Boxer!Matt X Butcher!Foggy
These are unedited scenes from the first chapter that I wanted to share before I finish writing :3
“Who’s that?” Foggy chirps around a mouthful of his ham sandwich, legs swinging through the thick summer air as they sit on the fire escape- rejoicing in the forgiving shade it provided.
The damp East Coast heat cloaks itself over the bodies swarming around their neighborhood, like breathing through a damp cotton sheet, turning pavement into stove tops, and adding another ten minutes to anyone's journey on foot due to dehydration and weakened strides.
In their burrow, it was always hot- boiling or otherwise. If not summer then the torturing of souls damned to live in the hungry belly of Hell’s Kitchen. The Nelsons likely knew this best.
Candace tilts her head, trying to get a good look at where her brother's free hand was pointing. She hums, tilts her head to the other side, then steals some honey dijon chips from Foggy’s bag. He half-heartedly swats her away.
They watch as a young man in black gym pants and a gray t-shirt that hugs his body thanks to the humidity dampening the atmosphere below. It feels like the world down there moves slower as he glides by, his eyes looking in a singular direction tilted low, a sharp smirk unwavering on his handsome face.
The silver cross lying over his shirt catches the sun as his head lifts upward almost in their direction.
“The cutie with the dark circle glasses?” She mumbled with a full mouth and a smirk, “Doesn’t look like your type- oh wait… Look- just now he almost tripped, maybe he is your type.”
“No, he didn- oh, oh my god he did.” He smiles around his last bite, dusting the crumbs off his hands. His eyes don't leave the man below as he lifts himself until he has to bend down to pick up his white grease-stained apron. “Com’on Candy, I can already hear mom complaining.”
“About the shop? She can handle it for another five minutes- mom’s built like a spartan warrior,” But she gets up anyway, taking Foggy’s hand and exaggerating a grunt as he heaves her up with great care- he winces at the sound. Snatching her apron from where it was tossed over the handrail, she jabs Foggy with a pointed elbow.
“Ugh- Candy, quit playing-“ He starts, tying his apron with haste.
“Murdock…” She pipes with a crunch, having picked up the discarded half-empty bag to finish the job.
“What?” Foggy’s already made it half down the first set of stairs, now working on tying his hair back up into a stubby ponytail.
“That’s his name I think- Mattew Murdock. Hard to forget guys like that, I think our dads might know each other… Also, I think he's that one kid, from the papers way back, the blind one.”
He has a faint memory of the incident. Back then before they had the shop his family would spend every free moment in Jersey to visit all his parents’ family until more of the Nelson clan settled into the burrocks of Hell’s Kitchen. There wasn’t a lot of time to get to know the other residents besides their shop regulars up close and personal.
The metal creaks in loud complaint as they stomp their way down galvanized steel. He rolls the name over in his mind, up and down then left to right. It sounds like the main character in a seedy organized crime movie, sharp, manacious- definitely New York in origin.
“Please stop being gross over a name or I’m gonna kick you down these stairs,”
Foggy huffs out a laugh, snatching his chip bag back, “Then who would slice all the ham while you play hooky and flirt with vulnerable unsuspecting customers?”
“Someone has to do it, Foggy. Oh, but don't worry, I’ll be sure to leave the Murdock’s all for you- Oww! Foggy!”
He runs down the rest of the way before she can hit him back. Foggy doesn’t run too fast though, trying to mind Candace’s black and blue legs and the limp it induces.
Mathew’s head is stuck in a tilt as he listens, the bottom edge of his shirt stretched by healing fists as he uses it to wipe the summer sweat off his nose and upper lip. His mouth was pulled in a Cupid sharp smile.
He braces himself before stumbling as a hand smacks into his shoulder, gripping the bone, and pulls Matt closer.
“It’s good to have ya back Matty, Uncle Jack’s been buggin’ about you comin’ all week- damn near skipping down the street, that guy,” Ralph piped up, jostling him as he tries to pull his brother back from walking too fast ahead of them, “Patt, hold on man, yer walkin’ too fast- say, have you heard from the paddys in green yet?”
“They're Irish, not leprechauns… you're gonna make him fall, Jackass- “ Patt murmured, lighting up his fourth cigarette, “and drop it before dad hears you”
“We’re Irish twins, as they say- I feel as though we get to be a lil’ controversial Pattrick- and Matty’s an Ox, aren't you, Matty?”
He might have taken a little too long to respond as the laughs of the two people stumbling down the fire escape pool warmly in his ears, his brows quirk as he picks up the way the girl’s breathing seems more labored than the boy's though she seems smaller “Huh? He tries, smoothing out his tee and facing Ralph.
