A/N I have to admit that this chapter was a bit of a struggle. Maybe I'm getting more critical of myself, or maybe my writing gets worse :-P Whichever is true, I think this is the best I can do for now, so it'll stay as it is, at least for the moment.

Again, I can't thank you enough for your continuing support and encouragement. It has been lovely to hear from you and it's a great motivation to keep going.

Chapter 7

Claire had promised that Matt would feel better once the meds took effect, and sure enough, he rested fairly well throughout the morning hours. He didn't notice Foggy's visit, only learned that he had been there when Claire offered him a bagel and a cup of herbal tea around noon. He drank the tea and took the Ibuprofen she gave him, but he didn't feel hungry at all and went back to sleep without even trying the food.

As the day wore on, his condition grew worse. Restlessly, he turned on his too warm bed, shaking in the grip of fever. He was uncomfortably aware of silk bedsheets clinging to his skin, the barely numbed pain in his lungs that flared up with every breath he took. Sounds were unnaturally loud, assailing him with an intensity that was hard to bear and rarely manifested into something he recognized – water gushing through pipes from below, footsteps in the hallway, the murmur of Claire's voice from his living room. He realized that she was talking on the phone, but he was unable to focus on the conversation and at some point his attention slipped away.

He drifted into a dream in which he could actually see. He was a child again, lying on the pavement, the sky above him open and blue. He sensed a wrecked truck somewhere to his right, didn't have to turn his head to see the barrels that lay scattered across the street, leaking, their poisonous contents pouring onto the street. The substance was everywhere, coated the asphalt, his face, his eyes, and this time it had also entered his lungs, burning him from the inside. He coughed weakly to clear his airways, struggled to sit up and couldn't. There was movement though, someone leaning over him. Talking to him. It's okay, I'm here. The voice of a woman, but he saw the face of his father, dark against the bright sky.Close your eyes, Matty. He didn't want to, knew what would happen if he did. So he gazed up into his father's face, holding on to it for as long as he could before finally the inevitable happened. The world turned dark.

Someone had chained him. He did not know where he was, what had happened, but he realized with sudden terror that he couldn't move. He yanked at his restraints and the metallic rattle lit up the room, sound revealing the shapes of barrels piled up around him. Oil seeping onto the floor, catching fire. Heat seared him, suffocated him, and again he strained, trying to break free. Smoke filled the air, collected in his lungs with every breath he took. Blocked his airways, choked him. Panic gripped him as flames started to lick over his skin, and he leaned into the chains with all he had, trying to scream but his voice failed him. He heard them snap as he flung himself forward and a cough ripped lose that felt like it tore his chest in half. Copper on his lips, as he found himself sitting upright, shaking, unable to think of anything else but the fiery air that burnt him from the inside. Ragged breaths hammered from his lungs. Disoriented he reached for something, anything close by and found an arm, a shoulder, a face. Claire.

A pained sound escaped his lips as he collapsed against her, and he felt her arms wrap around him, holding him as tremors started to shake him in earnest. She was saying something but he couldn't make out the words through the violent thumping of his heart, only felt her lips move against his skin, felt her breath in his hair, her scent folding around him. He tried to focus on that, divert his attention from his tortured lungs and the feverish heat, and gradually he felt the tremors subside.

"It's okay, Matt."

Her voice. Her hand on the nape of his neck, the warmth of her skin against his cheek. He didn't want to lean into her touch like that but he couldn't help it, felt himself drifting again despite his attempts to stay lucid. It wasn't long until her hand caught him around the back of his head, and he was guided to lie back against his pillows.

He felt like he was floating, fever consuming every conscious thought. At some point he was aware of his head being lifted, the rim of a glass touching his lips, and he managed to drink before his focus slipped away. The world disappeared behind a curtain of fire, leaving only two sensations that remained overly clear – the relentless pain shredding his lungs and the scorching heat. It was everywhere. He felt it boil his blood and sear his skin, taking shape as a horned beast that sat on his chest, pressing down on him, squeezing the air from his lungs and leaving him struggling for breath. He pushed at it, vainly trying to make it go away.

There was a splash of water from somewhere behind the flames, followed by a touch on his forehead that was so cold it made him gasp. His eyes slid open as awareness forced itself on him and he noticed in bewilderment that it was no longer Claire sitting by his side.

"Foggy?"

