A/N: Originally published at AO3 as part of the 2018 Daredevil Secret Santa Exchange.

Many thanks to my beta, Amlia, without whom this fic wouldn't have been completed in time.

If you spot any mistakes, please be kind and let me know.

Enjoy!

Chapter 1: The airport's just a cab fare away

"Matt," Karen calls from the living room. "Your heater is broken – again!" She doesn't shout, she knows he doesn't need her to.

"Ah! So that's why my butt is freezing," Foggy comments with good-natured sarcasm, voice equally leveled. A shift in the sofa cushions tells Matt that his friend has turned in his seat, most likely to glare at the offending broken appliance. "And here I was thinking I didn't pack enough woolen pantyhoses."

A soft breath of laughter. When Karen replies, Matt can hear the smile on her lips. It makes him grin too.

"I doubt it will be cold enough for you to need woolen clothing in Florida," she contradicts, stepping away from the heater and sitting against the sofa's back, just besides Foggy's shoulders. "And even if it is," Karen continues, and although she hasn't raised her voice, Matt knows she is addressing him, "I'm pretty sure they'll have actually working calefaction there."

Matt can't help but chuckle from the bedroom, as he folds a silk shirt and slips it neatly into his bag.

It's a couple of days until Christmas. Matt usually doesn't partake in the holiday mood – a childhood filled with trauma and bitter loneliness didn't really help in that regard –, but after the year he's had, well, he can't help but feel thankful and joyful, specially in the company of his friends.

The silence stretches for a second too long, and Matt realizes they are waiting for an answer. "I'll have someone look it over when we come back," he concedes, being mindful to speak loud enough for them to hear in the next room.

"So there is a limit to what your super senses can do," Foggy says mock-thoughtfully. "I was starting to wonder."

Before Matt has a chance to reply, Karen has already opened her mouth. "Putting the Kingpin in jail – not once, but twice? No sweat for the Devil of Hell's Kitchen." It warms Matt not to hear the edges that used to sharpen her voice when she mentioned his alias, back when he had first revealed himself to her. "But dealing with malfunctioning home appliances?" She jibes. "That's a line not even Daredevil will cross."

That surprises an honest laugh out of Matt.

"I feel you, man," Foggy says empathetically, bumping his fist theatrically in front of his chest, if the light thuds are any indication. "Back home, Marci's the one who deals with this stuff."

"Foggy!" Karen exclaims, slapping him softly on the shoulder. "What about sharing the housework?"

Matt closes his carry-on luggage and walks out of his room, prompting his friends to stand up and head for the door. Downstairs, the cab – already loaded with Karen and Foggy's things – waits in the snowy street. The driver hasn't killed the engine, likely to keep the car's heater on.

"I'll have you know," Foggy is saying, as he puts on his coat, "I do plenty of things for the household!"

"It's true," Matt confirms, adjusting his glasses and grabbing for his cane, as he pulls his luggage behind him. It's brand new. He hadn't had any need for a traveling bag before now. "Back in college, it was Foggy who kept us fed and in a mostly clean environment."

"That's because Matt can't cook to save his life," Foggy stage-whispers in Karen's ear, as she wraps a scarf around her neck. She covers her mouth with her gloved hands, but it does nothing to stifle her giggles.

"Objection," Matt protests, swinging his cane deliberately in Foggy's direction, causing him to nearly stumble. He grins at his friend's yelp. "This information is beyond the scope of the present conversation."

"Overruled," Foggy and Karen say at the same time, as Matt locks the door after the three of them have stepped outside.

They laugh.

It feels so simple, so right. The three of them together, joking around and just enjoying each other's company. Matt hadn't allowed himself to realize how much he had missed this in the months after Elektra and the whole fiasco of Midland Circle. It's almost like those first few blissful weeks at Nelson & Murdock.

Karen's face tilts downwards, at her watch, and she bites her lower lip in worry. "We should hurry. We left the taxi waiting long enough."

Matt hides a wince behind a cough. "Sorry guys. I shouldn't have left to pack in the last minute," he says apologetically as they descend the stairs. He had planned to pack the night before, but he heard a mugging taking place two blocks from his building. One thing led to another, and when Matt finally parkoured back home it was almost dawn.

Foggy patts him on the back in understanding. "Don't worry man. I'm just glad you agreed to come. My parents will be thrilled." He pauses for a moment, and if Matt's ears weren't so sensitive he wouldn't have picked up the slight strain in his friend's voice when he adds – trying for half-heartedly –, "everyone really missed you last year, you know."

A lump clogs Matt's throat, painfully reminding him that the easy camaraderie he used to share with Foggy will never be the same as it once was. They've hurt each other in places that will never truly heal.

Fortunately, he doesn't have to reply, because they've reached the cab and get busy trying to fit Matt's stuff in the almost completely full truck.

"To J.F.K., right?" The cabbie confirms, once they are all seated. Matt thinks the man eyes them wearily from the rear mirror, if the slight turning of his neck is any indication, though he can't always be sure about these kind of things.

