A Cheerful Giver
Part 7
“Here, let me hang up your coat, you go sit down,” Matt said, reaching out, and Foggy flung himself away in panic. He stumbled over his second pair of dress shoes, wobbled for a moment, then fell against the wall. Turning so that it supported his back, he slumped there, panting with the aftermath of terror. “Oh, g-d, oh, g-d.”
“Foggy?” Matt was standing motionless, his face creased with concern, but not daring to do anything more than say his name.
When he could straighten up again, Foggy stumbled into his living room and sank down into his favourite armchair. He wanted to lean forward and hold his head in his hands, but the ache in his breastbone made that impossible, so he leaned back instead. Matt followed, very slowly, as though he were testing every footstep. “Foggy?”
“It’s okay, come in, sit down, I’m sorry,” Foggy babbled. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not okay. But you have nothing to be sorry about,” Matt said, as he came in and sat down on one end of the couch, as far away from Foggy as he could get. “Do you want to talk about it?”
When Foggy didn’t answer right away, he went on. “That vigilante in the other universe, that was me, wasn’t it? Daredevil.”
“Black Devil. They called him Black Devil over there,” Foggy said. “But yeah -- no, it wasn’t you. It was somebody who looked like you and sounded like you, and even went around in black clothes trying to make his city a better place, but it wasn’t you. Because you would never have –“
He stopped. Matt waited, looking as though he knew he didn’t want to hear what was coming.
“You would never have attacked me,” Foggy went on. He still remembered the shock, the sense of betrayal, how long it had taken to convince himself that it wasn’t the Matt he knew.
“What did I do?” Matt asked.
“It wasn’t you, all right?” Foggy realized he was shouting, and lowered his voice slightly. “It wasn’t you! You didn’t hurt me! It was that other—that other Matt. The one who never met me. Because Francis—Frankie – said that I died in that universe before I even went to college. We were never friends there because I – because I got killed. You didn’t know me.”
“So Black Devil probably thought you were one of the bad guys,” Matt guessed.
“Yeah,” Foggy said, latching on to the idea of calling the other Matt by a completely different name. Why hadn’t he done that before, while he was over there? “Yeah. The first time I healed him, he just reached out and broke my wrist, snap. Then he did a kind of somersault and landed on my leg and broke it, here, right under my knee. The next time he kicked me in the chest so hard I went flying. That broke my breastbone – it still hurts.”
Matt looked as horrified as though Foggy were telling him something he’d done while sleepwalking. “Oh, g-d, Foggy, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
Foggy looked away. The apology sounded so sincere and so right, and yet it was coming from the wrong person. He had to remind himself who was speaking. “It wasn’t you, Matt, you’re not the one who should be apologizing.”
“I wish I had your healing gift so I could make you feel better,” Matt said.
Foggy groaned as he remembered how he’d had to use his gift. “I just hope you – I mean the other Matt – Black Devil – I just hope he was able to do something with that pencil sharpener I gave him. When I think of all the damage that Francis could be doing to him right now and always using that damned gift to heal him up afterwards, it makes me wish it never existed!”
He trailed off, and Matt asked, “Pencil sharpener?”
“Oh, I didn’t mention that part, did I?” Foggy realized. “Um, I found a pencil sharpener in a corner of the warehouse, and I broke part of the plastic cover off so that the razor blade was exposed. I took it for myself at first, but then I gave it to Black Devil the last time I healed him. We’d had a little fight, well, it wasn’t really a fight, it was more like just words. I told him to stop attacking me every time I was trying to help, and he told me to either kill him or let him go. But I couldn’t, I couldn’t do either of those things. Francis was keeping me prisoner, too, and, you know, it was a healing gift, not something I could use to make him have a heart attack or a brain aneurysm or something! Giving him that tiny little razor blade was the only thing I could do. Maybe he was able to use it to overpower all the guards, I don’t know.”
“Maybe he decided that suicide wasn’t such a sin after all,” Matt mused. “From what you said, he was in a pretty hopeless situation. If it had been me, I would have seriously considered …”
He made a movement of his hand towards the jugular vein under his left ear.
“I hope he did,” Foggy said. “I really, really hope he did.”
After a moment, Matt said, “I wish I knew how to make you trust me again.”