The word didn't come out right, sounding slurred and hoarse. But Foggy understood him.

"That's right, buddy."

"What – what're you doing?"

Water was rinsed from a cloth and the cold sensation returned, pressing against his cheek.

"Trying to get your fever down. Meds don't seem to help and this is the only thing I could think of."

It took a moment until the information registered and he licked his dry lips, forcing himself to stay focused.

"Where's Claire?"

Silence for a beat. He surely hadn't asked about her already, had he? He couldn't remember. Time had collapsed into an endless present and his brain refused to provide any details beyond that.

"At the hospital. She'll be back soon." His voice was calm but Matt could hear the fear in his heartbeat. It was racing like a horse in flight. "You're gonna be okay."

Matt wanted to ask what troubled him, but concentrating was becoming harder by the minute and he couldn't find the words. It took an enormous effort just to keep his eyes open. The coldness reappeared to rest on his brow.

"It's okay, Matt. Go back to sleep."

It sounded like a good idea and he closed his eyes allowing his mind to drift again. Maybe it was due to Foggy's efforts, but the heat seemed to relent somewhat, enough for his over-stimulated senses to get some respite and synapses to stop their constant firing. Silence wrapped around him and he slipped deeper into sleep, secure in the knowledge that Foggy was still there. Sometimes a random sensation penetrated the darkness, a particularly vicious stab in his chest, the sharp pain that came with a cough. He had the impression of someone talking to him, hands gently taking hold of his arm. A pinprick, a needle sliding into his vein. The return of Claire's pulse thumping against his skin. Whatever grip he'd still had on reality until then, started to slip and this time he didn't dream.

Matt woke with the knowledge that Claire was gone. Her scent still filled the air, faint like a ghostly presence, but her heartbeat that had anchored him during his fever had disappeared. He vaguely remembered her sitting by his side, speaking words of reassurance and comfort, recalled the cool touch of her hand on his brow. He closed his eyes as he tried to take hold of another memory that lay just beyond his grasp. Foggy.

It could have been a dream for all he knew, he surely hadn't been that sick. But the smell of day-old sweat on his skin suggested that at least part of it was true. He lay still for a while, listening for the familiar sounds of his neighborhood, endlessly relieved that his senses were back to normal. It was then that he noticed the steady thud of a heartbeat from his living room and immediately recognized it as Foggy's. He was working on a case if the rustle of papers and occasional typing was any indication.

Gingerly he pushed himself upright, taking a deep breath that was considerably less fire and tilted his head backwards to rest against the wall. He felt dizzy, weak to the point that he was tempted to lie down again and go back to sleep, but he needed to know what had happened. How long he had slept. His throat felt parched, rough as sandpaper, and he extended a hand toward his nightstand, expecting to find a glass of water there and wasn't disappointed. He took a long sip, relishing the taste on his lips, and emptied it completely.

"Foggy?"

His voice was barely there, raspy like iron grating against stone, and it caused a tickle in his throat that made him cough painfully. He closed his eyes in anticipation of another coughing spell and was infinitely grateful when nothing happened. He was just about to call out a second time when he heard the sound of approaching footsteps, and a moment later the door to his bedroom slid open. Foggy appeared in the doorway, smelling of coffee, fading deodorant and a sleepless night.

"Thank God you're awake."

It was almost a sigh, relief evident in his voice. His heartbeat spelled exhaustion.

"What time is it?" Matt asked, pushing himself up a little further. The sounds of the city had faded into a low hum, it had to be some time at night. Had he really slept that long?

"Almost four in the morning." Foggy positioned himself beside the bed, regarding him with calm eyes. "It's Friday, if you want to know."

"Friday." He repeated the word hoarsely as the information sank in. That meant he had lost two days. It was an uncomfortable thought to say the least, but it explained the acrid smell of sweat and sickness that clung to his skin and the bedsheets.

"Claire's at work?"

"Yeah," Foggy nodded. "We've been taking turns to watch over you. How are you feeling?"

He felt weak, exhausted to the bone, and if the worry in Foggy's voice was any indication, he looked it too. But his fever was down and his lungs were healing. The pain that had been stabbing his chest had diminished considerably, the former agony merely an inconvenience now.

"Shaky," Matt admitted, "but I think I'll live."

"You're still pale as a sheet."

Matt smiled weakly. "Not surprised to hear that."