The blind lawyer supposes they do make quite a sight, all squeezed in the back seat – because Matt refuses to allow any of them to touch the suspicious-smelling substance covering the passenger seat, Karen isn't in the mood to argue with him and Foggy is all up for some car cuddling, if it means warming up quicker.

As his friends are too busy bickering while trying to put on their safety belts, Matt – who got placed in the middle, because 'it's not like you'll be able to enjoy the view, buddy!' – is the one who has to answer in the affirmative.

"And here we go!" Foggy says cheerfully, as he finally manages to buckle in.

The car begins to gain speed, and Matt tries to get used to the disconcerting sensation of muffled sounds and smells that always accompany these rides. He knows how to filter out the rumbling of the motor and the scent of gas (the cabbie has just refueled, so the smell is particularly overwhelming), and soon enough he can focus on the dynamic impression of his city rushing past him.

As they pass a government building, Matt gets caught up listening to a heated discussion about the Sokovia Accords and almost misses Karen's next words.

"I still can't believe you convinced us to do this," she is telling Foggy. Her tone is outwardly playful, as it has been the whole morning, but the underlying tension in her voice speaks of second-doubts.

"Are you kidding me?" Foggy replies in mock-exasperation. "I spent years perfecting the art of bending others to my eloquent phrasing. Of course I'd be able to convince my best friends to spend Christmas with me at my parent's new place!" Matt senses Foggy's fists involuntarily closing where they sit on his lap, as if he's bracing himself for something. "Besides," he continues in a softer voice, turning to face Karen fully, "if I learned anything this year, it's that we're better together than apart. You are two of the most important people in my life, and that's what Christmas is all about, isn't it? Being with people you love. So. Yeah. I'm sorry, but you really didn't have a choice but to happily agree to come."

Karen's body relaxes considerably besides Matt, and when she laughs the sound is honest and contagious.

Matt feels the sudden urge to squeeze Foggy's hand or clap him on the shoulder in appreciation for his heart-warming words and his lighthearted way to go about delivering them.

In these moments, Matt wonders at Foggy's ability to read people. He can't listen to heartbeats, or smell sweating, or sense muscles flexing – but still he realized Karen's fears and was tactful to ease them without being completely obvious about it.

"I guess you're right," Karen admits, pulling a strand of hair behind her ear. "It's just." She swallows with some difficulty. "It's been a while since I really celebrated Christmas, you know? I never came back home after the accident. But even before that, we never had big parties. It was just the four of us, just like any other night – only, well," Karen chuckles a little, "with sweeter wine and more expensive meats."

Matt feels his heart constrict at her words. Reaching for her hand, he intertwines their fingers together briefly in support. He really appreciates Karen being more open about her past, even if it breaks his heart to know the horrible things she went through.

"No worries," Foggy is quick to reassure her. His tone is light, but by the skip of his heartbeat Matt knows his friend is just as affected as he is by Karen's admission. "You'll fit right in! Since my parents just moved to Tampa and are still getting their bearings in the new house, they decided not to throw a big Christmas party this year, so it will be just us, Theo, Candace and the kids."

"Candace is your older sister, right?" Karen asks. "We haven't really talked much the last few times I met your family."

"Yeah," Foggy confirms, "ever since she took over the hardware shop, she's always super busy with work. And even when she's not, she's got her hands full with three kids. A workaholic, that's what she is." He says it with a mixture of fondness and mild concern.

Matt frowns, just realizing something. "And what about Henry, isn't he coming?" He is surprised when both of his friends imperceptibly tense at the name and then share a look – if the simultaneous turn of heads is anything to go by. "What? Something wrong with him?" He immediately asks, not bothering to pretend he didn't notice their reactions. The cabbie is too preoccupied with the traffic as they draw nearer to the Toll road to realize the blind man on the back just reacted to something he wasn't supposed to see.

"You better not mention his name when Candace is in the room," Foggy says, a note of warning in his words. "They got divorced earlier this year, and let me tell you: it was messy business. The kind of stinking mess you usually just witness in crappy soap operas and the like."

Matt turns to face Foggy, tilting his head as he absorbs these news. Matt met Candace and Henry during his first year at college, when Foggy invited him to come home with him for the Christmas Holidays. They had seemed a well-matched pair then – both being quick-witted and affectionate, if somewhat hot-tempered and blunt –, and Matt continued to hold that impression on the following years, as they got married and started their family.

Matt hadn't known that thinking about Candace and her children – and realizing how long it's been since he truly spoke to any of them – would leave him feeling so wrong-footed.

"How come? They seemed fine the last time I met them," Matt unthinkingly comments, trying to steer his thoughts away from the cold realization that the kids might not want to have anything to do with him anymore, after he missed two years worth of birthdays and weekend outings. Matt knows it's the wrong thing to say the moment the words leave his mouth. Hot blood rushes through Foggy's body and his facial muscles tense in a frown.

Matt waits for the angry remark, and is honestly surprised when it doesn't come. Instead, warm air leaves Foggy's lungs in a slow exhale – a deliberate effort to calm himself. He is discreet about it too, Matt might not have noticed if he didn't know his friend as well as he does, or if he didn't have heightened senses. On his other side, Karen pretends to watch the traffic outside the window, though by the taste of copper from her bitten lip he knows she is paying close attention to their conversation.

