the mug back to Foggy. "Thank you." There was a clink as Foggy put the mug down on the bedside table. Matt frowned. "Are you using a coaster?" he checked.

Foggy snorted. "Yes, Matt, I'm using a coaster. I'm not going to ruin your ten-dollar-buy-it- at-Walmart bedside table."

"I'll have you know, that cost fifteen dollars," Matt corrected.

"Wow, you really shouldn't get yourself so many nice things, Matthew."

"Shut up," Matt grumbled.

"In your dreams."

Matt closed his eyes. "So if I fall asleep right now, you'll stop talking?"

"Sure." Foggy touched Matt's forehead again. Matt ducked away. "Hey! Stay still."

"I'm trying to fall asleep and you just keep talking."

"Deal with it," Foggy told him unsympathetically. "I think you still have a bit of a fever. Sleep is a good idea."

"Yeah." Matt was almost asleep. He didn't say anything about Foggy's hand still resting on his forehead.

This sleep was far more peaceful and restful than the last one. For a while, Matt even avoided nightmares and had the usual nonsense dreams of a person who didn't roam the streets at night as a vigilante, seeing the worst of humanity and trying to be on the side of the best. He dreamed about a world where chicken soup came out of the shower and people bathed in mugs, but that wasn't what he remembered when he woke up. Unfortunately, that was the nightmares.

"Get up!" Stick shouted.

"Murdocks always get back up," his father whispered. But Matt couldn't. He was trapped, lying on the ground, unable to move. Was every bone in his body broken? He tried to tell them that, but he couldn't speak. Where was he? He struggled to sit up, but he was on fire. That must have been why he couldn't move. Surely they understood that? He couldn't get up. Why did they keep asking him to get up?

"Get up!"

"No! I can't," Matt pleaded. "I can't."

"Matty, you need to get up. Help me, Matty!" That was his father again. "You told me to win and now you can't even help me while I'm dying?"

"I'm sorry-"

"Boohoo," Stick simpered. "Aww, poor little Matty, can't get up to help his dad. Suck it up and move on, kid."

"I'm sorry!"

"Matty!"

"I'm sorry!"

"Matt!" That wasn't his father. "Matt, wake up."

Wake up? Was he asleep? Was that why he couldn't move? Stick was still shouting. "You're such a wonderful son, aren't you? Nobody is going to help your dad get up except you, and you can't. You coward, nothing is wrong with you except your fragile will. You're not a warrior. No wonder nobody stays."

"No!"

"Matt!"

Matt dragged himself into wakefulness with a cry, tears falling from his eyes and tracing warm paths down his cheeks. Immediately he became aware that there were hands on his upper arms, holding him steady, and for a second he panicked as he thought that it must have been Stick.

"Stop fighting me, Matt, it's just me, it's just Foggy."

Matt froze and fell limp. He was disoriented and wasn't quite sure what was going on anymore, but something told him that he didn't need to be fighting the person who was holding him down.

"That's better."

Oh! Foggy. Matt sat up quickly. His surroundings were becoming clearer as he realized that he was in his bed in his apartment, but his mind was still caught up in the dream he had just experienced. He could still hear the echoes of his father's pleading and Stick's cutting remarks about his weakness and a sob escaped him.

"Matt?" Foggy said, concerned.

Taking several shuddering breaths, Matt hunched over and buried his face in his hands. He let out another sob as Foggy started rubbing his back gently.

"You were just having a nightmare," Foggy told him softly.

Matt knew that. And he also knew that if Foggy kept being so...so caring and concerned, he would break down completely. "I know," he whispered. He was trying to keep his voice steady and strong, but that didn't quite work. Foggy lifted his arm, his sleeve rustling softly as he reached out to tilt Matt's face up and press the back of his hand to Matt's forehead.

"Your fever is gone," remarked Foggy encouragingly. As he pulled his hand away, he took the time to brush off one of the tears trailing down Matt's cheek with his thumb. That was what did it. Matt drew his knees up to his chest, crossing his arms against the top of his knees and resting his head on top of his forearms, making himself seem as small as he could, trying to hide before he could start crying anew. He bit his lower lip. "Matt?" repeated Foggy.

"I'm sorry," Matt muttered.

"Sorry? What for? Buddy, you're scaring me. What's wrong?"

"Nothing." That wasn't going to work, was it? "Just a bad dream," Matt corrected. Another wave of helplessness washed over him and he clenched his hand into a fist, his fingernails biting into his palm with a sting of pain that focused his thoughts a little better. Foggy noticed, of course, and carefully made Matt uncurl his hand.

"Wanna talk about it?" he offered.

"No." Matt wanted Foggy to leave him alone, to not see him like this, but Foggy wasn't planning on leaving. A weight settled down next to Matt as Foggy sat down.

"Dude, your bed is super comfortable," Foggy said conversationally.

Matt tried to smile. "I'm not sharing."

"No, definitely not. I'd take up the whole bed, have you seen me?" teased Foggy.

Matt was infinitely grateful for Foggy's casual words. "No, I haven't, actually," he responded. "I'm blind, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Well, then, let me assure you that this is all muscle."

"Uh-huh."

Foggy lost the light, jesting tone then. "Okay, but in all seriousness, Matt."

"Don't try and be serious, it doesn't suit you."

Foggy punched his arm lightly. "Shut up. I've seen you have nightmares before, and this was worse than anything I've seen, at least while you were lucid."

"I'm just tired from being sick," Matt made the excuse. "I'm usually better at...like, hiding it. I let my guard down or something." He knew instantly that his phrasing had been a mistake.

