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pen-of-dunwall · 7 years

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Tales of the Heart, Ch. 15 - Now I Got My A’s and Z’s

by essie-essex

for citywatchoverseer

City Watch Guard

“He taught himself how to read.”

There oh... uh... once was a cat named Ollie who lived in a co-cozy ho-hose... hoss... a house, a cozy house, with his Mama, Papa, Bro-Bruh-Brother, and... Sister. But Ollie was no oh-or-di-na-ry cat. He was very c-curious and... oh-often got into tr... tr... trou-ble.

Un... One cold w-win-ter eh... ehven... even... e-ven-ing, it beg-an to s-snow...

...and s-snow, and snow, and SNOW. Haha.

“Oh, boy!” said Ollie. “My f-first w-win-ter!”

Ollie le-leapt on-to the... the, uh... the w-win-dow-sill, his eye-eyes fo-fol-low-ing the stra-strange white dots as they flo-a... flo-floated to the ground. He put his paws up to the cold gla-glass, rai... rais... rais-ing himself up on his two hi-hind legs to get a bet-better look. Brother and Sister played ou-out-side, thro-throwing hand... fuls of white po-po-pow-powder at each other, their ch... cheeek... cheeks and noses red and ro-round. Ollie's tail swis... swis-sh... swished with, oh boy, ex... exit... exit-me-excitement as he watched them.

“How I would love to play in the snow,” Ollie said, his eyes filled with de-des-desire. “I would buh... buh... bur... burr-ow under it oo... uh-until I found the per-fect spot, warm and dark.”

The cat til-tilt-tilted his head back, pee-king at the door. Papa sat in his big chair reading a book, and Ollie could hear Mama in the kit-kitchen.

Surely, they would not not-notice...

Ollie ju-jumped to the gro-ground and cro... croch... croached... no, crouched, he crouched low, ti-tip-tip-toe-ing his way to the front door where the ch-child-ren would be re... ret-returning at any mo-ment, and when they open-opened the door, he would spr... sprin... sprint out into the snow and bur-bury himself in it before they could catch him.

He heard fa-faint la... lau... log... log-ha... lag... la... laugh-laughter as the ch-children ne-nea-neared the door and his ears per... perk... perked as he heard moo... muh... muffleh... muffle... muffled sto-stomp-ing.

“Ready... Ready...” he said to himself. He dar-dared not move. It was almost time.

The door click-clicked as one of the children turned the dork-door-doorknob, the door crack-ing open a mom-moment later. Ollie star-star-ted to change-charge but stopped sud-den-ly as the cold breeze cau... caused his skin to shiv-shiver. The children enter-ed the house, brus-brushing white powder from their coats.

“The door will close soon,” Ollie said. “This is my last chance!”

He took a deep breath, cr-crouched low, and chan-charged outside.

I let my arm drop, still holdin' the open book between my fingers, and sigh.

When I got this book from the library, the lady told me that this was for kids, but Ollie the Cat's First Winter by T.J. Brownstone ain't no easy reader. I can feel myself gettin' tired, and my head kinda hurts.

I probably shouldn't be readin' durin' my shift, but it can get real borin' just standin' here waitin' for somethin' to happen. It's kinda rainy today, so the market ain't too crowded, so that means no fights over the last fresh fish to break up, no youngsters stealin' sweets to chase after, and no pretty ladies to holler at. Nope, nothin' to do but just stare at the sky... or read if you know how.

I hear laughter from in front of me and spot two boys in worn clothes whisperin' to each other. I guess the rain didn't keep everyone away. They stop, the larger one takin' a few steps towards me.

“Hey, aren't you reading Ollie the Cat?” The boy looks up at me with tight lips and somethin' that ain't just innocent curiosity hidden behind his eyes.

“Yeah, what about it?” I say, pullin' my shoulders back. “Shouldn't you kids be at home anyways?”

“It's a free city,” the boy says. “We're just walking home from school.”

“Yeah, well, keep walkin'. I gotta job to do,” I tell him.

“You didn't look like you were doing your job. You looked like you were reading an Ollie the Cat book.” The little brat smirks.

“Well, you kids just don't know any better. Now, scram.”

The boy snorts, his mouth tight and his face red. He looks back at the other, who has the same expression on his face, like he thinks somethin's funny.

“That's a kids' book,” the boy says. “Like for babies. I read all the Ollie the Cat books when I was nine.” He turns to look at his friend behind him, who giggles.

“Yeah,” says the smaller boy. “Me too. Isn't that the one where Ollie goes outside in the winter and freezes--”

“Hey!” I scream. “Don't give it away! I ain't read the whole thing yet!”

The boys jump at the sound of my voice, but pretty soon they ain't scared no more and start laughin'.

“Wow, City Watch Guards really are dumb!” The taller boy says. His little friend giggles along with him, but I'm about done with their shit.

I draw my sword and lunge towards 'em, like I'm about to attack.

“Yeah, keep laughin' when you're in damn pieces on the ground!”

The boys scream, scurryin' away like rats, and I watch until they're out of sight, takin' a deep breath to calm myself.

