A/N: This takes place quie a bit after Chapter 1, where Matt and Foggy's friendship is kind of non-existent. Slight angst warning?

Matt unceremoniously crashed onto the couch of his own home and immediately went to clutch at his ribs, breathing shallowly at the damage. Definitely broken. He tried to hold in how bad it felt (and probably looked), but did a terrible job masking it if Peter's heart rate spiking was anything to go by.

The younger man was unusually quiet today as he began patching up his wounds with a practiced ease, which was generally not good. A quiet Spider-man was always a bad sign, because it either meant that he was severely overthinking something minor in his life or seriously reconsidering his 'no killing' mantra. Given that the silence had begun the moment he had dragged Matt out of that literal torture chamber without fatally injuring anyone he came across on the way, the older man really didn't want to think about which option was more likely.

As much as he wanted to break the silence though, he wasn't sure if it would be the right move because he just wasn't used to dealing with him when he was like this. Aside from his stilted grunts of pain, he hoped that his own lack of words was enough to convey his concern to the young arachnid. Fortunately for him though, Peter was the one who eventually spoke up first as he brought a cotton pad of antiseptic to his face.

"You wanna tell me what that was all about, then?"

Matt instinctively flinched away at the stinging contact against his bruised cheek. Peter made a noise of disapproval, and this time Matt braced himself this time and fought against his body's knee-jerk reaction as Peter carefully rubbed the dirt and bacteria away, practically setting the whole side of his face on fire.

"There's been some suspicious people trying to track me down for the past few weeks. Got careless."

"You too?" He pressed gauze on his face – much gently this time – and began to tape it down. "I've been seeing them around Queens, but I didn't think they were trying to kidnap anyone."

Stalking vigilantes was unfortunately not an uncommon thing these days, but being able to physically apprehend them – especially one with powers – was definitely not a good sign. Those things never went well, and if they were trying to revive Howard Stark's project to build an army of super-soldiers, the one man in the world who was almost able to pull it off successfully was long dead.

Absent-mindedly, Peter moved Matt's arm to treat another wound in his arm but then he suddenly hissed and jerked away, arm resting uselessly against his side.

"Ah, shit. Is your shoulder dislocated?" Matt grimaced as he tried to move his left hand around.

"Think so. Didn't even realise."

"Ah, hell... Uh… sorry in advance, but this is probably gonna hurt like hell." Peter muttered as he placed one hand on Matt's shoulder and the other around his forearm, feeling around for the extent of the damage. He knew exactly what was coming, but still nothing could have prepared him for the searing and sudden pain when Peter forcefully lifted his arm up and popped it back into its socket in one smooth movement. A long, excruciating moment passed as he locked his jaw to prevent any noise from leaving his lips.

"Yeesh. That's not even my shoulder and that hurt to watch." Peter shook his arm out. "I think my arm's numb."

"Shit. Dammit. I think I need a drink."

"A drink? Nooo way. As much as I wanna see what a tipsy Daredevil would look like this is not the time, but carbs? That's a yes. You got any good food around here?"

"I have a coffee machine." Matt wrinkled his nose at the lingering smell of antiseptic as he tried to sit up. "And no, I still remember that one time you drank coffee in my office so I get a pass too."

"Nu-uh, I bet you can't even get off the couch on your own."

"No, I cannot."

"Don't do it, Matt –"

"Thanks, Peter."

Peter crossed his arms, looking about as intimidating as a toddler.

"…Do you at least have a cookie jar or something for my troubles?"

"Absolutely."

He knew he had the victory when Peter uncrossed his arms.

"Fine, but you don't get to complain about the way I make it."

"As long as it's actual coffee."

"Scout's honour."

As soon as Peter's back was turned Matt grinned. Ah, how much he loved messing around with the younger vigilante; anyone who worked with him for long enough would immediately notice his sweet tooth, and the lengths he would go to for just a single grain of sugar, and Matt wasn't above taking advantage of that whenever he could. For only good reasons of course. He listened carefully as Peter rummaged around the cupboards for a cup, then started up the coffee machine. While it spluttered to life, Peter began to idly snoop around, opening and closing cupboards, the fridge, drawers, anything he could get his sticky fingers on.