"Better at hiding it? So it's always this bad, you just don't tell me?" Foggy uttered in disbelief. Matt didn't reply, knowing he'd just be digging himself into a deeper hole. "Wow. I think we're going to be having that dependency issues talk another time. Right now, it's time for the 'Matt is still hiding things from Foggy and needs to...not do that anymore' talk."

"I'm fine."

Foggy clicked his fingers. "And there goes another quarter in the lie jar. Seriously, I need to start one of those for you, I'd be rich in a week. So, talk to me. In a not-lying way. Pretend you're in court. Should I make you swear on a Bible? That might work."

"Foggy!"

"Ma-att!" Foggy mimicked. "Look-"

"Right..."

"Listen, I know that you've been through a lot of crap I don't know about, and I'm really not asking you to spill all of that on me. Though I'm here if you ever want to. Just tell me what you were dreaming about."

Matt wasn't quite sure if he was frustrated or touched. Probably a little bit of both. And despite the fact that he really did want to talk to Foggy about it, he found himself saying, once again, "I'm fine."

"Yeah, you're fantastic. Also, you owe me another quarter."

Matt chose not to reply to that. "What time is it?"

"You woke up earlier around noon, it's now about nine p.m. You're avoiding the question." Foggy wasn't going to let this drop. "Talk."

And then Matt was talking. "Do you remember when I said that I was taught how to do all that by an old man named Stick?"

"Yeah, I remember. I thought that was ridiculous and that it was the plot of Kung Fu."

"Well, I know I didn't say very much about him, but...he isn't a very nice person. And he always had something to say to me about how weak or stupid or sentimental I was, and how I always should be able to just get back up, rebound from getting beaten black and blue during training. I was ten."

Foggy sucked in a quick breath through his teeth, startled and slightly horrified. "Go on."

"He found me somehow when I was at an orphanage called St. Agnes after my dad died. And you know that my dad was murdered?"

"Yeah. I remember hearing about it when I was a kid, and...well, you've mentioned it."

Matt's mind was racing as he debated whether or not to tell Foggy the next part. "Did I tell you that I ran past the police officers in the alley and identified him myself?" he asked at last.

All of the sudden, Foggy stopped breathing on the inhale, frozen for a moment. "Oh," he said finally, breathing normally again.

"Well, somehow my dreaming mind decided to shove those events together and paint me a perfect picture of being unable to get up while Stick shouted at me and my dad was calling for help from that alley." Matt had kept himself together for all the telling of the story until now. He couldn't speak anymore around the painful lump in his throat and could feel tears threatening to spill over onto his cheeks. "There," he managed to say. "Happy?"

"I'm feeling a lot of things right now and happy is not one of them." Foggy fell silent for a second. "If I ever meet this Stick, I'm going to beat the crap out of him."

"Good luck with that. I've tried. So have a lot of other people."

"Yeah, well, he's never met a pissed off Foggy Nelson before."

"I'm sure you could do it, but please don't try. I don't want you getting hurt because you think you're...protecting me, or something." Matt could think of almost nothing worse.

"I wouldn't be protecting you, I'd be avenging you."

Matt frowned. "Huh?"

"Listen, man, I'm not a psychologist, but it seems to me like that Stick guy really screwed you up."

"I'm fine!" Matt protested.

"You're having nightmares about him years later and then are proceeding to lie about being okay to your best friend. Believe me when I tell you, Murdock, none of that constitutes 'fine' in my book. So yeah, you owe me another quarter."

"I don't have any change."

"Why don't you just tell me that you're fine one more time? Then it can be a round dollar," Foggy suggested helpfully. Matt almost laughed. Smiling proudly for managing to make Matt a little bit happier, Foggy slung his arm around Matt's shoulders. Somehow, Matt had missed the sound of his arm moving and flinched, startled. "Sorry." Foggy apologized.

"'s okay." Matt was actually feeling a little bit better now. Foggy patted his shoulder affectionately and Matt surprised himself by leaning into the touch.

"Gotcha." Foggy sighed softly. "So, I've been telling Karen that she shouldn't be spending much time here because she might get sick, and she only half listened to me, but she hasn't been over for a couple days."

Suddenly, Matt was worried. "But you've been here, what if you get sick?" he exclaimed, leaning away from his friend.

Patiently, Foggy pulled him back over. "I think I would have shown a few symptoms by now if I was going to catch it," he pointed out.

"But you could have!"

"Well, I didn't. And I didn't want to take you to the hospital and I wasn't going to leave."

"I would have been…"

"If you say 'fine' again, so help me…"

"Fine!" Matt conceded. Then realizing what he had said, he corrected himself. "I mean, whatever. Sure."

"Nice save." Foggy sighed. "Anyway, we're going to take a couple days off for Christmas and like, watch some movies and eat some food and exchange gifts."

"Have fun."

Foggy paused, confused, then realized what Matt meant. "Not just me and Karen, you idiot. You're coming, too. My apartment. Karen's is tiny and you don't have a TV. Don't know if you've had time to do shopping, but there's still three days."

Matt thought about this for a second. "Thanks," he said eventually.

"No problem," Foggy sighed. "Merry Christmas."

Just a bit of delirious Matty for anyone out there who likes that, you sickos. (I am including myself in that category, fyi: sick Matt not totally in his right mind is the cutest thing ever and I cracked myself up writing some of this). And yes, I have finished season two and I know that some of this is not season two compliant (all the stuff with Claire, mainly) but I'm publishing it anyway, I hope that's okay. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! Reviews are love. Many thanks and much love! ~Clare

P.S. I'm in love with Elektra's cheekbones.