Work Text:
“You know I’m blind, right?”
“Just throw it towards my voice!”
Foggy, Karen, and Matt were in Central Park. It was a beautiful day in Manhattan – the sun was out, it was warm but not too hot, and there were big puffy clouds slowly making their way across a pale blue sky. New Yorkers seized the opportunity on these rare, gorgeous spring days to venture outdoors. There were couples out with their dogs and kids playing with bubble wands and picnic blankets spread out over the grass and buskers filling the air with their music.
With some convincing (read: heavy begging with some mild threats of doing something drastic if he had to stay one more second in their depressing office), Foggy convinced the others to close up early and spend some time outdoors themselves. Karen was basically translucent, she was so pale and Matt looked like he needed a break from researching precedents for a tough case they were working on. They needed some fun in the sun, Foggy concluded.
And besides, he really wanted to get the office baseball team started.
So, he took his ball and his bat with him to the Park and they spread out one of Karen’s extra flannel blankets and ate hot dogs from a cart that sat at one of the many entrances.
“Don’t throw it too far to the right,” Karen directed, her mitt making a visor for her eyes as she stood about ten feet behind Matt. “There’s kids over there.”
Matt was wearing jeans and a t-shirt that was pulled tight over his luscious pecs. Foggy really had to keep himself from getting distracted by the bounce as he readied his Louisville slugger, fixing his grip and widening his stance.
Matt gave a lazy toss to the ball, throwing it slow and easy in a big arc. Foggy hit it no problem from his years playing little league as a child. Karen moved to catch it with her mitt with a thwop!
“Did I make it?” Matt asked with a big grin.
Foggy just rolled his eyes.
Karen approached to stand next to Matt, she gave Matt a mischievous smile and then looked at Foggy. “You know I played nine years of softball?”
“What position?” Matt asked.
“Pitcher.” Her smile grew wider.
Matt stepped to the side, motioning for Karen to take his place. Karen rolled out her shoulder a couple of times and then did a couple of fast full rotations of her arm, her face pinched with determination.
Foggy gulped.
“Can you handle a fast one?” She asked.
“Uh,” Foggy stammered. “Yeah, sure?”
She readied her stance and then in a second she had rounded her arm in a full 360 degree circle and snapped the ball at such a fast speed, Foggy only had just enough time to tell himself to swing. Miraculously, he hit the ball with a crack! and sent it flying into a neat arc right back into Karen’s gloved hand.
“You’re out!” She yelled.
Foggy put the bat down. “Matt should–,”
He didn’t get to finish his sentence because something bit him . A sharp, burning sensation erupted from his forearm and he gasped and jerked in surprise of the pain. “Ah, fuck!” He whipped his arm in front of his face to see what the fuck was going on and he realized he hadn’t been bit. He had been stung . A bee was dragging its front half across Foggy’s forearm, leaving behind a yellow, gooey stinger right below his elbow. On reflex he flicked the bee off and then tried to rub out the pain. “Shit!” It burned . Like being poked with a needle that was on fire.
“Are you okay?” Matt asked as he walked towards him, Karen not far behind.
“I got stung by a bee,” Foggy lamented, his arm throbbing now. He tried to rub the sharp pain from his skin again.
“Don’t rub it!” Karen said. “You’ll embed the stinger. Here, let me see,” she held out a hand for his arm.
With her long fingernails, Karen pulled out the black stinger which hurt just as much as being stung and Foggy muttered a string of curse words as he watched her shake it from her hand. He pressed a palm over the sting site, trying to apply pressure to the hot bump that was now forming.
“How did you get stung by a bee?” Matt asked.
“I don’t know,” Foggy said, “I didn’t feel him on me I guess.”
Matt’s eyebrows quirked.
“God, they hurt ,” Foggy complained loudly. “Do all bee stings feel this way?”
“Have you not been stung by a bee before?” Karen asked, her eyes wide with incredulity.
Foggy shot her a look. “Where would I have the ability to get stung by a bee? I grew up in Hell’s Kitchen. My backyard was a Thai place dumpster. We didn’t exactly have yards to play in.”
Karen laughed. “I can’t believe this is your first bee sting. That’s cute.”