As they walk alongside the more clear parts of the sidewalk again, he starts to hear the familiar voice of his uncle.
“It’s the plight of the everyday man, Jack, ya gotta respect the plight,” His uncle stresses, his lips pursed with scrunched brows and his hands bobbing with his pointer and thumb connected like he’s trying to solidify his point into concrete.
“I know all about it- haven't felt my damn back in the last twenty years Robert, twenty.” His father looks indifferent, his body relaxed until their eyes meet and his eyes glow with calm. “Matty, my baby.”
His cousins snicker, bringing a sag to Matt's shoulders toward his father. “Hey, Dad,”
“That’s all I get? Raise you, bleed for you, and all you got for me is a ‘hey dad’?” He pulls Matt into a tight hug, patting his back firmly and cradling the back of his son's neck.
“Love you, kid. Sorry I couldn’t pick you up, the trip was okay?”
He hugs his father back with a deep chuckle, pulling them apart with a final pat. “It was good, don’t worry ‘bout it. Nothing I couldn’t handle.”
Matt wanted to add in that he had missed him dearly, had spent what felt like consecutive years wanting to see him- but it didn’t feel necessary to say.
“That’s my boy. Common, let's get to work,” Jack scruffs.
Jack walks with a limp that Matt instinctively accommodates as his arm stays firmly around his father's sloping shoulders. It’s a reminder that rings in Matt’s mind like the bell at the beginning of a match, thumping in time with their steps. Though it’s always nice to come home, soon the shadows of their city seep around him and beg to blind him further.
He grins despite the world he’s walked back into. It smells just like his birthplace, the aroma of clotted blood decorating the canvas floor of the boxing ring that no amount of scrubbing would get rid of- and Matt insatiably breathes it in.
Two years is a long time to be away, even with short visits when his instructor was returning home themselves and he had the opportunity to grapple his way onto a bus headed straight to his family.
He drifts back to his time in Maryland, the ghost of breaking bones and limits being rung out of him for all he could offer. It wraps around him and coaxes a shiver.
But he’s back now, it’ll be okay. His father flies around with excitement and nerves like he doesn’t really know how to hold himself in front of Matt- like his son was a crutch he grew too fond of and after years apart decided that it was better to limp around. Jack would cave, though. He always did.
The twins busy themselves between the sandbags and having to do zigzag laps around the bodies in the gym whenever they piss off Uncle Rob.
It always feels like a flock of birds are caught along the ceiling fighting for their way out of a building when the boys are bantering amongst themselves, background music that all the men training are used to.
The sound of solid, out of place footsteps entering through the back doors cuts the chirping of his cousins into a focused silence as Matt zones into them. The glide of expensive linen cotton and wool blends against gluten thighs and the tension of worn leather loafers, drumming in a path headed straight for his father and his heart stills.
“Jack.” Flesh against flesh as hands shake in greeting, “Need’a have a word with yer boy.”
Foggy finds his father in the laundry room juggling colorful fabric. He comes in with his textbook stuffed with loose binder paper and a bag of pens in tow- knowing very well that he was only going to pretend to do his classwork.
His dad makes quick work of folding the blankets and towels in the same way he lugs around pounds of meat during the day- with little thought but great efficiency.
Edward Nelson is a brawny man softened with age, his burrell chest and strong arms primarily used for comfort and protection these days when he’s not covered in the remnants of animal carcasses’.
Even with the genders in their home split evenly, Foggy and Candy get equal attention from both parents. Despite how suffocating it may be to be loved so much by such robust people, it’s nice to have someone to run to- someone to treasure you no matter who you are.
Foggy maneuvers a stool with his foot and glides it across the tacky laminated floor until it thumps the washer to sit and lean his back against.
“Hey, papa… Can I ask you something?” He asks as he bobs the statistics textbook on his lap.
“If it’s about that expensive book you're holding then I’ll be short on anything beneficial…” Foggy ducks out of the way as Mr. Nelson grabs the laundry basket above him after ruffling his son’s shaggy blonde hair that was starting to grow long.
Puckering his lips, biting his cheeks, and then settling his hands on his knees. “Uh, well- so, we know the Murdock’s, right?”
“Franklin,” The man turns to face him, a meaty hand supporting the heavy basket on his hip, “-the only things that smart head of yours should be full of is your classes and getting a hold on how business taxes work.”
He sits up straighter and the cheap plastic stool squeaks at the shift. “Okay, but we know them, right?”
“Franklin, grab the detergent for me-“, He urges, opening the thick white entry door.