“You mean, not react like I think you’re going to hulk out on me?” Foggy was rewarded by one of Matt’s half-smiles. “Look, I’m sorry, man, it was unexpected, and – I’m tired and probably a little traumatized, and I’ll feel better to-morrow.”
“I think you’re more than just a little traumatized,” Matt said. “But I’m sure you will feel better to-morrow. Do you want me to go, so you can get some rest?”
“No, I want to chain you to the radiator and keep you here so that I know you’re not going out there and getting captured by somebody who’s going to torture you to death!” Foggy exploded.
There was a long, awkward silence.
“Sorry, that sounded way too kinky,” Foggy finally said. “And it’s okay, Matt, I don’t have any chains or anything like that. Not even a bike lock.”
“I wasn’t worried that you did,” Matt replied with another little smile. Foggy wished he felt like smiling back.
“But it would help if you knew I were safe,” Matt went on.
“Yeah,” Foggy admitted.
“Will you believe me if I promise I won’t go out to-night?”
Foggy looked at him. “You’d do that? For me?”
“If it will help, yeah,” Matt replied.
“You’re not just doing it because you’re secretly hurt?” Foggy asked, fixing him with a glare he wanted Matt to sense.
Matt hesitated. “Okay, in the interest of truth and getting you to trust me, yes, that’s one very small factor, but it would mostly be because of you. Ninety percent because of you.”
Foggy rolled his eyes. “I knew it. I knew you were hurt. It’s like my grandma had some kind of ESP telling her that you needed somebody at your side with a healing gift, that’s why she gave it to me. And now, oh, shit, I’ve given it away and I’ll never be able to help you again. I used to worry I was enabling you, but now I’d give anything to have it back, because you’re always hurt!”
The realization made the loss hurt more.
“I’m not always hurt,” Matt protested.
“Matt …” Foggy said, drawing the name out accusingly, then waved his hands in defeat. “Never mind. I don’t want to think about that now.”
“We were actually talking about me staying in to-night,” Matt reminded him. “And how I can help you trust me again.”
“I do trust you, Matt, but yeah, it would really help me feel better if you stay in for two nights,” Foggy said. “And then we’ll talk.”
“Okay,” Matt agreed.
Foggy stared at him in astonishment. “You promise?”
“I promise.”
“Even if Fisk breaks out of jail and his escape route leads right by your apartment?”
Matt hesitated, then said, “I promise, Foggy. Two nights.”
“Wow, I didn’t think you’d go for that,” Foggy admitted.
“I’m pretty sure he won’t break out of jail,” Matt said. Then he asked, “Do you want me to stay here so you can make sure that I don’t break out?”
“Nah, buddy, that’s all right,” Foggy said. “I don’t want to be tripping over you in the middle of the night or anything.”
But after Matt had left, Foggy felt so strangely alone that he almost wished he’d asked his friend to stay. He had to remind himself that he probably would have literally tripped over Matt a couple of times already, and having another panic attack while doing it, so it was better if Matt wasn’t there. Then he began to wonder if Francis knew where he lived, and spent a long time convincing himself that Francis would have no further interest in him now that he had the healing gift for himself, and anyway, if Francis had wanted to kill him, he could easily have done it while Foggy was out cold.
Francis. He was so different from the Frankie that Foggy had known. How had he got caught up in something like this? And why did it have to be one of Foggy’s relatives who was torturing Matt –Black Devil – in that alternate universe? Would Frankie have gone the same way, if he’d lived? For that matter, would Francis have gone the same way, if the other Foggy had lived? Foggy wasn’t sure what kind of influence his other self could have had on Francis, just as he wasn’t sure how much influence he’d had on Frankie, though he was certain that it was very small. But, in the same vein, could the other Foggy have had any influence on the other Matt? Would they have met up at all?
Foggy couldn’t stop thinking about the many possibilities, and had to keep reminding himself that it was all speculation and far removed from reality. Sometimes you couldn’t affect things. Sometimes you could. Sometimes you were out of the equation – he thought of the other Foggy – and sometimes you were in. Sometimes you got pulled in by somebody else, thank you, Francis. And all too often, life was pretty shitty, especially when other people were actively doing things to make it that way, thank you again, Francis and especially your nameless boss. How could his grandmother have even thought of being a cheerful giver in situations like that? Foggy fell asleep wondering if that was her way of fighting back.
