2 for mattfoggy
2. things you say through your teeth. Under a readmore for content - please check tags
Lies weren’t necessarily a bad thing, if they protected the other person.
“Of course I didn’t forget our anniversary.” They could be small, and sweet, and good. Lies had to be allowed, where they didn’t harm.
“I’m fine.” It was only a small wound, it would be healed in a few days.
“Of course I’m happy to see them.” The truth would hurt.
“I wasn’t out out. Honestly, I tripped down the stairs.” He was supposed to be on bed rest. He was pretty sure Foggy could tell he was lying.
“I’m almost there. Keep running.”
The words burned. The lies burned, and he hoped Foggy couldn’t tell through the phone how his hands shook. How he’d begged Foggy to run from the danger when Matt didn’t plan on doing the same. “I’m right behind you, get through the doors. The cops are here, get to them.”
Brett was out there. Brett would be there for Foggy.
He was floors away. The shooter far too close for comfort, and innocents in the building still. But Foggy was almost out, and those in the building were hiding away. It was a fluke, that Foggy had excused himself to the bathroom as the same time shots rang out some levels above them. It was easy to phone him, to tell him to stay away, and get away.
There was fabric on the wall, some sort of flag, and Matt ripped it into a makeshift mask. “I’ll be there in a minute Foggy.”
“Matt? Don’t do anything stupid.”
“I won’t. You’re safe, right? You got out?” He could hear the other escapees being ushered behind the police cars, shaking voices and worried words.
“Yes. And you’re supposed to be right behind me.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll be there in- I can stop him Foggy. Before he hurts anyone else.”
“Matt.” Foggy spoke to someone else, the words almost muffled. “Matt’s still in there. Yes. Yes you know he is Brett. An idiot. Matt. What floor are you on, what floor is he on? Help this way. Just give us the information, you don’t have to be a martyr.”
“We’re both on the 18th still. I’m alone in the conference room. He’s in the hallway. I can stop him.”
He dropped the phone, hearing Foggy begging. Pleading with him. “I’ll be fine Foggy. I promise.” He wasn’t used to the way these lies burned, the way his teeth clenched around the words. The shooter wouldn’t be expecting an attack, was walking these halls like he owned the world. Overconfidence was a hell of a drug, and had been far too many wannabe villains downfalls. Would be this ones.
He hadn’t meant for the words he’s spoken to Foggy to have been a lie. Had been expecting the normal monologue a gun-wielding enemy seemed to love. Not someone quite so trigger-happy, not someone who actually knew how to handle a gun.
The bullet was never supposed to hit him. He should have dodged.
He always dodged.
Until he didn’t.
And the shooter was hurtling down the hallway, and Matt had to be thankful that no one else had been hurt, that this had spooked him.
But it hurt. It ached, and he was scared. He hadn’t meant to lie.
It wasn’t-
He could get to his phone. He could crawl, one arm useless and broken and bleeding.
He could hear it. Could hear Foggy still on the line, could hear his frantic pleas and the echoing noises of sirens through the speaker.
“Foh?” Every breath was forced, red heat throbbing around each bullet wound.
“Matt?! I heard gunshots, are you okay?”
There was a temptation to lie. To protect him and say it would all be okay.
“You were right.” It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t the apology Foggy deserved, but words weren’t going to work for him here. He sat on the floor, leaning against the back of the chairs they’d all complained about.
“...What was I right about?”
“’m ‘n idiot.”
“Matt.” His voice was a low whisper. “Matt what happened? How are you hurt, can you get out?”
“No. I don’ - I can try. Don’ leave.” If he could get to the elevator, there might be hope. There might be help. He could rely on that to get out, or at least down.
Deep in his heart, he didn’t think he was making it. Thought this might be yet another lie. He’d try for Foggy though. He’d try. He owed that much to him.
“Brett?”
“Yeah he’s here. You moving Matty? You getting out of there?”
“’s good.” Foggy had someone. If- when- the worst happened. He wasn’t sure what colour the scratchy carpet had been before, but he was surely staining it red with blood as he crawled along the floor, useless arm cradled to his chest, phone resting on top of it where he could hear Foggy’s voice.
“’levator.” He took a deep breath before reaching to fumble for the down button. The seconds where it whirred to life were antagonising long, and he tried to shake the dust of unconsciousness from his hazy mind. “C’n you get me?”
“I got you. You’re going to be okay Matt, okay, stay with me. Save your energy, but stay with me.” The doors slid closed behind him, and he couldn’t remember dragging himself into the box but he was slumped in the corner. The blood on his usable hand made it difficult to read the buttons, and he hoped he was heading to the ground floor. Hoped he was heading to safety.
It was easy to lull himself into the sense of relief. That he was out.
“Foh?”
“Yeah Matty?”
“I’m sorry. If- if I-” His teeth chattered and he felt icy cold. This wasn’t good. “’m sorry I-”
“It’s okay. You don’t need to apologise, you’re going to be okay, okay? Listen to me, you’re going to be alright.” With a clunk, the elevator hit the ground floor, and the door opened. People rushed towards him, paramedics, and with it Foggy, caught up in the rush.
“We got you. You’re going to be okay Matty.”
He wasn’t used to hearing Foggy lie.
