Chapter Text
6 Months Later
“C’mon, c’mon, vamanos, kid!” Foggy was frantically searching for Juan’s backpack, which always ended up in the weirdest of places. Matt was told it was Spider-man-themed, and he tried not to act offended. “What are you wearing? ¿Qué es eso?” (What’s that?)
“My clothes,” Juan said in halting, highly-accented English that was coming along right behind Foggy’s Spanish. “Dijiste que no íbamos a la iglesa hoy.” (You said no church today)
“You still have to be dressed,” Foggy said. “Trata de lucir bien para Claire. Vuelve a intentarlo. ¡Ve!” (You have to look good for Claire. Try again. Go!)
Juan spun around as Matt emerged from his room, still buttoning his dress shirt. “Do I look okay?”
“Buen intento.,” (Nice try) Matt said. He knew Juan was still in his pajamas. “Apúrate. Foggy no tendría que tener que vestirnos a ambos.” (Hurry up. Foggy shouldn’t have to dress us both)
“If you kept your ties straight I wouldn’t need to,” Foggy said. He was a little nervous – they both were – about leaving Juan with someone else for such a long period of time, even if it was just an especially long day trip, possibly an overnight. Details of the event were sketchy. But Juan liked Claire, who didn’t try to make him speak English, or do his school work, and was a good cook. By the time she arrived, Juan was dressed in his play clothes and wearing his backpack and Foggy had prepared a grocery bag full of juice packs and the healthy organic snack bars Matt thought Juan should eat and the candy they agreed was okay for weekends. This wasn’t Claire’s first time babysitting for them, it just the longest stretch, and their first trip out of town.
“Thanks for this,” Matt said, fingering his cane after she recovered from her enthusiastic greeting from Juan.
“Just don’t blow up DC, okay?” she said. “Or whatever it is you guys are doing down there.”
“I don’t think it’s going to be that exciting.”
“It better be something,” Foggy said. “I’m not spending four hours on a train with you if there isn’t some kind of magic weirdness at the end of it.”
“He’s kidding,” Matt assured Claire. “Or he’d better be.”
They didn’t have a real answer for her. All they had were separate invitations which arrived two weeks before, cordially inviting them to an initiation ceremony for the Order of the White Lotus. Discretion was required and formal attire was recommended. The location was a senior home just outside the border of Washington, and aside from the tickets they of course weren’t provided with any more information.
Matt picked Juan up and held him at eye level. It was getting harder to do. Juan’s prosthetic didn’t weigh a lot – it was plastic, and he was wearing the one with a hook at the end because it was the easiest to maneuver – but his body was shooting up at an alarming rate. “Tu papá tiene que ir a hablar con gente vieja en Washinton.” (Your dad has to go talk to some old people in Washington) Somehow he had slipped into being ‘your dad’ even though Foggy hadn’t. “Probalemente será muy aburrido.” (It’ll probably be pretty boring) Lie. “Así que diviértete con Claire, haz lo que te diga y nos veremos mañana.” (So have fun with Claire, and do what she says, and we’ll see you tomorrow) He kissed him on his cheek and set him down.
“Oíste lo que dijo, ,” (You heard what he said) Foggy told Juan, patting him on the head. Fortunately they had gotten past the ‘I want to come!’ stage several days before. “Be good. Si te portas mal vas a tener que comer lo que prepare Matt durante una semana.” (If you’re bad you have to eat Matt’s cooking for a week)
“No!”
“Hey,” Matt said, non-committal. “But yes. So behave!”
Juan made a face. Matt couldn’t quite make it out – he wasn’t great with expressions – but he could at least tell he was doing it, and that was enough.
The trip to DC was uneventful, especially thanks to Matt’s black market Canadian Zofran, which kept the worst of his nausea at bay. That and he now had plane rides to compare it to. It was Amtrak Acela, which was fairly smooth, but had nothing on Japan’s bullet trains. And it was still better than driving.
Natasha drove up to the pick-up line at the train station. Neither of them were surprised. “We have to make a stop. I’m not even a member yet and I’m already shuttling around the others. I don’t think this is a good precedent.”
“It’s better than Matt’s driving,” Foggy said as they got in. Matt didn’t contradict him. He wasn’t drunk enough to tell that story and was grateful when Natasha didn’t ask. “So where’s Captain America?”
“Considering how much information I get my hands on for people, you would think they would tell me more,” she said.
