The next day Foggy thoroughly and completely regrets bring up all that sex talk with Matt. He's pretty sure he managed to make Matt feel worse about things and that was definitely not what he had intended. He's tempted to call Matt, makes sure he's not working himself into a spiral of depression and self loathing. He hates the thought that Matt may well be fixating in a circle of negative thoughts about himself and what he's done in the past. The one and only good thing that came from all that was Foggy finally confirmed that no, despite his earlier suspicions Matt had not having sex just as a way to get comfort for himself. A small part of him was actually impressed Matt apparently always made sure his partner's had a good time. It doesn't excuse anything but he can't help but agree somewhat with Matt's justification that it wasn't so bad to one and done all those girls if he made certain that one time was really, really good.
Ultimately he'd learned (not surprisingly) that Matt was most certainly not over Electra, and maybe he never had been. Sure, he'd crawled out of a mess of depression when she left before. But was it different now that she was really dead? And did Matt even want to get past it? In his head was he still buried under Midland Circle, wrapped in Electra's arms for all eternity?
Foggy spent the whole weekend ruminating over all this, much to Marci's consternation. He couldn't explain it all to her and she certainly wouldn't want to sit through listening to it. She'd left in a huff Sunday night saying he was brooding too loudly for her to think. Her irritation didn't stop her from pausing to softly kiss the top of his head on her way out though.
And so, at eleven o'clock at night Foggy is still mulling things over and no closer to any answers whatsoever when he hears a tapping at his window.
"Foggy!" Matt's muffled voice calls out from the fire escape. "Let me in."
Foggy quickly abandons his drink and opens the window. Matt is the sole reason they normally can't use that window as it was just too much hassle to take the bug screen in and out. Marci had just rolled her eyes when Foggy tossed away the screen insert and then declared the window off limits in case any creepy crawlies decided to fly in. "Pretty sure creepy is definitely going to be crawling in," Marci had remarked referring to Matt. Still, she hadn't actually put up any further fuss over Foggy dedicating a window solely for his door allergic friend.
Matt inelegantly falls into the apartment and onto the floor in a heap. Foggy is so surprised he doesn't even have time to try to catch him.
"What happened? How bad is this?" he asks, hovering over where Matt is laying on the floor, arms wrapped around himself. He doesn't know where to start in helping his friend up.
"Its not great," Matt says from the floor, not even trying to get up.
"I don't see any blood," Foggy notes hopefully. Not that it would have been easy to spot on Matt's dark Daredevil clothes.
"No, no, its all internal," Matt grinds out.
"Right, cause THAT sounds so much better. Jesus Christ, Matt! Why did you come here? Why would you think I could possibly help?" Foggy snaps, feeling decidedly useless given his complete and total lack of any medical training. He's still hovering over Matt, now doubly afraid to touch him.
"I was in the neighbourhood," Matt says, flashing a toothy smile up at Foggy. He has still made no efforts to pick himself up off the floor.
"Yeah, sure you were."
"No really, I was only a half block from here when this uh, happened."
"What did happen? And what in the hell do you think I can do to help?"
"I need to go see Maggie," as though that explained everything.
"Then what are you doing HERE?" Foggy says, trying not to sound exasperated.
"I can't walk to the church right now. I need help getting there," Matt sounds less than thrilled about this. It was probably the asking for help that made him sound that way. "Can you get us a taxi?"
Okay, there it is. Foggy knows Matt didn't want to take a cab on his own on the off chance he passed out during the ride. He'd fessed up recently and told Foggy about his taxi ride from hell, about exactly how scared he'd been trapped in a car as it sank down into the water. It certainly sounded scary but Foggy wasn't sure exactly why it so thoroughly unnerved Matt to even talk about it. The guy had been through stuff that was probably a lot scarier than that incident, especially given he apparently managed to escape relatively unscathed. But for whatever reason it continued to haunt Matt and Foggy didn't have to understand it to respect that it was still an issue. And if Matt didn't want to risk a repeat performance of it then he was more than happen to take a ride with him to the church and make damn sure he didn't fall asleep on the way. This is decidedly easier to help with than the vast majority of Matt's problems.
….
"I don't know what you think I'm going to be able to do about this," Maggie says, pretty much echoing Foggy's earlier statements.
"I don't know … wrap them maybe?" Matt all but whines.
For all that he hadn't explained his predicament to Foggy, Matt had immediately on arrival informed Maggie he had both some cracked and several totally broken ribs. He had emphasized that the problem was on BOTH SIDES. When that got no reaction he'd pointed out that neither Foggy nor Maggie had suffered through enough broken ribs to understand how much of a problem this was. He was plenty experienced with similar injuries but explained how it was going to be exceedingly problematic not being able to move and shift around to one side to compensate. He'd never managed to sustain injuries to both sides at the same time before but was anticipating this would be a huge issue.