“Dad, do you remember the kid who got involved in the chemical car accident thing? Well-“, following his dad out of the apartment building's laundry room, walking through the maintenance hallways to reach the musky carpeted staircases.
“Stop it, Franklin!” Ed bellows, his words booming over the small space and traveling to the floors above. Foggy almost dropped the jug and book he was balancing in his arms.
“Stop asking about them, it’s bad enough I have’ta stress about your sister and that little asshole she tries to call her boyfriend, we don’t need to be worrin’ about you too, hanging around those boys- don't want you talking about them anymore either.”
There's no space in his father's mind for any rebuttal Foggy may have, no room for anything other than his own thoughts and opinions. “Don’t talk about Candy like that.“ It comes out like a hiss before he minds his tone, “You know Candy’s just, she’s-“
“Please, son, I’m tryin’ my best to not pop you in the mouth, just get inside.” He steers, opening the door to their apartment for the both of them.
“Fine.” Foggy bites out, dodging the mass of his father as he squeezes through and feeling laughable for trying to talk to him. His voice gets louder as they step inside. “You could at least tell me what your problem is, I thought some of those guys from their gym were your friends?”
His mother leans backward from the kitchen table to get a look at them with his sister beside her, working on Candy’s summer school work together to hopefully get her past her junior year. “Are you guys fighting already? We didn’t even have dinner yet-“
“Why are you two yelling? It’s a small home, whispering would work just as well.”
Ed drops the basket by the couch, taking hold of the detergent from Foggy's hands and tossing it on the shelf by the girls. “Anna, please, now's not the- you know what, how about you talk to your son?”
“Ooh, so you asked him about Murdock,” Candy sighs with a smile in her words but it doesn't reach her gaze. She’s shifting in her seat like she can’t manage to get comfortable, the vague distant look in her eyes that snakes into her every once in a while and it brings his father’s words from a moment ago to the forefront of his mind.
Anna whips her head to her daughter, then back to her boys, “…Which one?”
“The blind one.” Candy supplies, leaning towards their mother as the older woman tucks a piece of honey brown hair where it fanned over her eyes behind her ear. A bag of frozen peas sits limply, defrosting on one of the empty table chairs.
“Oh, a real cute one, that boy.” Anna nods, picking up a pencil and marking up the papers in her stack. “Haven't seen him around for a while.”
Ed groans, throwing himself into his armchair and scratching the back of his head. “Some of them are good guys, they stick together and they look out for each other- but it ends there.”
“Okay, okay, I was just curious,” He says as he mimes zipping his mouth closed with a twist of his wrist, tossing his hand over his shoulder, “No more aneurysm-inducing questions.”
They settle into cross-stitched noises; Anna gets dinner started and Ed folds the smaller basket of clean clothes to the noise of some politics channel that Foggy also listens to. He writes his notes on the carpeted floor thoughtlessly.
The hosts argue over the violence of a recent string of brutal broad daylight kidnappings and extortions littering their city. With a screech of her chair, Candace gets up from the table, heading to their shared bedroom to lie down. As she passes the bookcase in the short hall, Foggy tries not to look too intensely as she runs her finger over an aged picture frame before making it into the room.
They could all hear when she picked up the phone in a hushed voice. Foggy taps his pen against his notebook.
“… so, the Murdocks… Do they like oyster poultry?”
It’s late and Foggy is still full from the mountain of rice-a-roni and Italian sausages they had for dinner but that doesn’t stop him from hunting down something to snack on while he finally decides to stop procrastinating on his classes.
Candy had snuck out a few hours ago and usually, he would be laying in bed sleepless until she returned, but he had left with her before going separate ways to blow off some steam at a ‘friends’ house. It was quick and virtually pointless, but Foggy didn’t mind the walk there and back- it helped clear his mind.
He was preoccupied with spaceless thoughts, unfortunately, since he almost had a heart attack when they both walked into the living room with mediocre stealth.
“Foggy, christ dude, I almost… Hey wait, are those sour patches?”
“Yeah,” Foggy mumbles through a mouthful. Candy smiles weakly, which is also when he notices the swollen wound on her mouth. She shakes his attention back, waving a pack of NewPorts and pointing to the terrace sliding door.
He follows her with no objection, both siblings settling on the ground. To finish off the bag and look for their stashed lighter.
Candy accepts his arm, leaning her head as she blinks slowly with the threat of sleep, the lantern of her lit cigarette adding to the highrise and industrial lights that illuminate the night. It’s still warm enough for the t-shirts they both wear but it’s easier to take frugal breaths in; so they do. She brings the cigarette to her split lip.
