[ Already halfway through a ten-cent beer, Foggy finds himself gripping the handle so tightly his knuckles bulge white. He's taken by surprise despite specifically having come here for this purpose, less so by Daisy's directness and more so because of the way every mention of his friend tightens his throat down as if gripped between the unforgiving plates of a vise. And it doesn't get easier.
To buy himself a moment, he gestures to the guy behind the bar, noting he should bring by two more beers, and then turns his pale and drawn tiredness back on the woman in front of him. ]
I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but Matt's— gone.
[ He wants to wash down the thousands of knives he feels with everything in his glass, but there probably aren't enough cheap, watery bears in the place to get Foggy as drunk as he needs to be.
Clearing his throat, he's still a little froggy when he tries to bring himself back down, but there's no ignoring the way his eyes sting with the threat of tears.
(Fuck, he cannot cry. Not again. Not anymore. If a person could be a barren desert of tears, it should be him after all the sobbing he's done, and yet every time he cries there's more and more and more...)
Foggy's jaw works and he finds he can't do anything but look down at the foamy froth slowly diminishing on top of his beer. Can't bring himself to meet Daisy's eyes and feels like a fucking coward for it. ]
The officials are saying "missing and presumed dead."
[ He can barely make it through, a hitch finding its way in before he can complete the thought.
(Foggy had given Matt the Daredevil suit. He'd signed and sealed the death certificate and buried his best friend and this is his penance. He's not a religious man, but somehow he thinks Matt would both approve as a devout Catholic and disapprove as a conscientious best friend who understands that life's more complicated than just deciding you're at fault.)
A muttered apology comes next as he tries to gather the same strength he'd used for years to get through countless horrible cases and terrible situations. ]
I-I didn't think it was right to say so over e-mail.
[ Missing and presumed dead. It sounds so cold, the way these sorts of things always do when the people in charge are trying to keep things impersonal and distant. But the loss of a life is always personal, whether people want it to be or not.
It takes a few moments for it to really sink in, Daisy's gaze slowly falling to the tabletop with its worn scuffs marring the clean surface. Her fingers itch to find a trio of sugar packets, but this isn't that kind of place — she'll find no anchor here as she struggles to hold on in this storm. Warring emotions threaten to pull her under, drowning her with their surging strength. She pulls in a shallow breath, two, three, and then forces them to be slower, deeper. Relying on her training is all she can do to keep it together. ]
It was his night work, wasn't it? [ The fight's gone out of her, the words falling flatly between them as she uses a careful phrase meant to hide the true nature of their discussion from the barman approaching with their drinks. ] Something happened while he was out there.
[ And she wasn't here to help him. She wasn't here to save him. ]
[ Much like Daisy, the same types of thoughts swirl around Foggy's head. Every day is like two steps forward and three steps back. And then he'll wake up, have a good day that almost feels normal, think he's coming to a stride, and then slide back nearly to where he'd started.
She processes, and he watches. It feels sick, and yet he can't look away. It never fails to surprise him how little Matt understood his worth to those around him. That he could never bring himself to admit the people who loved him and cared for him and worried about him were exactly the people he needed the most. The people he could trust.
Not Stick. Not Elektra. And sure as hell not God. ]
Yeah.
[ Does he even need to confirm what Matt was doing? No, of course not. But for those who knew the real story, that's the important part. ]
Some idiot gave him everything he needed.
[ Foggy takes the fresh beer and nods in thanks with a tight smile, staying silent until they're alone again. ]
On the bright side, the same idiot is buying drinks tonight. So, fair warning: after this I am going to do my best to get black-out wasted on that asshole's dime. You're welcome to join me.
[ She lifts her drink to her lips and takes a long pull on it, downing nearly half in one go. It's not nearly strong enough to temper the grief roiling inside her, but it'll help dull the edge in a few minutes. That'll have to do for now.
This feels different than so many of the other losses in her life. She'd been there for those and was able to pinpoint the moments where things had gone wrong, where she could have done something differently to save the life of the person she loved. But that's the survivor's guilt talking, not the rational woman who has done enough healing to recognize when it's her complex PTSD talking. She wasn't there for this one, though, and if he's still missing... ]
Where did it happen? [ Pressing a hand to the table beside her glass, she traces one of those scuff marks with her fingertips before looking up at him. ] I don't need details; I can figure it out on my own. But if he's missing, I want to find him and bring him home.
[ Her voice shakes slightly on that last word. Home. The Kitchen had been Matt's home his whole life; she'd left and found a new one. The least she could do for her old friend is to make sure he finds his final resting place. She can't remember most of the things the nuns had tried to drill into them all those years ago, but she does remember that part being kind of important. ]
[ He watches her from across the table, immediately wary of her assessment. Karen — when she can bring herself to stop crying — has been much the same, finding the possibility of Matt's death too remote without a body or evidence. Foggy would chase that hope if he hadn't seen the whole of it, if he didn't know deep down that Matt wouldn't want to hurt them like that.
