Chapter Text
The winter has been unseasonably warm this year, so it’s not until a few days before Christmas that Hell’s Kitchen sees its first snowfall. The roads slush up with cinders and salt, and people hum a bit more joyfully when they walk.
Matt is glad for the change. Warm weather means more crimes. Outside mobility is easier when there’s no snow or ice on the ground, leading to an increase in the number of both criminals and potential victims on the streets. With the cold comes a happy respite in criminal activity. After all, kidnappers and drug dealers hate the chill just as much as the average person.
He’s thinking about calling it an early night. So far, the only crimes he’s had to apprehend were a couple of teenagers assaulting a homeless man and a roofied girl being dragged off by her would-be rapist. The Daredevil suit is stiff with the chill, and Matt needs to think about plans for armor that is more weather-appropriate.
He’s moving over the roofs of some mid-sized apartment buildings when he hears the sound of a gun being drawn.
Give us your purse, and we won’t hurt you or your daughter.
Matt quickly scales down the building’s fire escapes and lands between the muggers and their victims.
“Drop the gun, and step away,” he says, making sure to lower the pitch of his voice.
One of the men whispers, “Fuck.” His heartbeat is fast from the exhilaration of the robbery, now speeding up even more because of Daredevil’s presence. He’s holding the woman’s purse and paper shopping bag. Matt can smell heroin in his sweat, the mark of a junkie. It reminds Matt of the man who killed Elena. He increases the tension in his muscles.
The other man is still pointing the gun at the victims shielded behind Matt. Although his heart has also quickened, there is none of the visceral fear that is present in the addict. This man knows what he’s doing; he’s a career criminal, rather than a druggie in need of cash.
The gunman is the most important threat right now. Matt can only block so much, and the victims are still close enough to be in danger of a lucky hit. Matt quickly surveys the woman and kid, making sure that he didn’t miss any injuries from before his intervention.
His stomach clenches and he can feel the blood draining from his face. Those aren’t two, nameless victims behind him.
It’s Foggy’s mom and little sister.
Matt recognizes the scent of ink and sawdust that clings to Mrs. Nelson. Her knuckles are becoming cracked and raw from the cold, gloves still in the pocket of her jacket. Sarah is behind her. Her hair, as fine and long as Foggy’s, sticks to the snot on her face. Matt hears the steady drip of her tears falling onto her padded winter coat.
The Devil rises up through Matt’s body. He feels rage flowing through his veins, readying his muscles. He thinks of nine different ways that he can kill the men, right there in that alley. He wants to sink his fingers into their flesh, feel their blood warming the pavement. He wants them to suffer for the rest of their miserable, goddamn lives.
“Drop it, now,” he says.
Mrs. Nelson’s breath hitches, and Sarah starts to sob audibly.
“Fuck you,” the gunman says, and starts to tighten his finger on the trigger.
Matt lunges forward and snaps the wrist of the gunman’s dominant arm. The gunman shrieks in pain, and drops his weapon. Mrs. Nelson whips around and grabs the sleeve of Sarah’s coat, pulling them behind a dumpster. Matt takes the gunman by the neck and slams him against the concrete. A satisfying crack comes from the direction of the gunman’s skull.
The gunman isn’t knocked out, however. Struggling to breathe, he curls the unbroken wrist into his jacket and pulls out a knife from the inside lining of his jacket. Before Matt can stop him, he plunges the knife into Matt’s wrist. The suit deflects most of the damage, but the attack is forceful enough to make it through the weak spot at the seam of Matt’s glove and sleeve. The tip of the knife slips horizontally into the flesh of Matt’s wrist, causing him to break his hold on the gunman.
Matt squeezes his wrist, pressing against the pain. Blood seeps down the length of his arm, the flow uninterrupted by the fabric of his suit. The gunman scrambles to his feet. He is unsteady, still reeling from the loss of oxygen. His grip on the knife is loose.
Matt wills away the pain in his wrist. He needs to focus on keeping the gunman away from the gun, which still lies on the floor of the alley, not three feet away from their fight. The gunman is regaining strength with every breath he takes, pulling more oxygen back into his lungs. Matt needs to neutralize him as quickly as possible.
