Prompt: Mud

Franklin "Foggy" Nelson is not, by nature, a violent person. That's not to say he doesn't like confrontation, because he does. Thrives on it, sometimes. It's just that he's always had a way with words and he learns at an early age that he is just as good at talking his way out of trouble as he is talking into it.

The closest he ever comes to getting in a fight is when he shoves Mitchy Warner for tripping Hannah Gomez on the playground in the second grade. Mitchy doesn't look too happy to have been bodychecked by a kid a year younger, but the teacher monitoring recess notices the altercation and hurries over before things can escalate. It's in that moment, as he helps a teary-eyed Hannah up from the dirt, that Foggy realises he wants to defend people, protect the ones who are too weak to protect themselves.

He'd just really prefer to do it with words than with shoving from now on, if at all possible.

So he makes it through adolescence and all the way into university with his violence-free pledge still intact. He's only gotten better at arguing as the years go by and in his second year of law school he considers himself pretty damn capable of talking his way out of any predicament. To top it all off, he's now got Matt Murdock, a best friend who is just as good at it as he is - maybe better because he's pretty good at bailing Foggy out when he puts his foot in his mouth. Together they're kind of invincible.

Matt is pretty anti-fighting too which is cool with Foggy. He knows the stories from when they were kids, about Battlin' Jack Murdock whose best skill was his ability to take a hit. In one of the nights when Foggy and Matt are relaxing in their dorm after an exhausting week of exams, Matt is feeling particularly open and talks about how he'd promised his dad not to fight. To use his brains instead of his fists.

He'd been picked on a lot in school for his blindness - (something that had never really occurred to Foggy before; Matt's so confident and charming that it's hard to imagine people not being nice to him. Also it's just kind of a low blow to pick on a blind guy, in Foggy's opinion, even if he'll never say that out loud because that seems like the sorta thing that would piss Matt off). Matt admits that it had been hard for him not to fight back in school, but at the same time it always hurt because it constantly reminded him that he was different. That no matter how hard he worked or how much he tried, he would never be like everyone else.

Desperate to lighten the mood because he can see Matt retreating into that dark place he goes sometimes, Foggy proposes a toast to using the law to bitch-slap the world's bullies. Matt grins and lifts the bottle of cheap beer they smuggled into their dorm for Foggy to tap his own against it, and they enjoy the rest of the evening giggling over stories of their childhood.

It's mid-spring, getting closer to end of term exams every day, and the world outside seems to be comprised entirely of damp and muck. Foggy and Matt are walking back from a study session in the library, having a hypothetical argument about property law and attempting to avoid the puddles that the morning's rain left in the pavement. (Foggy can't figure out how, but Matt seems to be doing a much better job than he is.)

When it happens, the whole thing goes so quick that Foggy doesn't really process it until it's over. They're just passing a group of yuppie guys - the sort who got into Columbia by swinging in on daddy's purse-strings and legacy - headed the other direction when one of them lurches sideways. The lead guy collides with Matt, hard, sending him sprawling in a mud puddle with a startled yelp. His cane clatters away and his glasses fall off, and Matt immediately tries to search them out by clawing his fingers through the mud in front of him. As Foggy turns to help him, the frat guy laughs loudly. "Hey look, the mole's trying to burrow away."

Matt glances up, his wince barely visible. Without his glasses, he looks younger, innocent and vulnerable. In that moment, Foggy doesn't see his best friend, the one with confidence to spare and an incredible knack for rolling with the punches. He sees a scared kid, blind, confused, and hurt on more than a physical level.

He sees someone who needs protecting.

In one swift move, more graceful than he thought he was capable of, Foggy stands up and swings. The yuppie's nose cracks loudly under his fist and he staggers back, clutching his face. Breathing heavily, Foggy snaps, "Watch where you're going next time, yeah?" Then, without a second thought for the guys, he kneels down and grabs Matt's shoulder. "C'mon Matty."