“I think I need some ice,” Foggy said, his hand still covering his arm.
“I have some from my drink you can have,” Matt volunteered.
They went back to Karen’s picnic blanket and Foggy pressed the side of Matt’s forgotten plastic lemonade cup to the sting. The coolness helped the burning, which was throbbing through his whole arm now. Matt took the cup from Foggy and dutifully rolled it over Foggy arm.
Foggy sighed. “It would be my luck that I get stung by the only bee in Manhattan.”
“They’re probably attracted to your sweet scent,” Matt said, his eyes crinkling with his smile behind his scarlet sunglasses.
“I smell sweet?” Foggy asked. He didn’t know that.
Matt deeply inhaled. “Mhm,” he hummed. “Floral and a bit like eucalyptus from your conditioner. And your coffee you had this morning was sweet.”
“I did–,”
But, suddenly Foggy’s body went hot . He remembered when his aunts would describe their menopausal heat flashes – sudden and suffocating and like he was standing in the middle of the Arizona desert where the sun punches the air out of your lungs.
“Foggy,” Matt’s hand came up, but not touching yet. “Are you okay?”
And then things started to get a bit weird. His mouth itched, for one. Kiwi fruit made his mouth itch too, but this felt like he took a long drink of itching powder. He was getting dizzy. He scraped teeth over dry lips, feeling them swelling. Goosebumps were blooming over his skin – hard and prickly like the braille that Matt would punch into heavy weight paper with his brailler.
“Guys,” he stepped back onto the blanket, getting dirt on it with his shoe. “I think…I think…” The dizziness and the goosebumps were causing his body to send a nauseating chill down his spine. It settled around his middle and twisted violently. He was flashing hot then cold then hot then cold. He felt like he was going to throw up.
“Foggy?” Karen sounded worried. “What’s wrong?”
“I think I might be allergic to bees,” he admitted before he let his legs collapse from underneath himself.
Matt moved to catch Foggy, but was too slow. He dropped to his knees in front of his boyfriend. He discarded the cup to the side and gripped Foggy’s face. “Fog,” he said, trying to keep the anxiety out of his voice. Foggy was just fine a minute ago. What was happening? “can you tell us what’s going on?”
Foggy’s hand went to his chest and he groaned and rubbed at his own sternum. “I’m hot,” Foggy complained. “Cold. Hot. My mouth and throat are on fire. Like, a ghost chili wing competition from hell.”
He was still joking. That was good. This wasn’t a true emergency yet. Matt’s body eased out some of the tension it was holding.
However, it didn’t ease the guilt that was consuming Matt whole. Bees were so loud . How did he miss one buzzing around Foggy?
“I’m calling nine-one-one right now, Foggy,” Karen said.
Matt tried to keep the mood light as he rubbed up and down Foggy’s arms that were starting to bloom with hives and listened to Karen describe where they were in the Park to the 911 operator. “Like that one time in law school you ate a whole tablespoon of wasabi on a cracker on a dare?”
“Yes,” Foggy groaned again, “you’re still an asshole for that by the way.”
“I know,” Matt chuckled tightly at him.
Foggy groaned again and then sounded like he choked on his own spit, erupting shortly after into a coughing fit. Matt groped next to him for the abandoned lemonade cup that had about an inch’s worth of melted ice on the bottom. “Drink something, Foggy.” He offer it to him.
“I–,” Foggy struggled to regain composure. His hand went to his diaphragm as his coughs grew hoarse. “I–,”
“Foggy,” Matt was listening to Foggy’s heartbeat grow fast and his breaths go wheezy. His senses started to tunnel around him like he was about to enter a fight, but this struggle wasn’t one he could punch and kick to make better. He was helpless. Completely helpless.
“I can’t breathe,” Foggy gasped, his hands going to his throat where he scratched at an invisible garrote around his neck. “My throat–,”
Matt was so focused on Foggy, he missed Karen had rejoined them. “Shit. Maybe I can find a doctor in the Park? Or an epi-pen?”
Matt ignored her. “Foggy, baby,” Matt cupped Foggy’s face again feeling inadequate as he just sat by while Foggy struggled. He should’ve done something to prevent this. He should've – “Can you try inhaling through your nose?”