"Ooh. Found the cookies." Matt frowned.

"I was actually lying about the cookie jar, Peter." He called.

"Yeah, well then I must be blinder than you because these cookies are… hm," More rummaging. A crunch. "Yep, definitely cookies. Do you want a cookie, Matt?" He shrugged, even though he knew Peter wouldn't be able to see from where he sat. And who was he to question the existence of a mysterious cookie jar? From the additional rummaging behind him, Matt knew that Peter had taken the silence (or invisible shrug) as an affirmative.

Before Peter could touch anything else in the kitchen though, the doorbell rang.

Both men stiffened at the sound, years of conditioning embedded into their muscles at the intrusion. They waited it out, but then the doorbell rang again. And again.

"Is it one of them?" Peter whispered. Matt listened carefully, eyebrows knitted together in concentration as he zeroed his senses on the other side of the door.

There was a heartbeat – that was a plus, especially if it had to come to a fight. But then there was a quiet 'come on, Matt' that made his heart stop. Matt had to physically remind himself to breathe before he could speak again.

"No." he whispered, "It's not." He closed his eyes. "You should probably get the door."

Wordlessly, Peter tossed a blanket at Matt to cover up his wounds and quickly slipped on a button-up and slacks to hide his costume. His boots and gloves were thrown haphazardly under the couch, and he quickly gave up on trying to button up his shirt when the first two buttons he tried buttoning didn't align properly. Matt faced his direction, head tentatively tilted to listen as he slowly made his way to the door, feet making no noise as he reached forward.

The younger vigilante strained his ears to hear the other side. At Matt's pensive nod, Peter opened the door by a crack, suspiciously eyeing the man on the other side.

Foggy wasn't exactly on speaking terms with Matt anymore.

It had been about two years since they broke up their friendship, but that didn't stop him from being nosy and checking in on him whenever he thought he wouldn't notice. Of course he was still ballistic at him for keeping secrets from him and constantly bailing on him when Foggy had tried to be as understanding as he knew how to ever be, but that didn't mean that it was easy for him to throw away the years that they had spent together and try to forget that Matt had ever existed in his life. He probably would have been able to get away with it had he not cried himself to sleep the night before over a sale on avocados at the local fruit market.

And so here he stood now, in front of Matt's door, nervously fiddling with his duffle bag and reciting the speech he had planned for when he opened the door. Just like an opening statement in court, only he wasn't trying to sue his ex-best friend. The idea of trying to sue him sent instant shudders down his spine. No, he would never do that to get that sort of petty revenge on him no matter how hurt he was, and goddamn it Foggy, focus because the door was opening.

What he didn't expect was a short and significantly younger barefoot brunet to answer the door.

A quick one-over assured him that no, he was too skinny to be Matt and he was too old to be a secret illegitimate child. And Daredevil did not make friends. So. Client. Client?

He just stood there for a moment, words forgotten as he remembered that yes, Matt was still practising law and Foggy was officially an idiot for forgetting that, even if it was just for a single moment. Then he closed his mouth, cleared his throat in an attempt to sound professional and recover his dignity then straightened his spine.

"Uh," Smooth. "Hi! Is Matt here?"

The kid's (man's?) eyes narrowed slightly, just enough to unsettle him. Not a client then. Was this person in front of him one of those vigilante stalkers that had been mentioned on the news recently? A drug dealer trying to hide out in a lawyer's apartment? He seemed to resemble a stick more closely than a person, but upon closer inspection Foggy could see the toned as hell muscles as the kid (man?) tensed at Foggy's gaze as if it was invasive. (okay, maybe a little, but given that this place was his ex-best-friend's apartment, he had a bit of a right to check out who was randomly answering the door for him, right?)

"Not here." He said in a clipped voice.

Oookay, no rights then. Foggy nodded, an apology on his tongue as he slowly turned around to begin his silent walk of shame back to his car, but then the kid suddenly froze, his head tilted slightly to the side while looking straight into Foggy's eyes in a way that prevented him from looking away and not at all uncomfortably reminding him of the way Matt stopped talking mid-sentence when he heard something three blocks away.

