"Hello?" a tall, thin man said, opening the door just as far as the chain would let it.
"Stephen?"
"Who's asking?"
"Maria Hill."
"You're not Hill. I know her."
"No, I'm not," Natasha said, "My name is Natasha Romanov. Maria Hill sent me here to collect you. Put on your shoes and let's get in the car."
"I don't know you," Stephen said, and went to shut the door, but Natasha stuck her foot in the gap.
"Maria has tried to ask you politely, but you've been ignoring her. Please come with me."
"Get your foot out of the way."
"I'll put my foot through your door and drag you to the car if you don't come willingly."
"You're desperate," Stephen said, "Which means you're open for bargaining."
"We're really not."
"What? Not desperate? Or not looking to bargain?"
Natasha decided she didn't like this guy. His facial hair reminded her too much of Tony. Was it some from of pre-requisite that super-smart science nerds with perfectly trimmed facial hair had to be jerks? And by the sounds of things, Sam's guy had jumped on the first available flight. Why did Maria's guy have to be such as ass? "Get in the car, Steve."
The doctor's eyes narrowed. "What's in it for me?"
"You get to operate on a ninety-something year-old super soldier with a metal arm who is currently being poisoned by fifty year-old poison."
"What's the make-up of the poison?"
"Come with me and you'll find out," Natasha said, knowing she had his interest if nothing else.
"I choose my own team."
"We choose the team."
"I choose the location."
"We can't move the patient."
"I shall be invoicing."
"It's pro-bono."
"Miss Romanov,"
"Agent."
"Agent Romanov, you do see that there really is very little in this for me."
"Do you want to save a life?"
"Saving lives is what I do for a living. It's how I make money."
"Whatever," Natasha said, "Are you coming or to I have to drag you out?"
Stephen paused. "Super soldier?"
"Yes."
"It must be World War Two, if he's in his nineties."
"Obviously," Natasha said.
"Why has he got a metal arm?"
"It was World War Two. Shit went down."
"Agent Romanov," Stephen said, the shadow of a smile on his lips, "I think I might have a few more questions."
"Ask them in the car. Just grab some shoes, or not. Wear slippers. Whatever."
"How much time do you think we have?"
"To save him?"
The doctor raised his eyebrows.
"By one report," Natasha said, taking her foot out of the gap between the door and the wall for Stephen to remove the chain, "We're at about negative 21 hours."
...
Matt swallowed and opened his eyes. His mouth felt dry, and his body still felt numb. He could hear a Foggy breathing. "What time is it?"
Foggy leant forward and checked on his phone. "Just after ten in the morning. You nodded off after Natasha left."
"An - any word?"
"No word. So - well, I don't know what to make of that."
"Claire?" Matt asked. He suspected that Claire would likely come back some time today or tomorrow.
"I don't know. I haven't seen or heard from her, Matt. She had left last night before Natasha called me."
"M'sorry," Matt muttered, even though he wasn't really sure why. Foggy was mad, so it seemed like the correct thing to say. Matt could feel that Foggy was holding it all inside. Matt adjusted his position slightly. "You can let it out."
"What?"
"Whatever you need to say. I - I can feel you bursting."
"Ok," Foggy said, and adjusted his position in his chair, "So what the hell, Matt!" he exclaimed, animated. "What the actual hell? You got shot, Matt. You fricken got shot, and then Natasha fricken Romanov calls me in the middle of the night to tell me you're not doing so great. What the hell were you two doing last night? You had to go out and be a hero, Matt? It's not enough to be bedding a fricken assassin, you two have to go and play Avengers as well? You could have been killed, Matt. What were you thinking?"
Matt felt his bottom lip tremor. He clenched his teeth together and tried to take a deep breath, but his chest felt too tight, and he couldn't inhale enough air. "I - I'm sorry, Foggy, I - I can't," Matt choked.
"Hey, you told me to let it out."
"No - I - I can't breath."
"Oh, shit," Foggy said. "What do you need me to do?"
"Help me sit up."
Foggy stood up, stepped around the coffee table and gently lifted Matt into a sitting position. Matt groaned in pain as he was moved and gasped for breath.