"You know that's not a good idea," Maggie says. "Particularly given that bout of pneumonia earlier this year." She's feeling a bone slightly shifting under her hand. Nothing feels like it was about to stab through any internal organs when she presses but it wasn't exactly like she could x ray him either. Something shifts under her fingers and Matt yelps. "Sorry. Does this need to be moved?"
"Yeah, push it up and to the left a little bit," Matt says, voice tight. He gives a full body jerk when she presses. "MY left!"
Foggy tries very hard not to throw up the chicken burger he'd had for dinner. He thinks he can actually see the bone move around under Maggie's hand.
"Yeah, YEAH THERE!" Matt gasps. "Don't, don't touch it anymore."
Maggie snatches her hand away. "What am I going to do with you?" she asks in her standard fondly frustrated tone.
"I don't care as long as you don't touch that part again," Matt grumbles. He looks like he wants to curl up and die but he is definitely stuck keeping his chest straight, flat on his back on the bed.
"Foggy, come help me make tea," Maggie says. "Somebody needs a few minutes to himself."
Foggy trails silently after her upstairs figuring she's probably right. It seemed like Matt was just barely keeping himself from snapping on either of them, the pain certainly not making him any less tense than usual. Its marginally easier to see Matt expressing pain rather than how he use to try to hide it and be so stoic but its still unpleasant for everyone involved.
…..
"Did he tell you what happened?" Maggie asks as she puts the kettle on.
"No, he just showed up like that."
"I see," she says, not sounding happy about it. And definitely not surprised either. "Well there's not really much I can do for him. Its not like when he needs stiches and I can fix something. I don't even know why he came."
"Did you think he might just have been hurting and wanted to see you? Wanted us around?" Foggy suggests.
"But why would…" Maggie looks truly puzzled as she trails off, thinking. "Huh," she finally says, busying herself with the tea.
'These two,' Foggy says to himself silently in his head.
…..
By the time they make it back to the basement Matt is asleep.
"We should get those ropes off," Maggie says, looking down at the intricately woven cords wrapped around his hands and arms. They had probably started out white but are now stained red and brown. None of Matt's fingers looked discoloured but Foggy can't help but assume this isn't doing any favours for his circulation. They pull up chairs on either side of the bed and began the long process of unwinding the ropes. Matt doesn't so much as twitch.
At first Foggy is impressed at the level of intricacy and preciseness with which the ropes are wound around Matt's arms. But within a few minutes he is quietly cursing under his breath at how complicated removing them is. This was taking forever. There had to be a better solution than ropes. Why couldn't Matt just use protective, padded gloves like he use to?
"This is really stupid," he finally says aloud. He isn't sure if he is saying it to Maggie or Matt but waits for either to react to his statement as he untangles the end from where he's twisted it up again. Peering over to see how Maggie is dealing with this, Foggy doesn't miss her amused expression as she methodically unwinds her rope. He's not surprised to see she's considerably farther along than he is in removing it. Her end is also free from tangles, coiled neatly on the bed. 'Nun magic,' Foggy thinks, glaring at his hopelessly tangled mess. "How is this not walking you up?" he asks Matt, repositioning the limp arm for the millionth time.
There is no response and Foggy starts to get slightly unnerved.
"You don't think he hit his head or something, do you?"
"He didn't say he did," Maggie says, not sounding like she feels any of the concern that's creeping up on Foggy.
"Yeah but shouldn't this be waking him up?" He looks at Matt and there's something decidedly limp noodle about him. And the only time Foggy can think of that Matt is this level of unaware, this committed to staying asleep, is when he's drunk. And Foggy had been with him so he knows for sure Matt is not drunk.
"Did you give him something?" he asks Maggie, not even trying to avoid sounding suspicious.
"You saw me giving him pills when you got here," Maggie says, looking at Foggy like he's said something incredibly stupid.
"So that wasn't aspirin?" Foggy says, figuring it out.
"Ah no," Maggie confirms.
"You know how he feels about taking stuff. Matt wouldn't agree to taking narcotics. Did he know what you were giving him?" Foggy asks, trying not to get upset.
"I'm sure he did."
"But did you even ask him if he was okay with that?"
"No. He's had them plenty of times before."
"Really?" he asks, not believing her for a second.
Maggie sighs, she sets Matt's still partially rope encased hand gently on the bed. She looks Foggy straight in the eye. "Before, when Matt came to us he was very badly injured. And he did nothing but fight us for three days. He was making his injuries worse. He kept moving and was in so much pain he couldn't even begin to heal. Yes, I know his objections to drugs and medications. And yes, I forced things on him without his permission."
