One Night || Pre-Skrull Invasion AU || Foggy Nelson
It was a routine that Foggy had gotten all to used to. When Matt came out at night, he would wait until he came home. He would often work on client’s paper work until he would watch some netflix. Usually he would fitfully sleep, or at least try to sleep. He knew sometimes Matt would wait until he was truly asleep to stitch himself up, and while at first it had pissed him off, he knew that it was just how matt was sometimes.
Foggy would always worry about Matt. He would probably develop ulcers about matt. But It was just how he was.
Sighing and rubbing his eyes and then moving his fingers through blonde hair, he pursed his lips at first. Matt often didn’t think about his tone before he spoke, especially when he was hurt. Again, it was just who he was. Pausing, he sat up, instantly settling Matt in his comfiest chair.
“Yeah yeah, you can take care of yourself, but that doesn’t mean you should have to.”
The rest of his words are in mixed Yiddish and Hebrew as he goes to the bathroom and comes out with a plastic box that claire had left him. Inside was gauze, several different kinds of band aids, suture kits, and anything else he might need.
“Alright, let’s see the damage.”
Pulling off his mask, he smiles lightly and gives him a quick kiss on his forehead, his fingers going through his hair before getting out a cleaning cloth and dealing with the smaller cuts on his forehead and jaw.
“You shouldn’t kiss me,” he protested lightly despite the smile forming on his face at Foggy’s mussing of his hair, “I’m sweaty and covered in blood, and I don’t deserve you,” he sounded as though he was joking, but he truly wasn’t – the sheer fact that Foggy had yet to yell at him despite him having been quite confrontational only moments before proved that Foggy was far too perfect.
He didn’t know what was keeping Foggy from just leaving him after all he had put the man through, but he wasn’t certain he wanted to find out.
“It’s just a graze – the armour took most of it,” he explained as he unfastened the plating about his chest, letting it slide to the ground with as little of a clatter as he could manage. He could feel a bit of a headache beginning to set in, and he didn’t want to make it any worse before it began. He was going to sit in a bath for far longer than he probably should after getting patched up, he decided.
“It’s bleeding, but it’s just needs a few stitches. It didn’t go deep enough to cause any serious damage.” It was his cracked ribs that were causing him all the pain, but there was nothing Foggy could do to heal them, and so he didn’t mention it. Perhaps it was being dishonest, keeping secrets from Foggy, but he had fallen into a habit, and habits were hard to break.
He peeled the black undershirt off his body carefully, being careful to show no signs that his ribs were injured as he did so. “Just a scratch,” he emphasised as the bullet wound in his side protested his movements by bleeding heavier, “it’s not deep,” and he wasn’t lying.