Part 8
“Foggy?” Matt was standing motionless, his face creased with concern, but not daring to do anything more than say his name.
When he could straighten up again, Foggy stumbled into his living room and sank down into his favourite armchair. He wanted to lean forward and hold his head in his hands, but the ache in his breastbone made that impossible, so he leaned back instead. Matt followed, very slowly, as though he were testing every footstep. “Foggy?”
“It’s okay, come in, sit down, I’m sorry,” Foggy babbled. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not okay. But you have nothing to be sorry about,” Matt said, as he came in and sat down on one end of the couch, as far away from Foggy as he could get. “Do you want to talk about it?”
When Foggy didn’t answer right away, he went on. “That vigilante in the other universe, that was me, wasn’t it? Daredevil.”
“Black Devil. They called him Black Devil over there,” Foggy said. “But yeah -- no, it wasn’t you. It was somebody who looked like you and sounded like you, and even went around in black clothes trying to make his city a better place, but it wasn’t you. Because you would never have –“
He stopped. Matt waited, looking as though he knew he didn’t want to hear what was coming.
“You would never have attacked me,” Foggy went on. He still remembered the shock, the sense of betrayal, how long it had taken to convince himself that it wasn’t the Matt he knew.
“What did I do?” Matt asked.
“It wasn’t you, all right?” Foggy realized he was shouting, and lowered his voice slightly. “It wasn’t you! You didn’t hurt me! It was that other—that other Matt. The one who never met me. Because Francis—Frankie – said that I died in that universe before I even went to college. We were never friends there because I – because I got killed. You didn’t know me.”
“So Black Devil probably thought you were one of the bad guys,” Matt guessed.
“Yeah,” Foggy said, latching on to the idea of calling the other Matt by a completely different name. Why hadn’t he done that before, while he was over there? “Yeah. The first time I healed him, he just reached out and broke my wrist, snap. Then he did a kind of somersault and landed on my leg and broke it, here, right under my knee. The next time he kicked me in the chest so hard I went flying. That broke my breastbone – it still hurts.”
Matt looked as horrified as though Foggy were telling him something he’d done while sleepwalking. “Oh, g-d, Foggy, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
Foggy looked away. The apology sounded so sincere and so right, and yet it was coming from the wrong person. He had to remind himself who was speaking. “It wasn’t you, Matt, you’re not the one who should be apologizing.”
“I wish I had your healing gift so I could make you feel better,” Matt said.
Foggy groaned as he remembered how he’d had to use his gift. “I just hope you – I mean the other Matt – Black Devil – I just hope he was able to do something with that pencil sharpener I gave him. When I think of all the damage that Francis could be doing to him right now and always using that damned gift to heal him up afterwards, it makes me wish it never existed!”
He trailed off, and Matt asked, “Pencil sharpener?”
“Oh, I didn’t mention that part, did I?” Foggy realized. “Um, I found a pencil sharpener in a corner of the warehouse, and I broke part of the plastic cover off so that the razor blade was exposed. I took it for myself at first, but then I gave it to Black Devil the last time I healed him. We’d had a little fight, well, it wasn’t really a fight, it was more like just words. I told him to stop attacking me every time I was trying to help, and he told me to either kill him or let him go. But I couldn’t, I couldn’t do either of those things. Francis was keeping me prisoner, too, and, you know, it was a healing gift, not something I could use to make him have a heart attack or a brain aneurysm or something! Giving him that tiny little razor blade was the only thing I could do. Maybe he was able to use it to overpower all the guards, I don’t know.”
“Maybe he decided that suicide wasn’t such a sin after all,” Matt mused. “From what you said, he was in a pretty hopeless situation. If it had been me, I would have seriously considered …”
He made a movement of his hand towards the jugular vein under his left ear.
“I hope he did,” Foggy said. “I really, really hope he did.”
After a moment, Matt said, “I wish I knew how to make you trust me again.”
“You mean, not react like I think you’re going to hulk out on me?” Foggy was rewarded by one of Matt’s half-smiles. “Look, I’m sorry, man, it was unexpected, and – I’m tired and probably a little traumatized, and I’ll feel better to-morrow.”