“Excuse me!” Karen dashed off after someone. “Would you happen to have an epi-pen?”
Foggy fought for breaths and they were getting shallower and shallower as Foggy approached hyperventilation. They were wheezy too – whatever little air Foggy was getting, it was ineffective.
Matt pulled out his cell phone with one hand while he kept the other on Foggy’s hot face. Emergency services were on their way, but who knows how long it would take for an ambulance to get to them? He activated Siri and told it to call Claire and then pinched the phone between his shoulder and his ear.
“Hello?” She answered. She sounded out of breath, like she was walking briskly somewhere. He heard a cab horn and deduced she was on the sidewalk.
“Claire, I need your help,” He said without any preamble.
“Are you Daredeviling during the day now?” Claire groaned. “Don’t you have bills to pay?”
“It’s not for me,” Matt moved his hand from Foggy’s face to grip his fingers. His breathing was still labored and his heart was pounding, but it didn’t seem like he was losing consciousness or anything. Yet. “It’s for Foggy. He’s having a severe allergic reaction. We called nine-one-one, but we're in Central Park. I’m not sure how fast they’ll–,”
“Does he have an epi-pen?” She cut him off.
“No,” Matt said, “he didn’t know he was allergic to bees before he got stung by one.”
Claire made a noise of frustration. “Okay,” she said, “where are you?”
Matt described what part of the Park they were in. Luckily, they didn’t wander too deep in, choosing to keep to a populated field near a major intersection and the hot dog cart. Hopefully, that’ll make it easier for Emergency Services and Claire to find them.
“Okay,” Claire said, “I’m five minutes away.” She hung up.
Matt re-centered his attention on Foggy, who wasn’t trying to joke anymore. By the tightness in Foggy’s posture, Matt assumed he was too focused on inhaling air past his swelling throat. Karen came back, skidding on her knees across the grass.
“How is he?” Karen asked, her hand finding Foggy's shoulder.
“His throat’s closing,” Matt said, “I called Claire,” Matt said, rubbing Foggy’s hand. It was the only thing he could think to do. “She’s on her way to help.”
Foggy threw a weak thumbs up and tried to clear his throat. His skin was bumpy with hives and he was flushing hot in the face. He hunched over, propping himself with his hands on the grass as he struggled in wheezy breaths. Matt shifted to sit back on his heels so he could rub between Foggy’s shoulder blades. He hated that he couldn’t help. That there was nothing he could do to help.
He should've been more careful. He should've prevented this.
“Just focus on breathing.” Karen rubbed his shoulder.
“Easy,” he wheezed, “for you,” wheeze, “to say,” wheeze. He coughed.
“Fogs, baby,” Matt said, not hiding the panic in his voice anymore as he sensed Foggy's elbows start to give. Foggy’s heart was beating fast . Too fast. And Matt anguished over what to do. He wished Claire would hurry up and get here. “Lay down, okay? Lay down.”
Foggy did as he was told, falling sideways until his forehead touched the grass. Matt rubbed his hand. He was too hot and his heart was beating too fast and his breathing was too shallow. Matt started praying because he didn’t know what else to do. He’s never seen Foggy in a medical emergency like this before. He was terrified.
“His eyes!” Karen moved to sit up. She grabbed Foggy's shoulder. “Foggy, stay with us, okay?”
“What’s going on?” Matt strangled out. He could still hear Foggy’s heart beat fast and hard, but he wasn’t sure what was going on with Foggy’s face. He couldn’t tell if Foggy was unconscious. His breathing was just getting shallower and shallower as he lost the fight for air.
“They’re rolling,” Karen just said, breathless with her own worry. “He’s not getting enough air.”
“Baby, please ,” Matt pleaded, shaking him. He never felt so useless before. “Please breathe .”
How could he let this happen?
Matt heard a familiar heartbeat enter the cone of his narrowed senses. He perked up to Claire running across the grass, hitting him with the smell of coconut oil and sterile medical latex. She skidded on her knees like Karen did early, probably getting grass stains on her scrubs.
Her posture was stiff and urgent. “Be happy I’m allergic to seafood,” she just said as a greeting. Matt didn’t say anything back.