“It's okay, Murray,” I say. “They're just a bunch of spoiled kids.”

That's right. They're a bunch of spoiled schoolboys. Not everyone had the money to go to school when they was kids.

I grew up during the Morley Insurrection, when spyin' on your neighbor, makin' sure they wasn't helpin' the Morlish (or the “Morleyans” as we was s'posed to call 'em, just to piss 'em off), or that, stars forbid, they was Minnows themselves, was much more important than goin' to school or doin' any kinda work that wasn't helpin' the Empire win against the rebels.

There was plenty of jobs with the war on, and the factory fatcats was glad to get their hands on any children, so they could work 'em hard. An eighteen-hour workday, each and every day, is what I remember from my childhood. But there was bread to eat and bunks to sleep in. Sure, they was dirty, but they was indoors. I sent my pay home to my parents so they could take care of my sisters and brothers who was too young to work.

So, no, I didn't have no time to read like the little brats these days, but that don't make 'em better than me. Hell, I'm better than them, since I learned how to read all on my own. That's right, all by myself. No one helped me learn my letters.

Now that I know how to read, though, there's plenty around to practice with. It's crazy how many signs they got posted 'round the city, and there's even more than usual in the marketplace with words like “FRESH FISH” “HOMEMADE SOAP” “GARDEN VEGETABLES” “RARE FRUITS” and “BAKERY”. I tried to read them all when I first started learnin' my letters, but now those signs are so easy to read, I can understand 'em all in just a second or two.

I've learned a lot from readin' posters on the walls and such, too. Like the recruitment ads for the City Watch say guards are s'posed to make a whole four coins a day, and Officers make six coins. I ain't never seen more than three coins in a day, and lately they've been givin' me just two. I told this to the others so maybe we could get together and ask for our real pay, but they just told me to quit bein' so smart.

“You read it on a poster?” Jackson was the first one to speak when I told the boys about our pay.

“Yeah, we're s'posed to be gettin' four whole coins a day,” I 'member foldin' my arms and leanin' against my bunk, thinkin' I was somethin'. Like I was gonna start some kinda movement, leadin' all the guards in the Watch through the streets holdin' up signs. But that attitude didn't last for long.

“I think he's just makin' that up,” another one of the guards said from across the room. “You can't even read anyways.”

“I learned,” I said. “Well, I'm learnin', but the poster really does say that. There's one right next door. Just come with me, and--”

“You tryin' to get us fired, Murray? Quit bein' so smart.” Jackson turned toward the door. “Now, I'm gonna go steal me some food, and then I know a certain lady who's waitin' for these two coins in my pouch. You all comin'?”

The others followed Jackson, leavin' me alone. Just a year ago, I never would'a passed up a night with a girl, but sometimes a man just wants somethin' more.

I'd thought that by learnin' to read that maybe I'd feel better about myself or the world or somethin' like that, but I don't know. Now instead of others makin' fun of me for bein' dumb, my own fellow guards make fun of me for bein' too smart.

But now that I can read faster, I'm startin' to get why there's people that actually like to read. Some books are really interestin'.

My shift ends, and I head back to the bunks while the others go for a drink.

I wish that boy from earlier today hadn't told me what would happen to Ollie the Cat. So, he freezes to death? I take the book out of my bag, flippin' through it and lookin' at the pictures. On one page, I can see Ollie racin' out the front door into the snow. I turn the page and see a picture of a sad little cat, all curled up in a ball, with icicles hangin' from its fur.

Poor Ollie.

But the book's not over. There's more. I turn the page and gasp. Papa carries Ollie into the house. He's alive!

I turn the page again. Now he's in front of the fireplace, and on the next page, he's smilin' and warm, and on the next—wait.

I slam the book shut.

No, I gotta read it. I can't just look at the pictures.

Cold and wet, Ollie had no energ-energy to run from Papa and, in-stead, curl-ed... curled up in his arms, shiv-shivering v-vio-vio-lent-ly. He cried when Papa tried to put him down, hanging on tight to his clothes with his sharp claws. Fin-finally, Papa man-aged... managed to set Ollie on the floor, where Sister and Brother waited for him with two flu-ffy to-wels. They dried him off as well as they could, and handed him to Mama, who w-wrap-ped... wrapped him in a soft blan... blanket.

“Let's put you some-place nice and warm,” she said, cudd-ling him in her arms. Papa picked up a box and took a woo... wood-en stick from it. Ollie watched the stick, which nor-normally, would have looked very fun to play with, but he was far too cold to play. With a quick g-g-gues... gest... gesture, Papa stuck it against the box, making o-rang... o-range light come from it.

“How strange,” Ollie said, tilt-ing his head to the side. Thog...though Papa had now cau-caught his at-ten-ti-on, he was still much too cold to do anything but watch laz-lazily from Mama's arms.

Papa put the stick into a hole be-hind a grat-grating. Ollie had never not-not-noticed that hole before. It looked like a great place to hide. But Ollie was too cold to think of hid-ing there now.