Matt stands up, dripping mud from his clothes, while Foggy gathers up his cane and glasses. He cleans the lenses as best as he can on his shirt before pressing them into Matt's palm - he knows how much Matt hates not wearing them in public, doesn't like the way people stare at his eyes. Matt mumbles something that might be a thanks, and when Foggy bumps him with his elbow Matt grabs on for the lead tighter than usual.

Neither of them speaks until they're back in their dorm. Matt's awkwardly stripping out of his soaked clothes, carefully folding them onto his desk chair to avoid getting mud all over more than they already have. Foggy brings him a set of clean clothes from the methodically arranged dresser to find Matt staring in his direction thoughtfully, rubbing his hip which will surely be bruised come morning.

"You okay?" Foggy asks, nudging Matt's hand with the folded clothes.

"You punched that guy," Matt says like he's only just realizing it. Foggy makes a noncommittal noise and foists the clothes at him again. He knows Matt is fiercely independent and hopes he hasn't just crossed some line. "Like, you actually punched that guy. In the face."

"Well, I, uh," Foggy stumbles over his words, wondering what it is about Matt that always makes him lose all of that eloquence he used to possess. His brain is swimming a little, the adrenaline leaving him in a rush, and he feels equal parts exhausted and restless. He goes to wring his hands but is suddenly acutely aware of how much his hand fucking hurts - Jesus, was that guy's face made of brick or something?

"Thought you didn't believe in violence?" Matt asks curiously. Foggy looks up as Matt's head pops through the collar of his teeshirt and there's a vaguely bemused smile on his lips, the one he gets when he's teasing Foggy. The look reassures him and Foggy dares for a little open honesty.

"Yeah, well, there are loopholes in every law," he says, shrugs, trying to sound nonchalant.

Matt looks thoughtful at that, tips his head to the side slightly as his gaze settles somewhere over Foggy's shoulder. "I'm a loophole?"

Foggy snorts. "You are the exception to everyone's rules and you know it," he teases playfully. "And take full advantage of it."

"You aren't very good at flattery," Matt says dryly, but he's grinning. "You know, for a guy who doesn't like fighting, you have one hell of a right hook."

"How do you know?" Foggy asks, curious. He's not afraid of offending Matt with that; Matt's told him repeatedly that he likes the fact Foggy will ask the questions nobody else dares ask. Which is good because Foggy was born with a condition that affects the filter between his brain and his mouth - or more specifically he just doesn't have one.

"My dad was a boxer," Matt reminds him. "I know what a good hit sounds like. I also know what a broken nose sounds like." Foggy kinds of hates himself for it, but he feels a little flush of pride. Matt wanders around him to the little refrigerator tucked into the kitchenette and pulls a bag of frozen vegetables out of the freezer drawer.

"What's this for?" Foggy asks when Matt presses the bag, wrapped in a hand towel, into his good hand. In response, Matt touches the back of his right hand lightly - their unspoken signal, asking if further physical contact is acceptable - and when Foggy hums Matt takes his hand gently. His fingers are deft as they probe over his tender wrist and hand, feeling along the scrapes on his knuckles with a concentrated frown.

"Doesn't feel like you broke anything," Matt announces. "You're lucky, it's a pretty easy thing to do when you go bare knuckles with a skull. The vegetables will help with the swelling though, because once all the adrenaline wears off you're going to be hurting more than you already do." Foggy opens his mouth but Matt beats him to it with a smirk. "Dad was a boxer, remember?"

"Right," Foggy says. He presses the bag of frozen vegetables against the back of his hand and bites back a hiss as the cold penetrates through his already swelling joints. "Dude, it's a shame you're blind though, you totally missed out on seeing some crazy mad ninja skills."

Matt snorts a laugh, loud and inelegant like it escaped without his notice. "Yeah, sure," he says, shaking his head, humoring him. But his wide smile and the light brush of hand over his shoulder are fond, and Foggy can read the words there that aren't being said. The ones Matt's too proud to say just yet. Thanks. Somehow, in that moment, Foggy can't feel bad at all about breaking his no-violence streak.

Some things are worth defending.