"You really had us worried there," Foggy went on, sitting down on the edge of the bed. The tone of his voice told him that he still was. "You were really out of it. Claire had to get antibiotics to help you fight the infection. Don't ask me how she gets her hands on the prescription stuff, but it helped. You've been resting a lot easier afterward."

He didn't remember anything about that.

"Can I get you anything?" Foggy asked softly. "You hungry? You haven't eaten in two days."

The idea didn't sound half bad. However, there were other needs that were more pressing.

"Um, yeah. But I really need to use the bathroom first."

"Need a hand?"

"I guess."

Matt folded the blanket back and maneuvered his legs over the edge of the bed, reaching for Foggy to help him stand, and he readily took his weight. It was a slow walk, in which Matt was infinitely grateful for the steady arm that held him upright. His chest felt still tight, preventing him from taking a proper breath and it only added to the dizziness he already felt. When they reached their destination, Foggy was about to accompany him inside, but Matt shook his head.

"Thanks, I can take it from here."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." He locked his knees to conceal how much his legs were shaking and curled his lips into what he hoped was a convincing smile. "I'll call you if I need anything."

Matt pulled the door behind him shut and he heard Foggy linger outside for a while before returning to the living room. Matt waited until he was gone, and when he had taken care of his immediate needs, he started to wash the sweat and dirt from his skin. He really would have preferred to take a shower since he longed to wash his hair too, but his legs were barely supporting him as it was, and he actually had to sit down on the closed lid of the can to brush his teeth.

When he exited the room, he almost stumbled over a set of fresh clothes lying in front of the bathroom door and he picked them up with a grateful smile on his face. It was considerate of Foggy. He hadn't even noticed him placing them there.

Dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a soft shirt and finally feeling human again, he made his way back into the living room. He went slowly, one hand against the wall for support, and when Foggy saw him, he was at his side immediately to lend him a hand.

"Back to bed?" He asked.

"Couch."

"You got it."

The smell of freshly brewed coffee hung in the air, accompanied by the scent of warm bread, ham and sliced apples.

"I made breakfast," Foggy declared as he helped Matt settle on the couch.

"Isn't it a little early for that?"

"You said you were hungry. Besides, you need to eat if you want to take your meds. I would offer you a cup of coffee, but the way you sound I think sage tea might be the better choice."

"Coffee sounds great."

"Suit yourself."

While Matt made himself comfortable on the couch, Foggy disappeared into the bedroom and returned with the medicine Claire had brought and a woolen blanket which Matt gratefully wrapped around him. Now that the fever was down, his body felt drained of all energy and he found himself chilly despite the room temperature being normal. He hoped that a proper meal would help with that.

"Karen's been asking about you, by the way," Foggy went on as he started to set the table, placing a glass of water next to the pills. The light tone in his voice had disappeared, making way for something else. "She wanted to come over, mentioned some super-delicious recipe for chicken soup. But I figured she might have wondered about your bandaged shoulder, so I told her it wasn't a good idea right now."

That was good thinking.

"Thank you, Foggy."

"You're welcome." The coffee machine stopped gurgling and Foggy went to switch it off. There was a short silence in which he heard Foggy rummage around the shelves and place two cups on the counter.

"You really should have listened to Claire to take it easy."

Matt felt himself grow tense at the remark, casual as it was. It was no surprise that Claire and Foggy had talked while watching over him, actually Matt had been expecting it. But somehow he had hoped that Claire would keep this particular piece of information to herself.

"How much did she tell you?" He asked uneasily.

"Well, I know that you talked to Brett."

Matt clenched his jaw at that, mentally steeling himself for another argument. But Foggy's heartbeat was curiously devoid of anger. All he detected was exhaustion and a deep sadness. He wondered what exactly Claire had told him. Maybe she had been able to explain what Matt couldn't.

"You don't have to explain," Foggy went on before he could say anything. "You did what you felt needed to be done. I get that. And it's probably thanks to you that they're looking for the chemical weapons at all. They've issued a terror warning, by the way. Public places are tight with security, they really are taking this thing seriously."

Matt breathed a sigh of relief. That was good news. However, Foggy didn't seem to be finished. He listened to Foggy filling the cups, noticed the change in his breath that told him his friend was carefully wording his next sentence. Foggy returned with the coffee, handing one cup to Matt and placing his own on the table before returning to the kitchen to get the food. When he finally sat down in the armchair across from him, he sighed.