There’s a wooden pallet leaning against the alley wall. Matt slowly backs up, reaching out with his uninjured hand. The gunman notices his retreat and charges forward, knife leading the way. Matt grabs the pallet and swings it at the gunman’s legs. The wood hits both of the gunman’s knees with a loud crack, breaking the joints. The gunman goes down and drops his knife. Matt snatches it from the floor and jams it into the side of the pallet, making sure to sink the tip as far as possible into one of the vertical slabs. The gunman is still on the ground, cradling his broken kneecaps. Matt walks over and presses the gunman down with his foot, immobilizing him. He takes a second to breathe in the aroma of sweat and fear, then slams his fist down, knocking the gunman out cold.
Matt turns his attention back to the rest of the alley. Mrs. Nelson and her daughter are still there, cowering by the furthest corner of the dumpster. Sarah is still crying, but she’s able to pay attention to her mother’s constant stream of reassurances.
The druggie, however, is gone.
Matt silently curses. He’d been so focused on the gunman that he hadn’t noticed the druggie taking off. He tries to focus his senses, seeking out the addict’s stench and drug-warped heartbeat. He thinks he might be making out a match from two blocks away when his wrist gives a sharp pulse of pain. He hisses, clutching at his wound, but his concentration has already suffered the damage, and he loses the trail.
Swallowing against the pain, he makes his way to the other side of the dumpster. He knows exactly when the Nelsons spot him, because Sarah whimpers and Mrs. Nelson bends to protect her daughter. Matt remembers the last time he had seen these two, Mrs. Nelson worrying about him and Foggy after they quit Landman and Zack’s.
Now, however, all she sees is the Devil. Matt thinks her son would be proud of the shared familial response to this dangerous vigilante.
He slowly reaches out his hand to her, trying not to make himself look like more of a threat. “It’s ok,” he says. “They can’t hurt you now.”
Except for the escaped druggie, of course. Idiot.
Mrs. Nelson stays still for a few minutes, and then takes his hand. Her other arm is wrapped around Sarah, pressing the girl as close as possible into her side. Mrs. Nelson’s heart is still racing, but she’s steady on her feet.
“Thank you, Daredevil,” she says. Her voice shakes.
A quick survey of the alley reveals that her purse is gone. The shopping bag lies in a cold puddle, the clothes inside completely soaked through with muddy water.
“There’s a restaurant in the building to our left,” Matt says. “Go inside and use their phone to call the police. I’ll stay here and watch him until they come.”
She nods and makes her way out of the alley, sticking close to the brick wall. Matt listens as she enters the restaurant and tells the hostess what happened. A manager comes to escort her into the restaurant’s office, where she dials 911. Matt notes how she specifically asks for Brett; Foggy must have warned his parents about the number of corrupt cops after the whole Fisk scandal broke.
It takes the police about ten minutes to reach them. During that time, Mrs. Nelson calls her husband to tell him about the mugging. There’s the clinking of whiskey glasses and the rumble of men’s voices on the other side of the line. Mr. Nelson’s breathing hitches when he listens to his wife’s story, and Matt can hear him pacing around a kitchen as he talks.
The gunman doesn’t wake up at all during their wait. His heart pounds almost in sync with the throbbing in Matt’s wrist. When the police are only a block away, Matt pulls himself back up through the mess of fire escapes.
Brett is one of the officers in the responding unit. He stops to talk to Mrs. Nelson before joining the other three cops, one of whom is putting handcuffs on the gunman. After they’ve loaded the gunman into the back of a cruiser and bagged up the gun for evidence, Brett goes back inside to wait with Mrs. Nelson. He chats with her about his mom and their old neighbors.
He even gets Sarah to talk in between sips of the hot cocoa one of the waitresses had given her. Her voice is still hoarse, but she tells him about school and her upcoming plans for Winter Break. She’s much more comfortable with Brett, even after a trauma, than she has ever been with Matt.
Matt decides to go home after Mr. Nelson arrives and Brett offers to drive them all home in his cruiser. His wound is still bleeding sluggishly, and he doubts he’d be of much use to anyone at this point. Besides, Claire went out of town for the holidays, so he’ll need to get started on stitching himself up as soon as possible.
His apartment is an icebox. It’s not surprising; huge windows and high ceilings don’t exactly insulate a space well. Normally, he’s happy to brave the cold. The cold acts as a training mechanism, to get him used to hardship even when he’s sleeping on silk sheets. If anyone ever asks why his hands were so cold, like Foggy used to do during their internship, he just blames poor circulation.
Sometimes, however, he hates the biting chill.
After he rubs a special cleaning ointment into the suit to get out the blood, he carefully folds it and puts it back into the chest. Next, he pulls on a pair of sweats and heavy-duty socks.