Wips-wisps of smoke and then orange waves grew from the bo-ttom of the hole, con-sum-ing the large chunks of wood in its in-ter-i-or. Ollie watched the flames. They were like nothing he had ever seen before. Mama took him closer and set him down, and Papa replac-ed... replaced the grat-ing, ob-scur-ing the dan-king... dancing fig-ur-es... figures. Ollie was dis-a-ppoin-ted. He wanted to watch them dance, but he was too cold to arg-argue. He lay in front of the fireplace, feeling the warm-th flow from it. Oh, how good that warmth would feel ag-ainst his skin. How good it would be to bury himself in warm orange waves.

Ollie stood, get-ting closer to the fireplace, but Mama st-stopped him.

“No, no, Ollie. That is fire. It is hot. You cannot get too close, or you will get burn-ed... burned.”

But Ollie did not un-der-stand. What was hot? Like a hot sum-mer's day? He could almost puh-purr, think-ing of the past summer when he lay out under the sun, while Mama stood near-by fan-fanning herself with her hand.

“W-hew, it's so hot today,” Ollie re-mem-ber-ed... remembered her saying. “It feels like I'm burn-ing up out here.”

So, hot was not bad at all! Mama mig-might not like it, but Ollie lov-loved when it was hot.

Hearin' voices outside, I look up from the text and close the book. The boys are back, drunk and loud as usual. I have a bad feelin' about this story, but I'll have to finish it later.

But I'm so worried about Ollie that I can't even sleep.

That mornin', the boys and I reach the marketplace and then go our separate ways, heading to our posts. Up ahead is Lee, who does the shift before me. He's singin' a song. I can't make it out at first, but as I get closer I hear the familiar tune of the A's and Z's song.

“A, B, C, D, E, N, G/ haych, I, J, K, elementally,” he sings.

I can't help but laugh.

“It's not 'elementally'. It's 'L, M, N, O, P,'” I almost say, but I don't wanna come off as a smart-ass.

It's funny how easy it is for me to sing that song now. When I first tried to learn it, I couldn't understand it. It was just a bunch'a sounds. How could anyone memorize it?

I 'member first hearin' it bein' sung by a bunch'a little kids goin' to school. They walked behind their teacher in a straight line, and she sang right along with them. It was the weirdest song I'd ever heard. It didn't have no words in it – at least not until, “Now I know my A's and Z's/Tell me what you think of me.”

Now, I was at least smart enough to know that A's and Z's meant letters. So that's what all that gibberish was. The kids was learnin' their letters!

Every mornin', I tried to listen to the whole song, but I never caught the whole thing, and I still didn't know what any of it meant. Finally, one day I just went up and asked.

I 'member the teacher saw me comin' and slowed down before she put her arm out to shield the children.

“Hello, Ma'am,” I said, rememberin' to be polite, of course.

“Good day,” the teacher said. She eyed me real cautious, like she was scared I was gonna attack her or somethin'. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“No, I mean, yeah. I was, uh--” I took a deep breath. “I just wanna know what that song is you're singin'.”

“What song are we singing?” The teacher's eyes got wide, and she looked at me like there was somethin' funny. “It's the A's and Z's song. We're reciting the alphabet.”

“So, that's letters, right?” I asked.

“That's, uh, that's correct, yes.” The teacher nodded. “Um, is there anything else?” she asked, after I didn't say nothin' for a moment.

“Could I learn it, too?”

The teacher opened her mouth and closed it again.

“I – sure. I mean, I could.” She stopped to think for a moment. “We could use an escort on our way to the school. I much prefer walking my students there to letting them go by themselves, but I would feel much safer with an actual guard to protect us.”

I knew I wasn't supposed to just leave my post, but I only had to walk them to school and then I'd be right back. Plus, there was other guards nearby.

“Sure,” I agreed. “And you'll teach me the song?”

“You can learn right along with us,” she said. She took a piece of paper from a bag hanging on her shoulder.

“Oh, I can't read,” I said, lookin' at all the funny symbols on the paper.

“Well, each one of those is a letter. So, here's A, B, C...” she pointed to each as she said it. “Let's get going. Children? A's and Z's, but let's sing it very slowly so... Sorry, I didn't get your name.”

“Murray,” I told her.

“And I'm Helena Delaney,” she said, smilin' kinda quick and then turnin' to the kids. “Okay, let's sing slowly so that Murray can read along with us.”

The moment I heard her say those words, I couldn't help but think how strange it sounded. “...so that Murray can read along with us.” Me. Readin'. How crazy was that? But I guess it was also kind of excitin'.

The school kids' voices interrupt my thoughts, and I wave Lee off and take his place.

“Murray! Hi, Murray! Good morning, Murray!” the kids all say as the line approaches with their teacher, Miss Delaney, at the front.

“Good morning, Murray,” she says, smiling.

“Mornin' Miss Delaney. Mornin' kids,” I say, givin' them all a big wave.

“Shall we carry on?” says Miss Delaney, and they head off, the A's and Z's song startin' automatically as I line up behind them.

“So, Murray, how is the reading going?” Miss Delaney asks.

We've arrived at the school, and all the kids are gettin' ready for the day and sittin' at their desks. I notice the familiar A's and Z's chart at the front of the classroom. I can recognize all the letters real easy now, and to think I used to not know what any of it meant.