"Foggy." He said suddenly, and Foggy did NOT jump at his voice.

"Yeah, Foggy Nelson? How did you –"

"Come in."

Foggy tightened his grip on his bag. Okay. Abort mission, this kid was definitely about to kill him and coming to Matt's place had officially turned him into the target of whatever cult this was, judging by the way he was glaring daggers at him. He should never have come here in the first place.

"Um. I probably shouldn't, there's, there's more stuff I gotta do, I think. A-and my taxi's waiting. I'll just send Matt a quick message and I'll be out of your hair –"

"Matt's inside."

Foggy gulped. The kid had stepped to the side to make room for him to walk through, leaving him with no real choice but to enter the building. He slowly pushed past him, warily trying his best not to brush against him as he was still eyeing him suspiciously and seemingly ready to bite off his head at any moment.

This was soon forgotten when his eyes landed on the couch.

"Holy JESUS, Matt! What the hell happened to you?"

Matt's whole body was covered in lacerations, leaking bandages and purple bruises, one of his hands wrapped to the point where it was almost the size of his head. A blanket was messily draped over his torso, more than likely hiding more wounds than anyone ever deserved to ever have.

He shrugged nonchalantly at the question – (which set off a familiar flare of irritation and frustration inside him that Foggy chose to ignore this one time) – and had the nerve to fucking smile at him.

"Got into a bit of trouble with someone -" he coughed. "- but didn't win. Unlucky day." The irritation flared again – Matt was hiding things from him. Again. It burnt in his guts and at the tentative bridge of a friendship between them and Foggy knew that they both knew it. The reason why their seemingly concrete friendship had fallen apart in the first place.

"Should I leave, then?" His voice was bitter, much harsher than intended, but Foggy couldn't bring himself to be concerned about something as trivial as Matt's feelings towards the way Foggy talked to him, and if he had a problem with that –

"What did you come here to talk about, Foggy?" He asked softly.

Foggy instantly deflated. Perhaps it was the lack of fight in his voice, or the tender way in which he called his name, but Matt's response completely threw him off. He had come here expecting a verbal spar at some point, and with that option suddenly thrown out the window, he found himself having no idea what to do. The room was silent.

"Um. Matt? Maybe I should leave instead?" The kid from before piped up. He even had a hand meekly raised in the air, like a primary schooler.

"Absolutely not. Stay." That was definitely his Daredevil voice and definitely out of Matt's character. The Matt Foggy knew (thought he knew) would never even raise his voice against anyone who barely looked over eighteen, yet here he was, growling at some strangely buff yet skinny kid who, for some reason, wasn't affected by his Daredevil voice or even remotely intimidated. And somehow wasn't worried about sharing a room with an older man that was bleeding out on his own couch. The boy sighed, then took a seat on the couch next to Matt. Foggy noted somewhere in the back of his head that the kid was still giving him a weird look.

"Uh… is this… have we ever–?"

"Peter. We've met before."

Oh. Oh.

"Enough, Peter." He hissed, filling the room with silence again. While Foggy reeled at the wild change between what he internally dubbed as Matt Matt and Daredevil Matt, Peter begrudgingly picked at his nails, before deciding to leave the couch and making a beeline towards the coffee machine. When Matt turned to Foggy's general direction again, his demeanour completely transformed once more. "Can I get you anything, Foggy?" He asked softly.

And dammit, now he was gonna cry, because his ex-best friend and lifelong partner was practically dying on his own couch, yet still all he could think of was his friend's wellbeing, his basic, normal friend, whose worst fears everyday were trains not following their timetables and the rising price of petrol, not whether he was going to come home in one piece or not. Poor Matt couldn't seem to resent him and still saw him as a friend, and that one-sided friendship somehow stung even more than the thought of them never speaking or seeing each other ever again.

Internally, Foggy reminded himself again that he should never have come here. Nevertheless, he was here now, and so he collapsed on the couch opposite him and buried his face in his hands, slowly inhaling and exhaling to ground himself. He dragged his fingers through his hair as he focused on his breathing, and on his own thoughts. There were so many things he wanted to say, but couldn't quite do so with another person around. From the kitchen, Peter seemed to be pretending not to listen and trying to blend into the background, but it didn't make his presence feel any less invasive, but then again, when was Foggy ever going to talk one-on-one like this to him ever again?