"Don't you fricken die on me, Murdock," Foggy grumbled, rubbing Matt on the back. He wasn't sure if that would help or not, but he didn't care. It felt like the right thing to do.
After a moment, Matt managed to control his breathing. "Ok," Matt whispered, "I'm ok now."
"You're not going to do that again?"
"I don't know."
"Do you want to lie back down?"
"Nuh," Matt muttered, leaning into the side of the couch and pulling his knees up to his chest.
Foggy adjusted the blankets around Matt to keep him warm, then went and sat back down. "You got shot, Matt. What the hell am I supposed to tell Karen? You've got a sprained ankle and huge-ass bruise on your right leg. Easy, you stepped in a pothole, fell over and smashed your shin on the sidewalk."
"Foggy," Matt breathed.
"Shut-up, Matt," Foggy said, "I get to talk. Concussion? Also easy. Your cane only tells you what's happening at your feet, not above your head. You walked straight into some overhanging scaffolding. Cracked ribs? Well, you can just suck that one up. If anything, lie and say you think you might be getting that chesty cold that's been going around. But you got shot, Matt," Foggy said. "You got shot in your shoulder and yeah we can make up some shit about you falling over and hurting your arm, but you got fricken shot. With a gun. Claire and Natasha pulled the bullet out using fricken bathroom tweezers. You could have been killed, Matt! You got shot and it is not ok."
Listening to Foggy's voice, Matt noticed that Foggy wasn't just mad, he was scared. And whenever Foggy was scared, really scared, it tended to come out as anger. "I'm so sorry," Matt said, a sob escaping him.
"Yeah, well, maybe think next time, ok Matt!" Foggy cried, "Don't you dare get fricken killed on me. It's not fair, Matt. It's not fair."
"That - that's why we did it," Matt said. He could feel tears welling in his eyes, "Because what they did to Barnes for seventy years wasn't fair. So Nat and I went after them. I got - I got some answers. But we - we were outnumbered, and," Matt had to stop to control his breathing.
"Oh, come on, Matt," Foggy said, "I get why you wanted to help the guy. I get why we needed to save Barnes and help him and all that. I do. But why the hell would you go after Hydra? Why do that? We saved him, Matt. So why go and, oh shit, Matt. I don't know. Why couldn't Steve and Sam rescuing him be enough for you?"
"Bucky's Steve's me to my you."
"What?" Foggy asked, "Matt, that doesn't make sense."
Matt slowly closed his eyes to compose himself and collect his thoughts. "Bucky is to Steve what you are to me," he said.
Foggy didn't reply.
"I w-will always find you, Foggy. I won't let you fall, and if you do, I - I will always find you. And if you need saving, and I need someone else to do the punching, well," Matt choked back a sob. "I will always find you."
"Oh, Matt," Foggy said and shook his head. "I already knew that." Foggy leant back in the chair. "So you really did go Avengering?"
"I don't - think it's a verb."
Foggy sighed, "Matthew Murdock, what on earth am I going to do with you?"
"I'm sorry," Matt said.
"Yeah, I know," Foggy said. He shrugged. "I guess I probably shouldn't yell at you. But if I get another phone call in the middle of the night from someone telling me you've had your ass kicked and you're more than half-way dead - damn it, Matt, I'm taking you to hospital. Because one day Claire won't be enough. And so long as I have anything to do with it, I am not going to let you get yourself killed, buddy."
"I know," Matt breathed, "I know."
"Yeah, well," Foggy said, and adjusted how he was sitting, "You go back to sleep or sit there or whatever."
"When will Natasha be back?" Matt asked.
"I don't know," Foggy said, "But super assassin or not, do not think for a moment that she has missed one of my lectures."
"No," Matt said, and slightly tilted his head in Foggy's direction, "I thought I heard you earlier, but I wasn't sure if it was just a dream."
"Good," Foggy said, and picked up his phone, "Well, go back to sleep. I'll be right here, watching Netflix. But I'm waking you up for lunch, because shot-up or not, you still have to eat."
Matt slowly eased himself back down. "Avocados?" he asked.
"Yeah," Foggy said, "Avocados."