She rolled Foggy over onto his back. Matt angled away to give her room, but couldn’t loosen the vice grip he had around Foggy’s hand. She pressed two fingers to Foggy’s neck, on top of his carotid artery for a second before pulling out and epi-pen from her front scrub pocket.
She bit the safety cap off and spat it to the side. With a quick, confident motion, she stabbed Foggy in the thigh through his shorts. “One, two, three,” she counted slowly and then pulled the epi-pen away. She rubbed his thigh with her palm.
“How long–,” Karen started.
But, Matt’s blonde friend didn’t get a chance to finish her sentence. An ambulance siren cut her off, signaling their arrival. Claire glanced back for just a second to watch EMTs pour out of the cab and the back. She turned back to Foggy.
Kenickie looked like he was having a very bad day. He was laying on the grass, his eyes fluttering as he probably fought for consciousness. His breathing was still wheezy and fast, but it sounded like that was slowing down now thanks to the epi-pen. He was flushed and splotched with big patches of hives. He’ll be red for awhile, Claire was sure.
“You’re alright. Ambulance is here.” Matt spoke comfortingly from where he sat on his knees next to him. He carded his fingers through Foggy’s ‘90s heartthrob haircut. Claire couldn’t help but pause to watch, feeling something stir inside of her at the sight of Matt being, well, loving . Well, she knew he was loving. He loved hard and almost brutally. But, this wasn’t just love . This was devotion. It made a sour realization pop into Claire’s head.
Matt was always capable of devotion. Just not with her. Apparently.
Claire was snapped out of her eavesdropping on a nice moment between boyfriends when the EMTs swarmed around them with a foldable gurney and bags of supplies. Claire quickly pushed her personal feelings aside and got to work informing the EMTs what she did and observed. They got details from Matt on when the bee sting happened and Foggy’s symptoms.
An oxygen mask was placed over Foggy’s face and he was moved to a gurney.
“Take him to Metro General,” Claire ordered as she, the blonde, and Matt stood up with the EMTs. They walked Foggy to the back of the ambulance. Matt’s hands were still tied with Foggy’s and Foggy’s eyes were open now, but still they were rolling around in his skull. “I work there in the ER. I can meet you there.”
“Got it,” The EMT said as she closed the doors on them. Then the ambulance lights went on and they pulled into traffic.
“I’ll get a cab,” the blonde (what was her name again?) volunteered, stepping to the side to flag one down.
That left Matt and Claire alone on the sidewalk together. Claire finally computed what Matt was wearing – a pair of jeans, a pair of off-brand sneakers, and a soft, gray t-shirt. He had his glasses on too, so that wasn’t out of the ordinary, but everything else about his outfit just felt so out of place for Matt Murdock. Or at least, the version of Matt Murdock Claire was familiar with.
“You guys go ahead,” the blonde (why couldn't Claire remember her name?) said once a cab pulled up. “I’ll grab our stuff from the lawn and meet you guys there.”
“Thank you, Karen,” Matt said gratefully. (Karen was her name. That’s right.)
Claire slid in first, clutching her large bag tightly to her chest and then Matt slid in. He shut the door before Claire told the driver Metro General and to hurry. He squealed down eighth avenue.
“Shit,” Matt cursed in a whisper, his fingers fidgeting on his jeans.
“What?”
“I forgot my cane,” he sounded pained.
“Karen will bring it with her, right?” What would she do with Matt’s cane? It’s not like they were disposable.
“Right,” he said, and then turned his head. “But, I can’t…” his gestured to finish his sentence.
Oh, right. This Matt Murdock – the one who wears Levis and double-knotted his shoes with bunny ears – actually needed things like that in his day-to-day life. Unlike his nighttime persona of dressing like the devil and beating up bad guys with his insane superpowers that let him smell cologne from floors below him. Claire grimaced. All of this felt so weird. Like, she was trespassing in a part of Matt’s life she wasn’t allowed to be a part of.
But, it was him who called her . In a panic. For his boyfriend.
Her life read like a cheap sci-fi novel.