"You – uh, haven't picked up any of Claire's calls or responded to her messages. We–" we were worried sick. "I –" I thought you were dead. "–was just checking up on you."

The silence was thankfully filled by the sound of the coffee machine.

"But uh. I see you're alive and mostly well so. I think I'm gonna leave now." He tacked on quickly when there was no immediate response. Distantly, Foggy thought about how Matt could hear his heartbeat and wondered if he could hear what he was really trying to say. His face was definitely burning now, and he hastily tried to diffuse the heat in his face as he quickly stood up.

"You can stay for a coffee, if you want?" And damn it, Foggy had never hated himself more than this very moment because he froze again. In that one deceptively simple plea, he knew that in this very moment, he had surrendered all power to him, and no matter what kind of crazy request he could come up with on the spot, Matt would say yes to all of it without hesitation. This was dangerous. Too dangerous.

"No no no." Foggy quickly spoke up. "I wasn't planning to stay, I just… Just wanted to quickly stop by. I'll be going."

"See you around?" Matt's voice was still soft, like he couldn't bear the thought of raising his voice at him ever again. Foggy's heart skipped a beat, then ached. He sounded so damn hopeful, yet still pensive, expecting outright rejection but still daring to hope for the best.

His ears rang, and his mind raced as he struggled to find the right response. He couldn't do either to him, and if he was to look into his eyes right now the chances of him falling to his knees and begging for things to return to the way they were wouldn't be so unlikely.

"… We'll see." He finally managed, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. That was the best he could offer. He hesitated for a second, wondering if he should say something else, but then decided otherwise and practically rushed to the front door. Peter watched him go, seemingly deep in thought.

Silence followed after the door shut behind him. Matt continued to stare straight forward, his free hand slowly tapping the couch arm, the rest of his body unmoving, though Peter knew he was listening, waiting for the taxi to drive out of earshot and either waiting for him to change his mind and come back or checking to make sure he left safely. The younger man eventually made his way back to the lounge with what smelt like a fairly mean coffee with a little too much sugar, and a cookie balanced precariously on top of that was definitely stale.

"So uh. Did you guys used to date or something?" He asked. Matt huffed. He felt like shit in more ways than one but couldn't help the chuckle that threatened to slip past his lips.

"No. Nothing like that, we – we weren't like that, no."

"Pfft." Peter stretched out on the couch, staring at the ceiling. "I think Foggy had a thing for you. Doesn't stop me from being kind of sad about what happened between you two though."

"Peter." The younger man paused for a second, as if contemplating whether to keep talking or not, but then kept going.

"He obviously still cares about you a lot. I think you two could still make up."

Matt sighed, and this time he tried to ignore the other pain in his chest. "You know better than anyone else why I can't."

Peter fell silent at this, thoughtfully considering as he was reminded of every unpleasant mistake, every bad decision, every interaction that led him to where he was today.

He crossed his legs underneath himself and folded his arms behind his head, eyes now tracing the outline of a small stain on the roof. There was no use dwelling on the past anymore, no point in drowning in fears sorrows, and all the what-ifs. Negative thoughts, regrets and self-hatred swirled around his brain at every waking minute, sometimes seeping into his dreams, but at this point Peter was used to shutting it all out.

"Can't have it all, can we?" He murmured. Matt's refreshments were still sitting on the table. Peter picked up the cookie and tossed it at the older man, smirking when he caught it in midair.

"Damn right." Matt replied, then took a bite.

There was an appreciable silence between the two vigilantes, broken only by the occasional honk from the distant traffic outside. "You never know, though." Peter eventually said after the cookie was gone. "Sometimes they just keep fight back, even if you're doing it to protect them. Even if you want them to go away and never think about you again. And sometimes you just gotta let that happen because doing otherwise would just become a huge waste of time for the both of you."

Matt leaned back against the couch as well, closing his eyes and smiling as he imagined what it would be like.

"We'll see." He said quietly.