“It's goin' pretty fine,” I answer. “I'm readin' a book about this cat. His name's Ollie.”

“Oh, Ollie the Cat. A bit too advanced for my children, but I'm still very familiar with those books. Which one are you reading?”

I lift up my helmet to rub the back of my head.

“It's the one where it's snowin' and Ollie goes outside.”

“Oh, that one.” Miss Delaney frowns and shakes her head. “Those books are always so tragic for an animal lover like me, but that one was especially sad.”

“Don't tell me!” I nearly yell, holding my hands up. “I haven't finished it yet.”

“Okay, okay!” Miss Delaney chuckles, putting her hands out. “Calm down, I won't spoil it for you.”

“Thanks,” I say, relaxing my arms. “Well, I gotta go back to my post. I'll see you tomorrow.” I turn to the kids. “Bye, kids!”

“Bye, Murray!” They all say, and I turn to leave while Miss Delaney starts class.

Time to get back to Ollie.

The flames wigg-led wiggle-wiggled and pop-popped, dancing in a way that made them almost ir-re-sis-ti-ble... irre-sistible to a cat like Ollie. He watched the emb-ers float into the air and disappear as he w-hipp-ed... w-hipped his tail back and for-th, his eyes con-cen-tra-ting in-ten-se-ly on the tan-ta-li-zing fire.

But how would he get past the grating? He would have to move it, but sure-ly Mama or Papa would stop him before he could get past.

He sc-scanned the room, noticing-noting that the children had gone to bed and Mama and Papa sat do-doz-dozing off on the nearby sofa. So, he stood, war-i-ly stepping forward, his eyes locked on the nearly-sleeping couple. Creep-ing toward the bar-bar-ri-er s-se-pa-ra-ting him and the fire, he put his claws through the grating and yank-yanked it right down. It fell to the floor with a loud cla-clank that nearly made him dart in the other di-rec-tion, but he clamed-calmed himself and jumped on the grating, ready to make the final po-pounce.

“Ollie! No!”

The sound had wo-ken Mama and Papa, and they stoo-d, making their way to him. Ollie pa-nic-ked... panicked. He didn't have much time. The warmth from the fire toa-toast-toasted his skin like a hot summer's day, but he wanted those fla-mes flames for himself. He pounced, ready to trap the w-rig-gling w-riggling fire under his paws, as Mama sc-rea-m-ed... sc-reamed from behind him.

But soon he was the one sc-rea-ming.

“Hot! Hot! Hot!” he scree-ched... screeched. The fire was too hot. He bat-ted at the flames co-ver-ing his body, trying to keep them away, but it was no use as the fire cha-char-red... charred his bea-u-tiful fur, turn-ing it to the color of ash. Ollie screamed and screamed and screamed until his black-en-ed... blackened body went still, his life having fl-fled his us-use-useless co-corpse.

The End.

I can't believe it.

“Hey, Murray, you comin'?”

What in the Void just happened?

It's the end of my shift, and my buddies are all ready to go, but I clutch the book in my hand, my heart banged up and all but broken.

“No, you all go on. I'm gonna take a walk,” I say and push past 'em without sayin' another word.

You know, I figured things wouldn't turn out good for Ollie, but still the endin's left me kinda down. I got just as much into that book as someone would get into a story bein' told 'round the fire--

The fire.

Emotion hits me and leaves me with a bad feelin' in my stomach. Why'd that cat have to be so damn stupid?

I curse Ollie and T. J. Brownstone and the damn librarian that gave me the book and the goddamn library that kept the book on its shelves like it wasn't nothin' but another kid's story, just like the rest.

“Murray, what are you doing here?”

I walk into the classroom, and seein' the look on Miss Delaney's face, I let the tears fall.

“Is something wrong?” Miss Delaney asks. Her eyes get real wide, and she looks from side to side, but I'm too busy blubberin' to notice.

“Ollie died,” I sob, sniffling between words. “He... just jumped into the fireplace... and burned up.”

I look up at Miss Delaney, who, for just a moment, smirks before putting on a sympathetic face.

“It ain't funny,” I cry. “Why are you laughin'? Don't laugh!”

“Oh, Murray,” Miss Delaney approaches, putting her hand on my arm. “You didn't know?”

“Didn't know what?” I swallow, trying to keep my sobs at bay.

“Murray... Ollie dies in every book.”

The tears stop, and I stare at her through blurry eyes.

“W-What?”

“The cat dies in every book.” Miss Delaney replies. “That's the theme of the series. It's supposed to teach you not to be so curious that you get yourself into trouble.”

“I... wait a—What?”

Miss Delaney smiles a bit and then giggles, taking a handkerchief from her pocket.

“You poor thing!” she says, dryin' my eyes. I take the cloth from her, rubbin' it all over my face, wet with wasted tears.

“It's the same cat in every book? But how does he come back to life?” I hold up my finger. “Wait, wait, I know this. Cats got nine lives, right? So, as long as he doesn't die a whole nine times, he's okay.”