“I think you’re more than just a little traumatized,” Matt said. “But I’m sure you will feel better to-morrow. Do you want me to go, so you can get some rest?”
“No, I want to chain you to the radiator and keep you here so that I know you’re not going out there and getting captured by somebody who’s going to torture you to death!” Foggy exploded.
There was a long, awkward silence.
“Sorry, that sounded way too kinky,” Foggy finally said. “And it’s okay, Matt, I don’t have any chains or anything like that. Not even a bike lock.”
“I wasn’t worried that you did,” Matt replied with another little smile. Foggy wished he felt like smiling back.
“But it would help if you knew I were safe,” Matt went on.
“Yeah,” Foggy admitted.
“Will you believe me if I promise I won’t go out to-night?”
Foggy looked at him. “You’d do that? For me?”
“If it will help, yeah,” Matt replied.
“You’re not just doing it because you’re secretly hurt?” Foggy asked, fixing him with a glare he wanted Matt to sense.
Matt hesitated. “Okay, in the interest of truth and getting you to trust me, yes, that’s one very small factor, but it would mostly be because of you. Ninety percent because of you.”
Foggy rolled his eyes. “I knew it. I knew you were hurt. It’s like my grandma had some kind of ESP telling her that you needed somebody at your side with a healing gift, that’s why she gave it to me. And now, oh, shit, I’ve given it away and I’ll never be able to help you again. I used to worry I was enabling you, but now I’d give anything to have it back, because you’re always hurt!”
The realization made the loss hurt more.
“I’m not always hurt,” Matt protested.
“Matt …” Foggy said, drawing the name out accusingly, then waved his hands in defeat. “Never mind. I don’t want to think about that now.”
“We were actually talking about me staying in to-night,” Matt reminded him. “And how I can help you trust me again.”
“I do trust you, Matt, but yeah, it would really help me feel better if you stay in for two nights,” Foggy said. “And then we’ll talk.”
“Okay,” Matt agreed.
Foggy stared at him in astonishment. “You promise?”
“I promise.”
“Even if Fisk breaks out of jail and his escape route leads right by your apartment?”
Matt hesitated, then said, “I promise, Foggy. Two nights.”
“Wow, I didn’t think you’d go for that,” Foggy admitted.
“I’m pretty sure he won’t break out of jail,” Matt said. Then he asked, “Do you want me to stay here so you can make sure that I don’t break out?”
“Nah, buddy, that’s all right,” Foggy said. “I don’t want to be tripping over you in the middle of the night or anything.”
But after Matt had left, Foggy felt so strangely alone that he almost wished he’d asked his friend to stay. He had to remind himself that he probably would have literally tripped over Matt a couple of times already, and having another panic attack while doing it, so it was better if Matt wasn’t there. Then he began to wonder if Francis knew where he lived, and spent a long time convincing himself that Francis would have no further interest in him now that he had the healing gift for himself, and anyway, if Francis had wanted to kill him, he could easily have done it while Foggy was out cold.
Francis. He was so different from the Frankie that Foggy had known. How had he got caught up in something like this? And why did it have to be one of Foggy’s relatives who was torturing Matt –Black Devil – in that alternate universe? Would Frankie have gone the same way, if he’d lived? For that matter, would Francis have gone the same way, if the other Foggy had lived? Foggy wasn’t sure what kind of influence his other self could have had on Francis, just as he wasn’t sure how much influence he’d had on Frankie, though he was certain that it was very small. But, in the same vein, could the other Foggy have had any influence on the other Matt? Would they have met up at all?
Foggy couldn’t stop thinking about the many possibilities, and had to keep reminding himself that it was all speculation and far removed from reality. Sometimes you couldn’t affect things. Sometimes you could. Sometimes you were out of the equation – he thought of the other Foggy – and sometimes you were in. Sometimes you got pulled in by somebody else, thank you, Francis. And all too often, life was pretty shitty, especially when other people were actively doing things to make it that way, thank you again, Francis and especially your nameless boss. How could his grandmother have even thought of being a cheerful giver in situations like that? Foggy fell asleep wondering if that was her way of fighting back.
Part 8