They made it to Metro General’s ER doors and Claire made it a point to wait for Matt so he could grab her elbow and she could lead him in. She guided him past check-in, straight to the double doors that whooshed open loudly on their hydraulics hinges when she buzzed herself in with her badge. Claire glanced up at Matt’s face as she arced past the nurse’s station into the main ER corral. He looked like he was unsure what to do with his other hand, so it hovered midair like he was expecting Claire to walk him into a wall. His eyebrows were pinched above his glasses with worry and what she assumed was self-blame to a degree. At least that look was familiar.
Matt found Foggy first. “Foggy,” he detached from Claire, moving quickly to Foggy’s bed on the right side of the room, deftly missing a nurse heading the opposite direction. Claire looked around to make sure no one noticed that. They didn’t. Everyone was too absorbed by their own patients to care about them.
“Hey, Matty,” Foggy was holding the oxygen mask to his face as he reclined on the stretcher he’d been moved to. He was still covered in pink blotches, but he didn’t look as swollen in the face anymore. He didn’t look like his lips were about to turn blue from lack of oxygen anymore. Improvements all around. Modern medicine was great.
“Are you okay?” Matt asked once he was at Foggy’s side.
“Yeah, yeah,” Foggy said, “The epi-pen did its job.”
“I’m sorry this happened,” Matt shook his head. “I usually hear bees. I’m not sure why I didn’t hear that one.”
“It was a busy park,” Foggy shrugged and took his hand. “Don’t blame yourself, alright? It’s not your fault.”
Matt pushed Foggy’s hair out of his eyes again and kissed his forehead. Claire shouldn’t be watching. She shouldn’t. This was an intimate moment. Why was she watching?
“You scared me,” Matt admitted in a low, gentle tone that knocked Claire off-balance. This was the man that tortured a Russian human trafficker on a roof and then threw the guy in a dumpster.
“That’s a first for Matt Murdock,” Foggy chuckled back. “I’ve been trying to spook you for years. Who knew all it took was to go into anaphylactic shock? If I knew that, I would’ve stuck my hand in a beehive years ago.”
Matt huffed, clearly uncomfortable with Foggy’s morbid jokes. “Foggy,” he rolled his eyes. “This is serious.”
“Eh,” Foggy shrugged. “I would argue that’s speculation.” Foggy kissed his knuckles and was silent for a moment. "I'm sorry for scaring you, Darling," he said in an equally gentle tone.
“Hey, Foggy,” Karen brushed past Claire to approach Foggy’s bed, holding Matt’s folded cane in one hand and her blanket with the other. “How are you feeling?”
Foggy squinted, his fingers now laced with Matt’s. “I don’t have cool super bee powers yet, so mostly I'm just disappointed.”
That also made Karen roll her eyes. “So, you’re fine then?” She handed Matt his cane, who unfolded it and then tapped it against the floor.
“Yeah, they’re just holding me for a bit to make sure I don’t go into sudden cardiac arrest or develop cool super bee powers or whatever.”
Claire took that cue to leave. She had to get ready for her shift anyway. She hitched her bag higher on her shoulder and turned to head towards the locker rooms. She was past the nurses’ station when she heard her name.
“Claire?”
Claire turned around to Matt, who was now holding his cane in front of him like a Roman long shield. It was still weird to see Matt Murdock in street clothes that one would wear to go grocery shopping in. Did Daredevil grocery shop? Did he prefer Trader Joe’s or Westside Market?
But, Claire also noticed all the little details she had taken stock of when she had met him – old scars in his hairline and the dimple in his chin and his tired but sweet smile. Those details were still the Matt Murdock she knew. Those details were what kept her heart flip-flopping in her chest over him.
“I’m glad Kenickie is okay,” she offered quietly.
“Kenickie?” His eyebrows furrowed.
“Foggy,” she corrected.
He nodded. “Thanks for helping. I-I know that you’re not obliged–,”
She waved him off. “I was in the area anyway and I always carry an epi-pen,” she explained quickly. “It was no big deal.”
“I know,” Matt said, his eyebrows furrowing. “Still. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She motioned, posturing herself in a casual way as to not make it seem like she desperately did not want to ask this next question but was going to anyway. And she called him the masochist. “So, you guys…are pretty serious?”