“Not quite,” Miss Delaney chuckles. “I think the trick here is that Ollie isn't a real cat. He's just a book character.”

“Well, that ain't realistic.” I sigh. “I could write a better story than that.”

“Maybe,” says Miss Delaney. She raises an eyebrow. “Are you looking to be a writer now?”

I laugh, feelin' my eyes dry up. Look at me, cryin' over a book.

“Oh no, nothin' like that. I just wanna read a better story. Somethin' happier.”

“Well, the library's still open. Maybe I can help you find some books you'd like to read.”

I nod, thinkin' of the possibilities—plus maybe Miss Delaney has a better taste in books than the librarian.

“Yeah, that'd be nice. Just no sad endin's,” I say. “And no cats.”

#dishonored #TotH #tales of the heart #for city watch overseer

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shockcity · 8 years

Text

DD #10 - hearts and other stolen things

Rating: M

Summary: AU - Matthew Murdock is a self-serving criminal with no time for love. But this Foggy fellow sure is persistent….

Category: M/M

Pairing: Foggy Nelson/Matt Murdock

Warnings: Deadpool

Note: I actually don’t often ship Foggy/Matt, as my OTP is Fratt, but I have a thing for cuddly dom!Foggy, so there’s that.

Oooh. Poetry.

__________________________

Deadpool had about five minutes before Matt packed up his shit and went home. It was starting to snow; his senses didn’t work so well in this weather, his fingers were frozen, and his socks were wet.

His socks were wet.

“Honey! I’m home!” Wade called, finally clambering onto Matt’s roof. “~I can’t feel my face! Baby it’s cold outside. Let’s go back to your place…sooo we can fuuuuck~”

“That’s not how the song goes,” Matt said, irritated. “I’ve been here for an hour. We said one, Wade.”

“Nuh-uh. Three! I’m totally early.”

He was not early. He was dumb, and Matt was cold and his socks were wet.

“Can we please just get this over with?” he snapped. “Your being here at all is a professional courtesy. Your man is there,” Matt pointed to the fourth floor. “My diamond is there.” He pointed to the fifth. “Got it?”

“Capisce compadre.” Wade saluted, but didn’t move from the roof. “I’m just curious though, what do you need a three million dollar diamond for?”

More socks, Matt thought, these are wet.

“I’m starting a charity for disadvantaged blind orphans with abandonment issues,” he confessed. “Then I’m giving the rest to the church.”

Deadpool laughed. “Sure. I should have asked, ‘hmm, how many pairs of silk sheets can you get with three mill?’”

Perching on the edge of the building, Matt tested the cable before buckling himself in.

“So many,” he answered, and then slid down onto the roof of the bank.

“Nice ass!” Wade yelled after him.

_________________________

Daredevil strikes again! Georgian Diamond stolen from Max Security Vault! said the Bulletin headline.

“DD strikes back. DD, a new hope. Return of the DD. The Phantom D–”

Matt hung up on him.

A few seconds later, Wade called back. “Is this Ghengis Connie’s? How is your dim sum on a scale of one to ten?”

Matt hung up.

“Idiot, Idiot, Idiot,” said Matt’s phone.

He did not answer; instead, he drank his very good organic coffee and wiggled his vicuna wool covered toes with quiet satisfaction.

“Idiot using Weasel’s phone, Idiot using Weasel’s phone, idiot using Weasel’s phone.”

Matt sighed.

“Unknown number, probably Wade, unknown number, probably Wade – I don’t know why I get up in the morning,” he said when he finally answered. “Stop calling me. And stop calling me Daredevil.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal. But I’ll never lose your number, Rikki. What are you wearing?”

Matt hung up.

_________________________

They met on a heist.

Both people. Both times.

Matt would never ever admit to why he tolerated Deadpool’s crap, and he and Foggy were still really new, but Matt could reasonably say that two of the most prevalent people in his life were introduced to him while shit went down. Attachments were often made in times of strife, after all.

One introduction occurred during a high stakes B&E at S.H.I.E.L.D. Accounting HQ (don’t ask), and the other was at the law offices of Hogarth, Chao, and Benowitz. Matt was stealing sensitive paperwork both times.

Deadpool was attempting to reconfigure someone’s face while arguing about the merits of fish tacos v carne asada (Matt has never asked for an explanation, because Matt gives a fuck only sometimes and this was not one of those times), and the whole one-sided debate/torture session was being held right on top of the file cabinet that Matt needed to break into.

It was very inconvenient.

Punches were thrown, acrobatics done, and some of Deadpool’s limbs were lost. Even though Matt left him doing a black knight “just a flesh wound” impression, Deadpool decided to seek out Matt later anyway. Apparently they were now “best friends for freaking ever and ever,” and “they still make those halfsy heart necklaces, I’ll get us one, omg!!1!”

There was over a year of suffering Wade’s…Wadeness, before the second most important person in Matt’s life walked in on him shuffling through Jeryn Hogarth’s personal file cabinet at 3 am.

Seriously with the file cabinets.

“Um, are you… stealing…stuff?” said Foggy, and then he took a deep breath. “Do you need legal representation?”