From the back of his dresser, he unearths an old sweatshirt of Foggy’s. It’s soft and worn and still smells faintly like Foggy, instead of the metallic tang of blood that most of Matt’s comfort clothes seem to have taken on lately.
He grabs his first aid kit from the couch and takes it into the bathroom. Claire had given him some hospital-grade medical supplies for times when she was away or at work. There’s thread and a sterile needle in a sealed package. Matt works the thread through the eye of the needle, cleans his wound with an antiseptic wipe, and gets to work.
As Matt is cleaning up his supplies after tying a knot in the thread, he hears a muffled Foggy, Foggy, Foggy coming from the living room. His phone is buried under the sweatshirt, projecting a signal through the fabric. Matt pulls the sweatshirt on, wincing when the sleeve brushes his wrist, and answers his phone.
“Foggy,” he says, already knowing what the conversation is going to be about.
“Matt?” Foggy asks. He’s breathing heavier than usual. “You home?”
“Yeah,” Matt replies. He hears Peking Opera music and the heavy whir of machinery, which means Foggy is right outside the 24/7 Laundromat that’s a block away from Matt’s apartment.
“Listen, buddy, we need to talk,” Foggy says. “I’m coming over.”
“That’s fine,” Matt says.
About five minutes later, Matt hears a key scraping in his lock. After their reconciliation, Foggy had insisted on a spare key to Matt’s front door.
Foggy walks in and hangs his coat on the hooks by the door. His jeans scrape against his thighs as he moves.
“So, I just got off the phone with my dad,” he says, not bothering to sit down. “Apparently, my mom and Sarah were mugged tonight. They’re alright, but the thieves got her purse and some Christmas gifts.”
Matt flinches at the memory. What he wouldn’t give to have that stupid druggie in his hands right now. He wonders if he should put the suit back on and try to track him down.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
Foggy stops walking. “What?” he says, sounding confused. “What are you talking about? Why’re you sorry?”
Matt rubs his hands along his thighs, pinching at the fabric. “Your mom. She lost her purse because of me. Because I wasn’t able to catch the guy who stole it.”
“Matt, what the hell?” Foggy says. He quickly walks over to the couch and sits down next to Matt. The cushions sink under his weight, pulling Matt in towards Foggy. “Mom said Daredevil saved her, that he caught the guy who pointed a fucking gun at my little sister. Matt, you’re a hero.”
Blood rushes to Matt’s face. Foggy had leaned in as he spoke, and now he was practically face-to-face with Matt, warmth radiating into Matt’s space.
“But, your sister,” he says. “She was scared of me. I frightened her.”
Foggy sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. “Matt, Sarah is six. The public bus still scares her. Besides, she had just been Capital-M, ‘Mugged.’ You have to figure she’d be a little freaked out already, let alone when you add in some guy who apparently hasn’t realized Halloween was two months ago.”
Matt scratches his fingernail against the couch cushion. “But, still…” he says, even though he knows it’s already becoming a lost argument.
“No ‘buts,’ Matt!” Foggy says. “They were in trouble, you got them out of trouble. End of story.”
Matt hears him shift in his seat, chewing on his lip. “Now, I am going to give you a gratitude hug.” Matt opens his mouth to speak. “Nope, nope, nope. You can’t get yourself out of this one, buddy. I am going to give you a hug, because that is what friends do when one friend saves the life of the other friend’s loved ones. It’s written into the contract you signed when you became the official Best Friend, so you’re just going to have to suck it up.”
Matt smiles, ducking his head down. “Your accusations are false, counselor,” he says. “I didn’t sign any legal document, so your case is relying on fraudulent evidence.”
Foggy laughs. “I faked my way through half of our mock trials and still graduated Cum Laude,” he says. “I really don’t think a little questionable evidence is going to stop me.”
Matt chuckles and holds his arms out, showing his surrender. Foggy makes a little noise of triumph and pulls Matt in for a hug, arms soft, but firm. His hair brushes against the tip of Matt’s nose, irritating it. Matt carefully brings his own hands up to rest on Foggy’s back, mindful of his still-throbbing wound.
After a minute or two, Foggy pulls away. Matt feels the air cooling the areas where their bodies had been touching.
“Thank you,” Foggy says. His voice is a little raspy.
“No problem,” Matt says and licks his lips.
Foggy’s phone starts buzzing from his pockets. He leans back to take it out. “Hold on,” he says. “It’s Debbie. I should take this.”