Foggy feels his blood boiling but stays silent, forcing himself to hear her out.
"And you know what? Once Matthew had a clue what was going on, and I was able to get through to him that all his moving and suffering was making his situation a lot worse he didn't hesitate to take whatever I gave him. He might have been frustratingly obstinate before but he's quite a bit more reasonable about such things now."
It actually makes some sense. Foggy hadn't known why Matt had stopped kicking up a fuss about taking cold pills when he got sick, or the antibiotics afterwards when his lungs had become infected. At the time he'd just been thankful to not have to fight him to do something for his own good. Really he doesn't have any objections to Matt taking meds when he needs them, just the thought of him getting dosed without his consent had bothered him immensely.
"Stop worrying. He burns through them fast. Four hours and he'll be back to normal, probably be whining about the mess he's made of his ribs."
Foggy goes back to dealing with his tangled rope, much less worried but not entirely pleased with Maggie.
….
Maggie was totally right. Four hours after their arrival Matt gasps himself awake. Unfortunately he's forgotten he'd injured his ribs and between trying to move and breathe he ends up a twitching, choking mess, writhing on the bed in pain, arms wrapped around himself.
"Matt! Calm down, you're making it worse," Foggy says, trying to sound calm and reasonable when all he feels is horror at Matt's pained movements and sounds. "Breathe!"
"I can't! I can't breathe!" Matt cries.
"If you can get air in to say that then you most definitely CAN breathe," Maggie points out very matter of factly.
After what seems like a long time but in reality is more like a minute, Matt manages to reign in his desperate swallows for air. Taking much smaller, half breaths his body starts to relax, he stops writhing around, ceases clawing desperately at his own chest.
"You're okay, you're okay," Foggy reassures him, holding Matt's hand.
"Yeah, I uh, sorry," Matt says, voice now steady. "That's not a fun way to wake up."
"I don't doubt it," Foggy agrees, pulling his chair closer to the side of Matt's bed. "Do you need anything?" he asks. Matt shakes his head no. Maggie has wandered away, fussing with something across the room, effectively pretending she's disinterested now that Matt's awake. Probably wasn't fooling any of them but Foggy isn't about to call her out on it. "So can I talk to you about something?"
"Yeah," Matt said warily.
"The arraignment for the Pennerman case."
"Oh," Matt sounds all kinds of relieved once he hears the subject matter. "Yeah no, everything is set. Its not til Monday. Don't even worry about it."
"Its in four hours."
"Damn."
"Yeah. So I'm gonna need you to talk me through this cause I know we'd decided you'd take point but…" Foggy motions toward Matt who is still flat on his back in the bed.
"No, its fine. I can do it. That's plenty of time to get home and dressed."
"You're gonna show up? Like this?"
"If you think about it its actually less weird than when I show up looking a mess," Matt says, vaguely motioning at his frequently bruised and busted up face. "Nobody will even be able to see there's a problem."
"I'm pretty sure they're going to be able to tell," Foggy has exactly no faith Matt can move around well enough to convince anybody at court he isn't injured, especially given the way last night he'd explained how much of a problem this was going to be.
"Don't worry about it, I'll think up an excuse. Worst case scenario I'll play it up for sympathy," Matt says, totally dismissively. "Help me get up?"
It's awkward and painful but somehow Foggy finally ends up bodily wedged behind Matt, getting him at least into a sitting position.
"You ever see those turtles when one goes and flips his buddy over when he sees the other is stuck? That's you right now, Matt. A flipped over turtle."
Matt huffs a quick laugh and swallows it down just as fast because that must feel like crap when his ribs shift.
"Will you please wrap my ribs?" he asks Maggie pleadingly. "I just need to make it through court and I promise then I'll take it off."
"Fine," Maggie agrees, obviously not pleased.
…..
Matt does indeed make it to court as planned. He needs an embarrassing amount of help from Foggy to get into his suit and doesn't even attempt to deal with his hair cause he has no desire to lift his arms up. Foggy thinks he does a passible job making Matt presentable.
Foggy's never thought about how many times its necessary to stand up at court. Matt takes so long to rise each time everyone's already being seated while he's still on the ascent. Each time he goes just a shade more pale. As usual Matt seems to think he's doing a great job of hiding his injuries. He seems surprised when the judge stops and calls him out on it, asking if he's able to continue. Matt does his handsome, wounded duck thing, quickly spins some yarn about hurting his back, and something about a cat. Foggy tunes him out cause he's honestly heard enough of Matt's bullshit excuses for being hurt to last a lifetime. At least he's no longer the one Matt's trying to convince everything is just fine.