Matt considered this. “Probably,” he decided. “But that depends on my getting caught.”

Foggy nodded sagely. “True that,” he said. “I doubt I could out-ninja you, if you are, in fact, the dude I think you are…so, I’ll go call the cops and you can just skedaddle while I hope for the sake of my career that you’ve not taken anything too important.”

“Hogarth has evidence that one of your clients is guilty of embezzlement. This is that evidence,” Matt told him, waving the folder around. “So no, your ass isn’t on the line.” He thought for a moment. “Unless I decide to get rid of the witness.”

“Sure ok,” Foggy scoffed, taking out his phone and thumbing through it. He punched in 911 (presumably) and held it up for Matt to see (which he couldn’t). “Calling them now, so…catch you on the flipside.”

Matt made it four blocks away by the time the cops caught up, and by then he had replaced thoughts of the heist with thoughts of Foggy. Matt was fascinated, and oddly charmed by this man, and some part of his brain must have come loose or there was a gas leak in his apartment or something, because he found himself calling Wade to talk about it.

“He sounds amazing,” Wade said, groaning into the phone. “Is he hot? Are you gonna hook up? I think I’m jealous.”

“I don’t know what he looks like because I can’t see,” Matt reminded him politely, and Wade groaned again. “But he smells nice.”

“Are you going to see him again?”

“I can’t see him at all, because I’m blind.”

Wade hung up on him.

“Idiot, idiot, idiot,” Matt’s phone announced thirty seconds later.

“Just promise me one thing,” announced Wade, sounding melancholy. “Bros before hoes, Matty. Bros. Before. Hoes.”

Matt promised reluctantly, even though he had no intention whatsoever of ever crossing paths with Foggy again.

But fate had another plan, of course.

…and also Foggy and Matt’s romance is really quite a lovely story, and honestly, there’s only so much Deadpool readers can take.

_________________________

“Oh good! I caught you.”

Matt wasn’t sure how exactly Foggy Nelson had figured out where his local bodega was. He wasn’t sure how Foggy knew who he was even, because he was in Matt-clothes, not Daredevil cat-suit clothes.

And he’d just called himself Daredevil. Fucking Wade.

But more pressing things were at hand, like this getting caught business.

“What?”

Foggy seemed to realize what he’d said, based on his nervous shuffling. “Uh, not in the ‘apprehending a suspect’ sense, but in a, I need some friendly advice sense.”

Matt put down the fruit he’d been inspecting, and turned to face Foggy directly. There was an intake of breath.

“That’s…a cane. How did I miss the cane? Wow. Uh. Cane.”

“How did you know who I was?” Matt asked, crossing his arms. “And give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just kill you?”

He wondered if Foggy had thought any of this through, but then he didn’t seem all that nervous at the mention of killing things. Huh.

“Because you don’t kill people?” Huh. “And you feel like paying me back for doing you a solid that one time?”

Matt suddenly blushed, feeling like an asshole. He did owe Foggy, and he felt bad that Foggy had had to call on that debt to get Matt to help him. Matt wasn’t…a bad person, per se. Self-serving, yes. Compulsive liar and thief, absolutely. Unwilling to help his fellow man (especially when appealed to directly)? Of course not. He was human. He had human…emotions. Empathy. Compassion.

Stick hadn’t completely fucked him up, after all.

You’re a hot mess, baby, his internal Wade-voice said. What you need is some dick, offer him an afternoon siesta–

Shut up, Wade.

“Sorry, Nelson. Of course I’ll help.” Matt mumbled, frowning in the direction of his shoes. “I’m not a complete ass.”

“Ookay… never said you were. So, here’s the thing: someone broke into my apartment but they didn’t steal anything, man, they left something. In your expert opinion does this smack of crazy or clever manipulation? Or both?”

“What did they leave?”

“A hoe.”

Matt blinked. “Excuse me?”

“A hoe. Uh. Like the farm tool…thing. The raking. Of the crops. I don’t know I’m from Hell’s Kitchen.”

“A hoe,” he parroted in disbelief.

Foggy was smiling nervously, he could hear it, and Matt might have smiled back had he not realized exactly what (or whom) he was dealing with.

“Deadpool,” Matt hissed.

———-

“I’m just trying to get you out there.” Wade dodged a kick to the face. “It’s been two years, Matty! I’m surprised little Matt hasn’t just fallen off…just, detached and run off to find someone that actually appreciates him for who he is– ”

Matt socked him in the stomach. “Oof!” said Wade. “OK time-out. Time-out. That actually hurt kinda.”

Despite being angry at him, Matt did pull away, his hands on Deadpool’s shoulders. “You need to stop,” he told his friend. “Nelson could have gone to the police with your note.”

He hadn’t been able to appreciate Wade’s drawing of Foggy in a giant dick costume (“it’s very très chic,” Foggy had said) but the addition of the address for Matt’s local grocery and what time he usually dropped by was absolutely not something he appreciated at all.

“Oh, come on.” Wade threw his hands in the air as Matt stomped around his kitchen. “He never would have gone to the po po. He’s the most innocent butterscotch donut there ever was. The worst he’s probably ever done to anyone is ask if they were really blind. And those were special circumstances! And his hair is golden and glossy. He wears cute suits. He’s really come along way from She’s All That!”