Foggy stands up and walks over to the window. “Hey, what’s up?” he says.
Matt usually avoids listening in to other people’s conversations, especially when it’s a family matter, but this could be important. Foggy usually doesn’t use the phone to talk to his sister, mostly preferring text. Calls between the Nelson siblings are significant occurrences.
Did you hear what happened to mom?
“Yeah,” Foggy says, “Dad told me.”
So you know she got her purse stolen?
“Yeah, yeah,” Foggy says. “Why? Is there something more? Did something else happen?” He sounds more urgent now, voice rising with fear.
Her wallet was in her purse, with all of the credit cards in it.
“Uh huh?” Foggy says, then realization hits. “Shit!” he says, running his hand over his face. “Did you call the bank? What’d they say?”
Dad called and cancelled the debit card, but the bank said they won’t be able to send him a new one until after the new year. Dan’s helping him look up the info for the rest of the credit cards, but, so far, their answers have all been the same as the bank’s.
“Damnit,” Foggy says. Matt hears the shuffling of his shoes as he paces in front of the window. “Did they have anything done already? I know mom said things were tight with the shop this year, but maybe...” His voice trails off, pleadingly hopeful.
No. Mom had a few things bought, but a lot of that was for the rest of the family. She still doesn’t have most of Sarah’s things, and the ones that she did get are still on layaway. I tried calling the store, seeing if we could pay it off later, but they all said they have to have payment up front.
Foggy groans and starts to sink down against the wall. Matt quickly jumps up and grabs Foggy’s arm, leading him back to the couch. Foggy slumps against the back of the couch, shoulder pressing hard into Matt’s.
“Ok,” he says. “I’ve got some money in my checking account. We can use that to pay off some of the layaway.”
Dan and I are going to help with this month’s payment on the shop, but we just bought the house, so we don’t really have much either.
“Do you think we could ask Aunt Aggie or Uncle Joey for some money?” Foggy says.
You know how Mom is about asking for help. And, Aunt Aggie has enough to deal with since Uncle Sal’s heart attack. I think it’s best if we just keep this in the family. We’ll work something out. I can always ask for more hours at the store, and Dan said there’s a new job downtown that needs some extra guys to put up drywall.
“Ok,” Foggy says. “I’ll think of something on my end and let you know what I can do.”
Ok. I’ll talk to you soon. Love you.
“Love you, too,” Foggy says, and hangs up the phone.
Matt sits silently, wondering what he should do. He’s always known that the Nelsons weren’t the most well-off people in the world. After all, Foggy’s attendance at Columbia had been decided upon by the amount of financial aid he could get. However, he hadn’t heard the true extent of their current financial troubles.
He winces at the thought of Nelson & Murdock’s last case, which he had insisted on taking pro-bono.
“Given the current state of your face, I’m sure you heard most all of that,” Foggy says.
Matt leans forward. “If there’s anything I can do,” he says. He has a good amount of money, and he’s only had to buy presents for a small handful of people. He could certainly spare some cash.
“No, Matt,” Foggy says. “I’m not going to take your money.”
“It really wouldn’t be an issue,” Matt says.
“Matt, I said no!” Foggy says, and stands up. “I need to go sort some things out.” Matt starts to open his mouth. “Don’t even start.” He walks to the door and grabs his coat. “I’ll see you in the morning. Oh, and make sure your wrist doesn’t fall off, or something.”
The door shuts quietly behind him.
Matt spends the rest of the night thinking about the mugging and its aftermath. For an hour or two, he reaches out with his senses as far as he can go, seeking some clue into where the second mugger had gone.
He wonders if he should suit up again, go out and find the guy, but decides against it. Daredevil’s main territory is on the upper level of the city, where navigation relies more on his arms and hands than his legs. Unless he wants to do more harm to his injury, which Foggy would surely notice in the morning, he would have to go around Hell’s Kitchen on foot as Matt Murdock. Catering to his blindness, plus the mere fact that walking was much slower than leaping around, would make him slow and conspicuous.
No. Matt knows how he’s going to right this injustice. He’ll leave the police to question the gunman. Given the speed with which the addict abandoned his partner, Matt knows there’s no love lost between the two. If the gunman knows the other guy’s name, he’ll definitely use it to reduce his charges.
After checking his bank account online, Matt starts to make a list in his head. If he can pull this off, the Nelsons will have a very Merry Christmas, and Foggy will be none the wiser.