She knew that already. She knew that when all Matt could talk about was Foggy after showing up wounded at her apartment. She knew that when Foggy came in asking to learn how to suture wounds for Matt.
Matt’s mouth rolled into an ‘o’. “Yeah,” he nodded and shifted on his feet. “Yeah. We are.”
“I’m happy for you,” she said genuinely. Because she was. Lord knows Matt needed someone in his corner with him. And Foggy really seemed like a great guy. “You seem good together.”
“We are,” he nodded again.
“That’s great.”
And then it just hung there in the air - everything she wanted to ask about them but couldn’t. Which sucked because what was Matt doing? What was she doing? Matt should be back with his boyfriend, cracking jokes over bee powers and making sure he was getting plenty of oxygen and rest. He should be out enjoying the weather with his loved ones. He shouldn’t be here dancing this awkward verbal tango with her.
She had broken it off with him . Not the other way around.
“Claire,” Matt cleared his voice. “Claire, I’m gay,” he basically whispered. If they were standing so close in this, she would’ve missed it amongst the noises of the ER.
Oh.
Well.
That changes things, doesn’t it?
She felt herself take a couple of blinks as she was thrown off-balance again. If Matt was gay, then that meant…that meant Matt wouldn't have – or well, couldn’t have – loved her. He didn’t – or well, couldn’t – love women in general.
A bubble popped inside of Claire that she didn’t realize had been there. She felt the tension release in a wave down her back and she almost sighed audibly over the clarity of it all. Matt didn’t withhold anything from her. At least, not voluntarily. She can close that book with a final ending.
Thank Christ.
“I only really came to terms with it a little bit ago,” he explained when Claire didn’t say anything. “I am sorry for how things worked out between us. I’m sorry I keep imposing–,”
“Listen,” she waved him off again. “I wouldn’t help if I didn’t want to,” she assured quickly. “You’re still my friend and I still believe in what you do out there. I’ll make good on my promise to patch you up.” She winced. “Maybe just carry an epi-pen from now on. You know, just in case.”
Matt visibly relaxed. He loosened the grip of his cane so he wasn’t white-knuckling it anymore and shifted on his feet. His shoe tread squeaked on the tile.
“I’m happy you have Foggy,” she said sincerely.
He smiled. “Me too.”
“I should get ready for my shift,” she said, “see you around, Mike.” She started to turn.
“Claire?” Matt said, stopping her again. “I know Foggy will want to thank you himself for saving him.”
“That’s not really necessary.”
“Please?” Matt asked. “I know…I know he considers you a friend too.”
Claire huffed a small sigh. “Well if it’s for a friend,” she nodded and smiled. “I guess I can do that.”
“Oh, hey,” Foggy brightened when he watched Claire enter the big emergency room with Matt trailing behind her. “It’s Hottie McBurnerphone!”
“What did you just call me?” Her eyebrows shot up in challenge as she sidled to his bedside.
“Nothing,” Foggy shook his head quickly. “Don’t mind me. I’m pretty sure I’m still under-oxygenated.” He picked up his oxygen mask he had abandoned on his lap and took a big breath of the metallic-smelling air for good measure.
“Uh-huh,” she crossed her arms. “That’s what I thought.”
He dropped the mask on his lap. “Thanks, Claire,” he nodded. “For being there for me.”
“You’re very welcome,” she said.
His eyes drifted past her to Matt, who was curling his fingers around his cane at the end of Foggy’s stretcher. An ache of affection he got sometimes in his chest over Matt was there. It left him winded and breathless like he had been earlier, but in a good way. Always in a good way. “Thank you in general,” he whispered, hoping she knew how important she was to him. To them .
“I’m glad you’re okay, Kenickie,” she said and patted his shoulder. “Get an epi-pen,” she wagged a finger in his face. He wondered for a second if she was this firm with Matt after all his Daredevil wounds.
He sighed. “I will. I promise.”
“I have to get to my shift now,” she said, “so I’m going to go. Take care of yourself.” She started to turn.
A thought suddenly occurred to Foggy. “Wait. Claire!”
Claire turned around, her face expectant.
“Do you want to join a baseball team?”