Their stop was the airport, where they retrieved an old man with a white goatee and an ugly sweater vest. “Dr. Pym,” Natasha said, opening the side door for him. “Scott’s not here?”
He rolled his eyes. “Yeah. No. Who knows what he’s up to?” He climbed into the front seat. “So. One ninja and one used car salesman.”
“We’re lawyers, actually,” Matt said, running a hand down his tie.
“Defense attorneys,” Foggy pointed out. “So like a step up from used car salesmen. And Matt’s just blind.”
“I still have yet to meet a blind person who isn’t a ninja,” Dr. Pym said. His first name was Hank. After the whole Ant-Man thing, Matt had googled him. He’d once been a member of SHIELD. That wasn’t a surprise.
“Far be it from me to tell you broaden your social horizon – “
“Eh.” Pym waved. “Look, I left my house. Give me credit for that.”
The meeting was not exactly in a clandestine location, though Matt supposed no one would be looking for a secret society in the cafeteria of an assisted living facility. It smelled exquisitely of aging bodies, the overuse of moisturizing creams and ointments, and occasionally, fouler things. Steve Rogers appeared to shoo away the staff who served the facility’s regular customers.
“Good to see you,” Stick said, somewhat sarcastically. “You smell like less of a mess than you usually are. And animal crackers.”
“I’ve developed a bit of a habit,” Matt said. “Where have you been?”
Stick shrugged. He was nursing at least one injury under his clothing. “Here and there. I didn’t knock the shit out of you too many times for you to remember this Hand asshole, right?” He gestured to Sota.
“Retired, remember?” Sota bowed to Matt and Foggy. “Welcome.” Even though it was clear that he didn’t live here.
The festivities started when Steve Rodgers wheeled in Peggy Carter, Grand Lotus of the Order of the White Lotus, who was wearing a nice jacket over her nightgown and a necklace of wooden beads with one large talisman with the lotus symbol on it. Natasha, who had guessed her identity from the address on her invite, explained on the way over that she might stumble over her words and they were to politely decline to notice it. Her dementia was obviously somewhat advanced. Matt could tell her hands had tremors and though she was introduced, she did not launch into a speech. The other members sat down on each side to form a council around her. “Hank. If you would.”
“Right, right.” Dr. Pym stood on her left side. “Welcome to the Order of the White Lotus. I didn’t do any of the pre-reading, so what are we doing here today?”
“New members,” Stick said.
“Hmm.” Pym looked the three of them over. They were seated on folding chairs opposite the table. “All right. Who’s nominating?”
“I nominated Matt Murdock,” Stick said, “Because he’s a little shit but he deserves it.”
“I second,” Sotah said. “Because – “
“I don’t really care,” Pym said. “Right, he’s committed to the path of truth and peace and all that bullshit. I can’t stand here all day. It’s gonna kill my back. Who’s next?”
“Natasha Romanov,” Steve said. “I nominate.”
“Inna’s seconding,” Stick said. “She can’t be here. She’s doing it from the Spirit World.”
“Fine.” It was hard to get Pym worked up about anything. He pointed to Foggy. “You. Guy in green.”
“That’s Franklin Nelson,” Sota said, “and I nominated him and invited him to the Spirit World.”
“And I second,” Steve Rogers said.
Foggy’s heart sped up as he whispered to himself, “Awesome.”
“Right. So – oh, wait.” Pym cough. “So, just before we do this, are any of you now, or have you ever been a member of Hydra?”
“No,” they said, and Stick affirmed that they were telling the truth.
“Are any of you members of any kind of Nazi death cult or Nazi-death-cult-like group that isn’t called Hydra, but is a lot like Hydra? We just need to cover our bases here.”
“No,” they repeated.
“Good,” he said. “Just so you know, if you are, and we find out about it, you will be spending your afterlife in the Fog of Lost Souls.”
“Yeah, with Alex Pierce,” Stick said with a mean chuckle.
“One guy! We let one guy in and we’ll never hear the end of it,” Pym said.
“No you won’t,” Steve said. “Is there anything else we say at these things?”
“It is a little more formal when Izo is here,” Peggy admitted. “Where is he?”
“Prison,” Pym said. “So – that’s it. You’re all members of the Order of the White Lotus. Come take your tiles.” He pulled out a little Ziploc bag and dumped them on the table. “And keep the order secret or we’ll do the fog thing. Also hurry it up. I’ve never been sober at a meeting for this long.”