"I just wish you had told me what was really going on." The tone of his voice revealed how hurt Foggy was and Matt swallowed dryly. He couldn't blame him really. "Matt, why didn't you tell me? We're talking about chemical weapons here in New York, for Christ's sake! Of course, you needed to do something. But I could have talked to Brett, hell, I would have gotten you a new burner too. There was no need to do this alone."

Matt could feel Foggy's eyes boring into him, searching for an answer, and Matt lowered his gaze, not knowing what to say.

"Matt?"

"I didn't want you to get involved in this," he said quietly.

"Why? Don't you think you can trust me?"

Matt suppressed a sigh. That wasn't it, but he could see why Foggy might think that, and he felt genuinely sorry to make Foggy feel like he didn't trust him. That he was keeping things from him. Again.

"I didn't want you to get hurt."

He sensed the frown on Foggy's face.

"Sorry, but I don't think I can follow your train of thought here. How would buying a new burner phone have gotten me hurt?"

"It's not about buying a phone. It's - " Matt forced himself to direct his blind gaze in Foggy's direction, didn't want his friend to think that he was trying to avoid him. "I didn't want you to pursue this any further. When I was going up against Fisk – when we were – things were really getting out of hand. I tried to keep you out of harm's way, tried to convince you to use the law against him. Remember? But you started doing things on your own anyway. Karen went off to talk to Fisk's mother and you convinced Marci to steal those files - "

"Which played an important part in bringing Fisk's empire down."

"Yes," Matt acknowledged. "But it was dangerous and you could have gotten yourselves killed. And if I had told you about these chemical weapons being somewhere here in the city – I couldn't be sure what you would do. And I couldn't have protected you." He gestured at himself. "Not like this."

A long silence stretched between them once he had finished the sentence, in which Foggy took his time to ponder the words.

"Matt, you can't protect everyone around you," he finally said. "You are not responsible for my well-being. Or Karen's. Or Marci's. We're all adults and we know that our actions have consequences. And what really bugs me is that you kind of expect me to lay low while you put yourself in harm's way."

"I can protect myself."

"You can barely stand up."

Matt shook his head in frustration.

"Look, I know I'm not at my best at the moment. But I know how to fight, I know how to defend myself. If push comes to shove, my chances for survival are way better than yours, Foggy, and you know that."

"Well, right now I think I could take you on."

"Foggy..."

His friend raised a hand to silence him, letting go of a deep breath. "Okay, I catch your drift here. You're more skilled in beating up the bad guys than me."

"Thank you."

"But you don't have the privilege to put yourself in danger. You don't want me to get hurt and I appreciate that. But I care about you too, Matt. It's what friends do. And I think it's about time that you acknowledged that."

Foggy made a pause, waiting for Matt to answer, but he found himself lost for words. From his perspective, Foggy was right. It wasn't hard to understand that his friend worried about him the same way that Matt worried about Foggy. But Matt had a better understanding of the things he could do, the edge that came with his heightened senses, how well he could fight. His current state was just bad luck, a stupid mistake. If he'd picked up his baton like Stick taught him to, he'd have taken out his opponent and everything would have gone well. This wouldn't happen again, there was no need for Foggy to worry. However, he didn't think he could make his friend understand.

Foggy sat down in the armchair across the table, his heartbeat loud and expectant in the silence.

"Matt, will you please talk to me?"

"I really don't know what to say, Foggy." He helplessly shook his head. "I know that you're worried, and I appreciate it that you care. I really do, Foggy. But I don't see how you would be less worried if I dragged you into this."

"Well, as far as I'm concerned, you already dragged me into this. And I'd really appreciate it if you told me what was going on because I kind of think that I deserve to know."

When he didn't answer, Foggy continued.

"Matt, I want to help. Please let me help you. I really hate you getting hurt like this. The past two days have been - " he paused, looking for the right words.

"Let's just say, I really don't want to do that again. I know you want me out of harm's way and I appreciate it. But I have given this some thought. You are in no shape to do anything right now, not for a couple of days at least. And while the feds are working on the case, there's still the risk that they might not find the chemical weapons in time. So until they do, everyone in the city is in danger, which includes me. There's nothing you can do about it, except trust the authorities. Or you could tell me what you know and maybe we can figure something out. So what do you say?"