…
"Hey, can I ask you something?" Matt starts while Foggy is cutting the tape off his chest in his kitchen later that day. Foggy knows that tone immediately. Its been awhile but it always precedes the same comment: a warning about it being stupid. "Its stupid though."
"Good."
"Really?"
"Yes, your stupid questions are never actually stupid and they're one of the few times I can usually provide you with an answer."
"Now that's just not true. You have amazing answers and solutions all the time," Matt says sincerely, wide, a sweet, honest smile on his face.
"Okay yes," Foggy says, not ready for any sentimentality while he's carefully sliding a sharp pair of scissors along Matt's side. "Ask away."
"How does a turtle flip another turtle over?"
That was not what Foggy was expecting. Matt knows a million things but there are always these gaps, spots in his knowledge where his blindness truly hampers him. He's really careful not to let these show, and Foggy knows Matt bullshits well enough to cover himself pretty much all the time. But there have always been some things he can't figure out on his own, special senses or not. Matt had been so embarrassed to ask things like this when they'd first met but the more Foggy answered him, didn't make fun and helped Matt figure things out the more questions he'd asked. Foggy was pretty sure Matt had been building up a shit ton of questions he felt he had nobody to ask while he was growing up. Or maybe he'd just never worked up the nerve before. Probably wasn't easy to admit to not knowing things everyone around him easily had visual knowledge of.
"You know what a turtle looks like, right?"
"…yeah."
"Like you KNOW or you just have some vague idea of its shape?"
"The second one," Matt admits, sounding distinctly embarrassed. Really, there's a good chance he'd never seen a turtle in real life as a kid, probably only knew them from cartoons.
'Man, somebody really failed hard and it wasn't you, Matt,' Foggy thinks not for the first time. He glances around the apartment but of course there nothing even vaguely turtle shaped. It there was they'd probably not be having this conversation.
"Take these," he says, passing the shears to Matt. He's cut the bindings far enough down that Matt should be able to get the rest off without straining too hard.
Foggy looks around the kitchen and quickly gathers up what he needs. He ends up with two bowls on a dish cloth, one upside down, the other right side up. He shoves some carrot sticks under the edge of the upside down bowl to represent legs, then adds celery to make a head and tail. Matt has stopped looking embarrassed and is now focused on Foggy's bowl turtles.
"Okay, so this is one turtle," Foggy says, pointing it out. He knows Matt can tell what's in front of himself more or less but he's not too sure how the orientation of the objects comes across. Matt's better with larger things in general, he's discovered this by trial and error. "The bowl is like his shell. Feel his legs and his tail."
Matt's hand easily knows where the vegetables are against the edge of the bowl. Finding the parts isn't the problem.
"But how are they attached? Do they just stick out the sides?"
"No, not on a real turtle. They're kind of underneath but out the sides too. It depends if they're sticking out or he's pulling them into his shell. But they're not right underneath like say a dog or a cat."
"So the turtle can pull them underneath because its hollow under there?" Matt asks, running one finger under the lip of the bowl.
Foggy thinks his model really sucks and he's probably doing nothing but confusing Matt even more.
"They're not hollow underneath like the bowl is. I think they're flat on the bottom?"
"Then where do their legs go?"
Foggy sighs feeling like he's doing an absolute shit job of trying to explain a turtle with dinner bowls and vegetables. Unfortunately, Matt misinterprets Foggy's sigh as irritation for not getting it.
"Its okay, never mind. It doesn't matter, I don't even know why I brought this up," he says quickly.
"No! It DOES matter, Matt," Foggy says. "You've got as much right as anybody else to know how a turtle works. I'm just frustrated I can't explain this better."
"Its not like you went to school for zoology, Foggy," Matt points out.
'And I sure as shit didn't go to school to learn how to explain stuff to someone who has next to no visual reference,' Foggy thinks. "Forget the legs for now. You wanted to know how one can flip the other over, right?"
"Yeah. Does he like, grab him with his paws?"
'Fuck. If you could see a turtle for like two seconds you'd get this,' he thinks.
"They have the kind of feet that don't grab things. Think less cat paws and more like our feet."
"Ah, okay."
'Good. At least that part makes sense to him,' Foggy thinks.
"So they kind of use their shells to tip the other one over. Like they wedge the edge of it underneath and then stand up to flip their friend right side up."
He tries to approximate this with the bowls. They're smooth and gently curved so its less than helpful.
"I'm sorry Matt. I'll figure a better way to show you this so it makes sense."
"Foggy," he waits to continue 'til Foggy looks away from the bad model and looks at him instead. "Nobody else would have even tried."
"Yeah, Matt, I know," Foggy says feeling nothing but disappointment at the world.
"Thank you."