"Yeah, man," Foggy finally says, and although he's tense, there's no open sharpness in his voice. "It's been, what? Two years since you visited? I mean, apart for that quick, impromptu celebration we had at the shop after we took down Fisk." He attempts a laugh, but if feels hollow when the accompanying heartbeat belies it. "A lot has changed," he shrugs.

Matt is put out by obvious way Foggy is trying to dismiss the situation. "You could have told me something was wrong before," he says, trying to hold back the bite of the words. When Foggy's nails dig into his palm in reflexive anger, Matt knows he hasn't been successful.

"Exactly when was I supposed to say something, Matt?" Foggy demands loudly, apparently losing his patience, making the cabbie take a quick look in their direction. Foggy seems to realize they are being overheard, because he lowers his voice drastically as he continues. Another person wouldn't be able to hear it at even that close distance, due to the chaotic ambient noises of a city starting the day. "When our firm was falling apart and you weren't even there to witness it? When you were throwing yourself under an imploding building? Or right afterwards, when you let me believe you were dead for months?"

Foggy snaps his mouth shut, as if he had just blurted out a horrible curse in the middle of the church during mass.

Matt wants to say something, but his throat has closed up again, and no useful words come to mind besides empty apologies. He can only swallow down his frustrations and keep from snapping something hurtful back. Before he has a chance to recompose himself to say anything, Foggy beats him to it.

"Damn. Didn't mean to spring all of that on you," he chuckles, trying to go for a normal tone of voice. He rubs at his forehead with unnecessary force, eyes closed. "All these preparations for Christmas left me really stressed. My nerves are fried." His heartbeat doesn't waver, nor does his voice. But the lingering tension in Foggy's neck betrays him.

Matt is too stunned by the sudden shift in demeanor to do anything other than gape.

"Anyways," Foggy continues, "the point is: do not say the H word in my sister's earshot, got it?"

There is little for Matt to do but to agree.

"Finally!" The cabbie exclaims, drawing attention to himself. "The traffic during the holidays is a real pain in the ass."

Karen laughs, a little too loudly, clearly using the opportunity to defuse some of the tension. "Yeah," she says. "It's in these moments that I miss living in a small town."

"I know, right," the man enthusiastically agrees, seemingly pleased to be able to express some of his frustration at the traffic. "I grew up in the countryside. Never knew what rush hour meant before I came to the city. I swear to you, if the job here didn't pay so well I'd pack my bags and never come back."

After that, Foggy and Karen get into a lively debate with their cabbie, regarding the pros and cons of living in New York.

Matt doesn't pay much attention to it, still caught up with Foggy's bitter accusations.

Soon, he's distracted even from that, as the world on fire as he knows it is swallowed by the endless echoes of the tunnel connecting Midtown Manhattan to Long Island City. Inside the Toll road, the reverberations of hundreds of cars against smooth tiles and hard asphalt hit Matt's senses with disorientating loudness. In a few short seconds, a headache begins to grow right behind his useless eyes, and he has a moment of sheer panic in which he feels as blind and as helpless as that first night at the hospital, after the chemical spill.

In his mind, Matt hears someone telling him to get up and get it done. But inside this confusing trap of sounds and vibrations, he can't tell if it's his father's voice, or if it's Stick's. It doesn't really matter one way or the other. Taking deep breaths, Matt concentrates on centering himself until the spinning stops and the world returns into focus.

Matt doesn't realize he's gripping Foggy's hand tightly until they are almost on the other side of East River.

Shocked at himself, he makes to let go of his friend's hand, but Foggy holds on firmly. He's mid-sentence, arguing something related to the cultural diversity in the local community, to which Karen seems to fervently agree, if her emphatic nodding is any indication. Nothing in Foggy's demeanor indicates that he realizes something is amiss, except for his grounding grip around Matt's fingers.

Something in his expression must give Matt away, for Karen suddenly turns to him.

"Is everything alright, Matt?" She asks, sounding concerned.

As the car finally reaches the other side and the ringing in Matt's ears begin to subside, he once again questions his decision to accept Foggy's invitation.

Matt has never left New York – he's barely left Hell's Kitchen. Just crossing to Long Island left him with a dizzying headache. He doesn't know how he'll survive the three hour flight to Florida, nor the following days in a totally different city, with people he really cares about, but hasn't actually interacted with for about two years. He's trying to mend his relationship with Karen and Foggy, but if the past 15 minutes of conversation are anything to go by it's likely that that will only end in disaster too.

He's completely out of his depth.

"Matt?" Foggy gently prompts, and none of the previous anger colors his tone. A slight squeeze on Matt's hand silently reminds him that even when Foggy is angry or frustrated or hurt, he still cares.

Matt's lips quirk in a small smile. Sometimes he forgets Foggy's just as good at reading other people, as he is at reading Matt.

"Yeah," he says and – because he's trying to be more honest with them – amends, "I'm fine now."