Matt was silent for a while, pondering what Foggy had said. He was right, Matt couldn't go out like this although he desperately wanted to, and it was necessary to take action as soon as possible. People might get hurt if he didn't help, and he would blame himself later if he hadn't done everything in his power to prevent the worst from happening.

He hated to admit that Foggy had a point here.

"Okay." He nodded his consent.

"Good. So, could you please tell me what you know."

Matt exhaled a deep breath, hesitating. He didn't like the idea of Foggy getting involved, doubted that there was a lot that he could do anyway. But it was clear that his friend needed to know what was going on, if only for his peace of mind. He felt Foggy's gaze rest on him, waiting, and finally Matt started to tell him. He relayed in detail what had happened that night at the harbor, told him about Qa'id and what he had learned from Brett. When he mentioned Chamoun, Foggy raised his eyebrows in surprise, but he didn't say anything until Matt had finished.

"So, you think that one of the cops helped smuggle the chemical weapons into the city, and that Chamoun somehow had his fingers in it."

"Maybe. I was going to find out about that."

Foggy nodded, acknowledging the information. "Okay, since Chamoun is in jail, there's not an awful lot we can do about him. But I could have Karen do some research on him, start a file."

"Can't we leave her out of this?" Matt pleaded.

Foggy pursed his lips in thought. "Yeah, we could. But she's really good at it and I don't see why she shouldn't. It's really not that dangerous."

He hesitated, giving it some thought, then nodded unhappily. "Fine," he sighed. "But keep an eye on her."

"Agreed," Foggy affirmed. "You said that there were two cops who survived the shooting at the harbor. I take it you haven't talked to them yet?"

"No. They're still in hospital, I think."

"What about this guy you saved?"

Baker. Actually, Matt had no idea if he had even survived. Brett hadn't mentioned him, so he'd just assumed that he was either too injured to be interviewed or that he hadn't made it at all. Claire however could easily find out about that.

Apparently Foggy had the same idea. "You could talk to Claire," he suggested. "I bet she'd be willing to help."

"The feds will be following all those leads," Matt pointed out wearily. "And I'm really not overly fond of the idea to involve the whole bunch of you. Not when I can avoid it. Foggy, you remember how things went with Fisk. Let's play this safe, okay?"

"I hear you."

Matt ran a hand across his face, sighing.

"You're not happy about this," Foggy stated the obvious.

"No."

"Why? It's just a bit of research."

"I know. I just – I don't think it's gonna help find the chemical weapons. It might just put you on the radar of whoever is behind this, or the feds, for that matter."

"So, what's your suggestion?"

Matt hesitated to say it out loud, but Foggy guessed at his thoughts without difficulty. Whatever lightness there had been in Foggy's voice disappeared from one beat to the other.

"You want to go out again, don't you."

"As soon as I'm able to. Yes." He felt Foggy's eyes bore into him, worried. Terrified. "I'm sorry, Foggy. I really don't see any other way. The feds aren't stupid, they know how to follow a lead. The only way I can truly help is by doing what they can't do. And I think I can find the chemical weapons. All I need to do is ask the right people the right questions."

"Matt..."

"I can't let this go Foggy. I simply can't."

Foggy sighed deeply.

"I know."

There was sadness in his answer. Defeat. He knew then that he had won, that Foggy wouldn't try to stop him. It didn't feel half as good as he'd expected.

"At least give yourself some time to heal," Foggy said. It almost sounded like a plea. "Make sure you're ready before you go out again, okay?"

Matt nodded sincerely. "I will."

"You look like hell."

"Yeah, probably."

"You do."

Matt attempted a weak smile, letting Foggy know that he had made his point. He was surprised when his friend abruptly pushed to his feet.

"Before I forget..."

He heard him walk across the room and return with his messenger bag in hand, pulling something out that he wordlessly handed to Matt. It took a moment until he realized what it was.

"You got me a new burner?" He asked softly.

"Claire told me yours was broken. And since you might want to give the cops an anonymous tip again..." he shrugged resignedly. "She typed in her number too."

He didn't know what to say. Coming from Foggy, that really meant a lot.

"Thank you, Foggy."

"Just make sure you call me if you think I can help."

It was obvious how unhappy Foggy was, how much his friend still wanted to talk him out of it. But the offer was heartfelt and Matt would gladly accept it.

"I will."

TBC