*******************************
“ – so he crashed headfirst into Izo’s koi pond,” Pym said. “Nearly broke his head open. His cologne killed the fish. And they were like, the tenth generation of goldfish Izo had been caring for.” He took another swig of whiskey. “And that’s why Howard Stark never became a Grand Lotus.”
They were at the nearby bar. After shaking Peggy Carter’s hand, they were excused and she was sent back to her room, and the rest of them retreated to where alcohol was more readily available. Steve sat there politely with a beer, amused, as the other members got sloppy. “How come you never became a Grand Lotus?”
“Institutional speciesism against ants.”
“He punched a Grand Lotus in the face,” Stick explained. “I think that was my initiation.”
“No, it was in ‘Frisco,” Pym corrected him. “Right after the whole portal thing. It was me, you, Carter, Stark, and T’Chaka. Stark was whining about how he had a kid at home and he didn’t have any sleep and that’s why his power helmet got all turned around and he ran into a wall of the compound.”
“Ha! I think I also set him on fire.” Stick added, “Accidentally. I had firebending for maybe a week up to this I was so excited. I was a stupid kid.” He emptied another shot glass. “Not for setting anyone on fire, though. For other things.”
“I don’t know where Izo finds you guys,” Pym said, gesturing in the general direction of Stick and Matt. “But when I had to put in all of those ramps and handicapped spaces I said, ‘No, those fuckers are dangerous.’ And then Cross overrules me, which was probably for the best.”
“Yeah,” Foggy said. “Don’t want people suing you for not being ADA-compliant.”
“Whatever happened to him? Weren’t you going to make him Ant-Man?”
“He wanted to be. Made his own suit, blah blah blah, Hydra, blah blah blah, I think he got run over by a toy train. Or something.”
“This was when you broke the Avenger machinery, right?” Steve asked.
“Shrunk it. It imploded,” Pym explained. “It’s very hard to do. You should be impressed.”
“Yeah we’re all very impressed,” Natasha said. “Not that there isn’t anyone who doesn’t love breaking Stark’s stuff.” She rolled her eyes at Stick. “I’m glaring at you.”
“I can tell.”
“You owe me a trip to the Spirit World.”
“I owe you shit,” he said. “But if you want to see Inna, I’ll tell you where to find her. Sure as hell not going there myself.”
“No secrets between members?” Foggy asked.
“Too late to start that policy now,” Pym said.
Steve Rodgers couldn’t get drunk, but he didn’t need alcohol to break Foggy’s hamburger-eating record, which wasn’t technically fair, Foggy pointed out after almost throwing up in the alley near the train station. As this was the way White Lotus meetings general ended (Sota explained), no one was particularly surprised, and Matt and Foggy had a long way back to New York if they wanted to be there to pick up Juan before Claire needed to get to work.
“Having a kid,” Matt slurred. “Responsibilities. For at least the next ... ten years?”
“Trust me, you got your hands full for the rest of your fuckin’ life,” Stick said. “I haven’t gotten rid of you, have I?”
Matt held out his arms. “Gimme a hug.”
“We should make holding your liquor a requirement for new members.”
“You didn’t say n – Ow! Ow!” Matt yelped when Stick hit him in the shin with his cane, hard. “I deserved that.”
“Yeah you did.” Stick put a slightly-unsteady hand on his shoulder. “Take care of that kid. Don’t let him turn out like us.”
“Yeah,” Matt said. “That’s fair.”
“Matt, we have to make our train!” Foggy shouted. “If I stay here any longer I’m gonna vomit on an Avenger and I don’t know how many times I can do that before they get mad at me!” He let Natasha release him from her steadying grip. “How are you so sober?”
“I grew up in Russia. Vodka is cleaner than the water,” she said. “Are you going to make it home safe on the train?”
“Trainsick Matt is better than carsick Matt,” he assured her. “You didn’t bring a jet, did you?”
“It would have been conspicuous.”
“Have fun in, um, somewhere where it’s very cold,” Matt told her, trying to compose himself before they reached the tracks. The night air was helping. “Visit us when you get back? And I’m not just saying that because we need a second-string babysitter.”
“That’s most of the reason,” Foggy admitted.
Natasha straightened out Matt’s tie, which had come very loose. “Take care of yourself.”
“It’s hard to be too focused on myself,” Matt admitted, and grabbed Foggy before he almost tripped again. “Maybe that’s good.”
“All the same.” She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, and he grinned. He could guess Foggy’s expression.
He would pay for it on the train home, but it would be worth it. Most things in his life were.
The End