“Are you comfortable?” Foggy murmurs, his unoccupied hand grazing through Candy’s unruly dirty blonde hair the same way he brushes the tips of his fingers across sharp blades of grass.
She shifts on the throw pillow he gave her in response, smoke releasing with a sigh as they sit on the small apartment balcony. He can feel his legs going numb from the cross position he’s in, but he can ignore it for now. She doesn’t bother moving either.
“Do you remember when we were, like, seven and ten or something?” She starts, her eyes falling closed, “And I got you to go door to door with me with an empty tuna can, telling everyone we were raising money for charity?”
“At Auntie Kay’s?”, he chuckled, following her lead and letting his eyes begin to fall closed. He thinks about the both of them running around their aunt's neighborhood, their smiles reaching her eyes. “-that ass whoopin’ we got when one of their neighbors phoned the house? Was not worth the nickles.”
She huffs a laugh, readjusting her cheek on his bicep. “Yeah… they didn’t even let us keep the change,” the light of the roach starts to die out, catching Foggy’s eye. Before he can stop her, she fists it, wincing bravely as it burns her palm.
“Candy, stop!” He tries not to be too loud in an attempt to not wake their parents, grabbing her hand and prying her shaking fingers open.
A stifled sob rips from her trembling lips and it makes Foggy flinch, “I hate him, Foggy, I hate him so much… I don’t know- I dont…” She cries into the soft area between his collarbone and jaw. Holding her as close as he could, Foggy tries to block her away from anything willing to harm her.
“I’m so fucking stupid, Foggy, I can’t-“, her voice starts to raise.
“Shh, Candy, it’s gonna be okay, I’m here…” He soothes, tightening his hold around her.
He doesn’t have to stop and worry about the bruises knowing she wouldn’t care anyway- that she probably would like the dullness of it’s pain.
He would talk to their parents tomorrow, Foggy thinks despite knowing that he couldn’t do that to Candy, that there had to be another way to help her without his sister hating him forever.
It’s nearly something he could believe- being capable of protecting something he loves; that they could go on holding each other like this and the moment they would have to pull away would never come.
Candy peels herself away after a hollow moment, lighting another cigarette.
Foggy gets into a rhythm of slicing, plucking, and tossing the best meaty parts of the chicken into a thick clear bag- minding the number accumulating on the food scale.
The fans are old and fill the back prep room with a rattling hum, doing very little to stave off the insulated heat. He wipes the seat with his bare forearm, scrunching his face as he gets a whiff of the oils on his gloved hands.
At some point, the radio was playing too but almost every station talked about homicide or the rise in assault cases in their cozy little corner of New York. Foggy had to turn it off or risk regurgitation as the information mixed with the smell of raw meat.
Their parents are out for their scheduled morning appointment at the bank- leaving the siblings to hold down the fort. It’s been hard trying to get loans to keep them above ground while they deal with their recent supplier issue, and he can empathize with that since his folks and the business is the only thing guaranteeing college for him.
Overworked and tired weekends will not be sparse for the Nelson siblings.
Not anything new, but definitely not how he wanted to spend his usually free Sunday- especially with the depletion of the night before. After he managed to get Candy into bed, he only managed to get about an hour of sleep before he woke up sweaty and frightened.
He doesn’t remember most of it, but he'll never forget the feelings; hot storage closet, the suffocating smell of chewing tobacco, a rubber gym mat against his back. It’s a nightmare he’s familiar with and it leaves him tired.
Snapping him out of his drifting mind, Candy comes barreling through the kitchen's double doors. With a high pitched chuckle, she eagerly tries to push him away from the cutting table.
“Candy? What-“ he starts, yelping when she rips off the tie for the plastic apron guard and goes for the real apron next.
“Jack and his son are about to walk in, thank me later,” She huffs with a wide smile, grabbing a clean apron from the rack further behind them for him to change into.
Foggy gives her a look, trying not to hurt her when she nudges him with her hip and tries to steal the serrated knife from his hands to take over his station.
“Wait what does that-“ Foggy starts but Candy cuts him off with a groan, pushing him towards the door leading to the main counter.
“Jack Murdock?” she moves around his shoulder, giving him a pointed look, “And his son- Matt Murdock? You idiot,”
“Oh- oh, okay.” Foggy pops, stopping her as he twists around, grabbing her by her shoulders. “Wait- oh my god, what do I even say?”
“Dude,” Candy responds, slapping the back of his head, turning again to shove him harder now. “Just take their order, I need a smoke break.”