“Wade, enough.”

Wade sunk into a sullen silence, which, getting him to actually shut up for even a short period of time was sort of a superpower of Matt’s. Everyone said so. And usually this was where he sighed and told Wade to stop pouting and then forgave him, but Matt was serious this time.

“You could have really screwed up here, you know. Nice guy or not, Foggy Nelson knowing my secret identity isn’t necessarily a good thing. Now he’s…involved. My enemies could come after him.”

“Spider-man hasn’t tried to arrest you in months– ”

“They could use him to hurt me. If I’m being honest, that’s what I’m most afraid of, Wade. Of people I care for being caught in the crossfire.”

“Oh my goooooooooood,” Wade exclaimed, skipping over to Matt and grabbing him into an uncomfortable hug. “You’re still scarred about that one time with the Punisher! Awwwww, Matty. You knew I’d be fine! I’m sorry you got splattered with my brains– ”

“You’re sorry?”

“ –and for making you choose between your boyfriend and me. But that was my fault, not yours. I was on Castle’s radar a long time before he started doing the do with you. Which sounded pretty hot, gotta say. Oh, and I heard you that one time.”

“Ugh.”

“You’re kinda loud.”

“Just…” Matt sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Just let me handle it, okay?”

“You got it, DD. Consider me persona non grata! El out of it-o. Worry not about anymore interference from me, my good sir. I leave thee to thy contemplations of eternal celibacy. Foggy Nelson is never gonna hear from me again! You have my word.”

_________________________

“Hi,” Wade said into Foggy’s ear, who nearly jumped out of his seat in surprise. “Sooooo? What’d you think? He’s hot, right?”

“I, um– ”

“Ooh, breakfast burritos!” He purloined Foggy’s meal, sitting across from him at the little cafe table. People stared. Wade knew it was because he was super handsome and famous. “I notice you didn’t ask him out.”

Foggy shrugged awkwardly. “Well, he was pretty annoyed, so I figured it wasn’t the best time to suggest dinner.”

Wade shoved the half-eaten burrito in his pocket. “I see,” he nodded. “Oh, and speaking of seeing, how do you feel about the blind thing? Because let me tell you, it took some getting used to– ”

“Um.”

“ –but then Matt explained this thing called ableism to me, and wow was that an eye-opener. Pun totally intended. So if you’ve got a problem with blind people I completely understand, but also you’re probably gonna meet Mean Deadpool instead of Nice Deadpool. The Mean one kills people. Wait. So does the Nice one. Just don’t hate blind people, OK?”

Foggy let him finish, a cute little wrinkle in between his eyes. “I’m not ableist,” he replied, slowly. “I have no problem with the differently abled. Please don’t kill me. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Now, Matt is a very handsome duck, yes,” he admitted. “Like really handsome. And I’m interested. Very interested.”

Wade leaned forward excitedly. “It’s the hair isn’t it? I mean Charlie Cox is hot as fuck, but Comics!Matt has always been my secret man-crush. I’m thinking this particular fanfic features more of a Mixed Matt, like, Charlie’s adorbs face but with ginger tresses, and of course he’s got that ass in any medium. Because, like, that ass.”

Foggy held up a hand. “Dude, I’m trying to ask for Matt’s number.”

Deadpool pulled out his phone, which was covered in smooshed breakfast burrito. “Dude, why didn’t you just say so? Why do people insist on writing pages filled with useless dialogue? I’m not even that funny.”

________________________

“Unknown number, probably Wade, unknown number, probably Wade– did you pick up my dry cleaning again? I’ve told you hundred times to leave those people alone– ”

“Uh. That sounds like a story.”

Matt blinked. He blinked again. “How did you get this number?”

He could hear Foggy Nelson’s heartbeat speed up over the phone (Wade was fond of testing Matt’s abilities this way, usually with his hand down his pants, which was why Matt kept the length of their phone conversations to thirty seconds or less) and waited for an explanation that didn’t include the words 'dead’ or 'pool’. Alas, Matt was unlucky in life.

“I don’t know why I believed him when he said he would drop this,” Matt grumbled, leaning against his sink. “Listen, Nelson, it’s not that I don’t like you– ”

“No, it’s okay,” Foggy reassured him, though he sounded disappointed. “I get it, and I’m sorry I’m bothering you.”

“You’re not!” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “You’re not bothering me. I’m just not dating right now.”

“Bad break up, huh?”

Matt laughed humorlessly. “The worst.”

“Yeah, I lost a real spitfire a couple years ago to corporate law, and then wham! I’m suddenly working for HCB and there goes my high horse. She’s made it her goal in life to destroy me in court every chance she gets. Of which there are now many.”

“Why did you go to work for Hogarth?”

“Turns out owning your own practice is a total bummer. Thank you casseroles from endless pro bono clients are not accepted in lieu of rent money. Who knew.”

Matt smiled despite himself. “Not even enchilada casserole?”

“Not even that.”

There was a comfortable silence, and then Matt took a breath and said, “you know I was going to be a lawyer?”