Problem being, what Matt wants and what Matt does differs. Could he be out there hiding in shadows, licking his wounds, maybe brained by a rock and struggling with amnesia? Sure. But in so many instances, the simplest answer also happens to be the right answer.
If Matt were alive, he'd come to Foggy. How could he not? The hurt otherwise feels too heavy and already Foggy's too exhausted to carry what little he has now.
He debates not telling her. She'll find out on her own, but if he doesn't say anything, he can't really be responsible when she's inevitably hurt and right back in the same place, right?
If only it worked that way. Instead, he's poised to do the most for people. ]
Midland Circle.
[ Much like Daisy, he abuses that beer, sucking it down almost as impressively. He only holds back because he's already a functioning alcoholic and doesn't want to add to the image of being nothing but pieces held together by hardly anything at all. ]
[ His answer is like a punch to the gut. She closes her eyes for a moment, fighting back the wave of emotion while keeping her breathing steady. So long as she keeps her cool, she can face anything. The time for breaking down and letting that pain loose will come later, when no one is around to see her fall apart. For now, Foggy Nelson doesn't deserve to be burdened with her grief on top of his own. ]
Thanks. [ It's soft, hardly more than a breath itself as she pulls her cell phone from her jacket pocket. Typing with the speed of a true millennial, she taps out a message to the director, a man who had once been her partner and is still like a big brother to her. He'll request an explanation later, but for now, if she asks, he'll do whatever he can to make it happen.
we need to take over recovery at midland circle
Setting the phone down face-up on the table, she hopes it won't take long for Mack to answer. He is the director of the world's leading spy agency, even if they do keep having their forces decimated by one alien attack after another, but given their history—
Her phone buzzes, and the reply pops up. I'll make the arrangements. ]
Okay. [ She's talking to herself mostly, nodding in self-confirmation that she's going to be able to do something for one of her oldest friends. Looking back up at Foggy, she picks up her drink again, ready to finish off the rest of it. ]
SHIELD will start looking tomorrow. We'll find him if he's down there.
[ He's used to people getting onto their phones, making notes, and so forth, but there's something incredibly sobering and stressful about Daisy tacking away at the screen. Probably because he knows that it's not just some response to a text, or note being made.
She gives him the news and Foggy reaches up to rub at his face tiredly. He wants to protest because what's the use? There's no flare of hope that they might discover Matt living like a rat in some dark space, and at this point if there's a body to bury Foggy isn't sure he wants to see it.
But what can he do? Matt wasn't only his friend. People react as they need to and who is he to squash any potential hope, even in just closing a chapter that may otherwise be unfinished. ]
Okay.
[ He should be grateful and enthusiastic, but he's just... wrecked. Numb. Tired. Slightly drunk but not nearly enough and not close to drunkest he's been. Might as well go all-out, right? The glass is lifted and he gestures for service. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
To buy himself a moment, he gestures to the guy behind the bar, noting he should bring by two more beers, and then turns his pale and drawn tiredness back on the woman in front of him. ]
I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but Matt's— gone.
[ He wants to wash down the thousands of knives he feels with everything in his glass, but there probably aren't enough cheap, watery bears in the place to get Foggy as drunk as he needs to be.
Clearing his throat, he's still a little froggy when he tries to bring himself back down, but there's no ignoring the way his eyes sting with the threat of tears.
(Fuck, he cannot cry. Not again. Not anymore. If a person could be a barren desert of tears, it should be him after all the sobbing he's done, and yet every time he cries there's more and more and more...)
Foggy's jaw works and he finds he can't do anything but look down at the foamy froth slowly diminishing on top of his beer. Can't bring himself to meet Daisy's eyes and feels like a fucking coward for it. ]
The officials are saying "missing and presumed dead."
[ He can barely make it through, a hitch finding its way in before he can complete the thought.
(Foggy had given Matt the Daredevil suit. He'd signed and sealed the death certificate and buried his best friend and this is his penance. He's not a religious man, but somehow he thinks Matt would both approve as a devout Catholic and disapprove as a conscientious best friend who understands that life's more complicated than just deciding you're at fault.)