“No way, Jose!”

He laughed. “Really. I was.”

Foggy laughed too. “How on earth did that go so sideways?”

So Matt told him, and Foggy listened and made all the right jokes and didn’t judge and generally charmed the pants off of him. They talked about law, then breaking the law (as you do), then Wade, then Wade’s hygiene (as you do), and then moved on to old movies, vinyl records, the best place for cannoli, that One Time Tony Stark Crashed Into a Strip Club, and the current health care bill that everyone but Wade was concerned about.

“We should have dinner,” Matt found himself saying during a slight pause in their banter. “I mean yes. I’m saying yes.”

“To dinner? As in, a dinner date?” Foggy sounded hopeful.

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “We should do that.”

“Okay.”

They set a time and place; both a bit breathless with excitement. When Matt hung up, he checked the time. It had been 2 hours and 36 minutes since he’d accepted the call. He had talked to Foggy Nelson for 2 hours, and 36 minutes.

When’s the wedding? His inner Wade-voice said.

Matt scoffed and ignored it, but he had a small smile on his face for the rest of the night.

_________________________

His socks were wet again, but this time it had nothing to do with snow. This time it was the Hudson; which Matt had decided to take a dip into (no, not decided, he’d been pushed. Pushed).

“You are dead!” He yelled, water-logged and spitting mad. “Dead!”

Wade only laughed and laughed.

“Um, thanks for the help,” Spider-man said, somewhat dubiously. Behind him, a large Godzilla-looking green reptile lay dead and still partially on fire.

“I wasn’t helping!” Matt growled, boots squelching as he dragged his sore body away from the boardwalk. “I’m a villain, remember?”

“Right.” Spider-man didn’t sound so sure. “You know, Daredevil, I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

“You sure did,” Wade nodded, slapping Matt on the back of his wet catsuit. Ugh. “He’s not a villain at all! Self-serving? Yeah. Kind of a dick? Sure. But sinister enough for Spidey’s rogues gallery? Nah…wait. Isn’t Stilt-man in there somewhere? I take it all back.“

“I’m not a hero,” Matt hissed.

“Your boyfriend thinks you are! OMG Spidey it’s so cute, he’s dating the embodiment of summer sunshine, Raffi, and kittens playing in little boxes.”

Wade went on to tell the entire story of MattnFoggy, and Spider-man thought it was all very lovely, of course.

“That’s so sweet, DD,” he gushed like a High Schooler. “And now I’m 100% sure you’re just misunderstood.”

“110!” Wade crowed.

“110,” Spider-man nodded.

Later, Matt and Wade trooped back to Matt’s apartment; one exhausted and pensive, while the other remained as hyper and cacophonous as always. Wade was ecstatic about making a new friend, and was going on and on about “Team Red”, but Matt was too distracted to listen.

“Wade,” he said, cutting off his endless stream of nonsense. “Do you think…do you ever wonder about going straight?”

Wade gasped. “Honey, no.”

“I’m serious,” said Matt. “I’m just– I’m just worried for Foggy. I want to be good for him.”

“Listen.” Wade reached out and took Matt by the shoulders, shaking him a little. “You already are good. You’re great. Kellogg’s Frosted Flakes great. So what if you steal stuff? You’re not hurting anybody!”

“Rich people,” Matt pointed out.

“No one cares about the 1%, coal miners, or crybaby white people. You’re a freedom fighter! An enemy of fascist America! I’m proud of you, Matt. And so is Foggy, because that’s who this is really about.”

Which was true. This was about Foggy, and it was becoming a serious hang-up that was threatening the very fabric of their relationship. Something needed to be done, so Matt gathered his courage that night and asked Foggy if he really knew what he was getting into.

“You do know that I’m a villain, right?” He said cautiously. “I’ve been arrested by the Avengers and everything.”

For the first time, Matt was feeling somewhat ashamed of this, rather than just indifferent or irritated.

“Psh,” Foggy replied, holding Matt’s hand. They were intertwined on Matt’s couch, which seemed to be their habit these days. “Who needs those guys? Not me. Plus I like you just the way you are, and I know it’s cheesy, but you’ve stolen my heart.”

Matt smiled shyly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Foggy leaned in and kissed the top of his head and squeezed his shoulders. Matt melted. “But you know what, Matty? I don’t think you’re a bad person at all. I think you’re great, and it doesn’t really matter that you steal stuff, unless you’re caught and go to prison, which would suck. But even then I would stick by you. I’d be your legal representation.”

“That’s practically a proposal.” He grinned and sat up and stared in the general direction of his boyfriend. He felt warm and cared for, and the pure, overwhelming affection he had for this man prompted him to say, “Foggy Nelson, will you be my legal representation?”

“I will.” Foggy’s heart didn’t lie. “Forever and always.”

And Matt practically threw himself at Foggy, hugging him tight. “You know what, Foggy?” said Matt, kissing his cheek. “You’re the best thing I ever stole.”

#DD fic #daredevil fic #dd10 #foggymatt #deadpool shenanigans #and Peter who seems to randomly show up in like all my dd fics

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