A muttered apology comes next as he tries to gather the same strength he'd used for years to get through countless horrible cases and terrible situations. ]
I-I didn't think it was right to say so over e-mail.
no subject
It takes a few moments for it to really sink in, Daisy's gaze slowly falling to the tabletop with its worn scuffs marring the clean surface. Her fingers itch to find a trio of sugar packets, but this isn't that kind of place — she'll find no anchor here as she struggles to hold on in this storm. Warring emotions threaten to pull her under, drowning her with their surging strength. She pulls in a shallow breath, two, three, and then forces them to be slower, deeper. Relying on her training is all she can do to keep it together. ]
It was his night work, wasn't it? [ The fight's gone out of her, the words falling flatly between them as she uses a careful phrase meant to hide the true nature of their discussion from the barman approaching with their drinks. ] Something happened while he was out there.
[ And she wasn't here to help him. She wasn't here to save him. ]
no subject
She processes, and he watches. It feels sick, and yet he can't look away. It never fails to surprise him how little Matt understood his worth to those around him. That he could never bring himself to admit the people who loved him and cared for him and worried about him were exactly the people he needed the most. The people he could trust.
Not Stick. Not Elektra. And sure as hell not God. ]
Yeah.
[ Does he even need to confirm what Matt was doing? No, of course not. But for those who knew the real story, that's the important part. ]
Some idiot gave him everything he needed.
[ Foggy takes the fresh beer and nods in thanks with a tight smile, staying silent until they're alone again. ]
On the bright side, the same idiot is buying drinks tonight. So, fair warning: after this I am going to do my best to get black-out wasted on that asshole's dime. You're welcome to join me.
no subject
[ She lifts her drink to her lips and takes a long pull on it, downing nearly half in one go. It's not nearly strong enough to temper the grief roiling inside her, but it'll help dull the edge in a few minutes. That'll have to do for now.
This feels different than so many of the other losses in her life. She'd been there for those and was able to pinpoint the moments where things had gone wrong, where she could have done something differently to save the life of the person she loved. But that's the survivor's guilt talking, not the rational woman who has done enough healing to recognize when it's her complex PTSD talking. She wasn't there for this one, though, and if he's still missing... ]
Where did it happen? [ Pressing a hand to the table beside her glass, she traces one of those scuff marks with her fingertips before looking up at him. ] I don't need details; I can figure it out on my own. But if he's missing, I want to find him and bring him home.
[ Her voice shakes slightly on that last word. Home. The Kitchen had been Matt's home his whole life; she'd left and found a new one. The least she could do for her old friend is to make sure he finds his final resting place. She can't remember most of the things the nuns had tried to drill into them all those years ago, but she does remember that part being kind of important. ]
no subject
Problem being, what Matt wants and what Matt does differs. Could he be out there hiding in shadows, licking his wounds, maybe brained by a rock and struggling with amnesia? Sure. But in so many instances, the simplest answer also happens to be the right answer.
If Matt were alive, he'd come to Foggy. How could he not? The hurt otherwise feels too heavy and already Foggy's too exhausted to carry what little he has now.
He debates not telling her. She'll find out on her own, but if he doesn't say anything, he can't really be responsible when she's inevitably hurt and right back in the same place, right?
If only it worked that way. Instead, he's poised to do the most for people. ]
Midland Circle.
[ Much like Daisy, he abuses that beer, sucking it down almost as impressively. He only holds back because he's already a functioning alcoholic and doesn't want to add to the image of being nothing but pieces held together by hardly anything at all. ]
no subject
Thanks. [ It's soft, hardly more than a breath itself as she pulls her cell phone from her jacket pocket. Typing with the speed of a true millennial, she taps out a message to the director, a man who had once been her partner and is still like a big brother to her. He'll request an explanation later, but for now, if she asks, he'll do whatever he can to make it happen.
we need to take over recovery at midland circle
Setting the phone down face-up on the table, she hopes it won't take long for Mack to answer. He is the director of the world's leading spy agency, even if they do keep having their forces decimated by one alien attack after another, but given their history—
Her phone buzzes, and the reply pops up. I'll make the arrangements. ]
Okay. [ She's talking to herself mostly, nodding in self-confirmation that she's going to be able to do something for one of her oldest friends. Looking back up at Foggy, she picks up her drink again, ready to finish off the rest of it. ]
SHIELD will start looking tomorrow. We'll find him if he's down there.
no subject
She gives him the news and Foggy reaches up to rub at his face tiredly. He wants to protest because what's the use? There's no flare of hope that they might discover Matt living like a rat in some dark space, and at this point if there's a body to bury Foggy isn't sure he wants to see it.
But what can he do? Matt wasn't only his friend. People react as they need to and who is he to squash any potential hope, even in just closing a chapter that may otherwise be unfinished. ]
Okay.
[ He should be grateful and enthusiastic, but he's just... wrecked. Numb. Tired. Slightly drunk but not nearly enough and not close to drunkest he's been. Might as well go all-out, right? The glass is lifted and he gestures for service. ]
Another? Two-at-a-time's the limit.