Foreigner's God: Chapter 19
Pairing: Matt Murdock x OFC
Chapter Summary: Eliza is on her own, but then again, she always has been. She finds herself reminiscing about the past and once again scared to ask for help when she needs it the most.
Warnings: angst, suicide attempt, Nick Fury (yes, he’s a warning in itself), talk about political views, some fluff at the end
A/n: I’m so sorry. The next few chapters are gonna be void of ANY smut. You’re gonna have to suffer before it gets better. My humblest apologies. Also, the issues I talk about in this chapter are close to my heart. Very close. If you’re not on the political left, this might enrage you. So read at your own risk.
18+ MINORS DNI
There is a metaphor that depicts the devil on one of our shoulders and an angel on the other. You can guess which is the rational one.
The devil represents the ‘It’. The thing that drives us from the day we are born. The ‘It’ comprises our wants and needs. The ‘It’ only wants and wants and wants, never gives. Due to it being prominent only when we’re little, especially as babies and toddlers, it’s normal for a child to want everything and then you, as a parent, have to teach them that you, in fact, can’t have everything your head tells you to. You can’t have everything the devil on your shoulder tells you to get, but we try, and then we get punished. It’s normal.
For some though, the conflict with the devil is just as strong once they become adults. That doesn’t have to mean they fall for it, most of them don’t, but there is a lot of tension between wanting and giving, between being good and bad, between giving in and letting go - the devil and the angel are in a constant battle against each other and you can no longer play the mediator. They have a mind of their own and you’re left waiting, hoping you’ll find the right path on your own because these two aren’t the best help. They’re nothing if not useless.
When you’re forced to grow up from a young age, constantly fighting with yourself becomes the standard. You have to shape yourself. Every phase of your life is led by you, and the angel and the devil sit by, whispering naughty things into your ear and being anything but helpful. But you’re alone, so you learn how to live with it. You learn how to dictate your life around the constant bickering happening on your shoulders. You learn how to live with the constant fear of abandonment, the struggle with death, and everything else that might have gone wrong in the process of growing up.
Being told by an adult, “You’re on your own, kid.” Usually means just that. You’re on your own, kid. And you will always feel like you are. It’s like being lonely with hundreds of people around; once you’re dependent on yourself, that’s it. You can’t change the narrative now. You won’t get your childhood back. So when the time comes when you find someone who says ‘No, you’re not on your own.’ The truth is, you still are. You want to be because fuck! How do you live with someone who cares about you? And even though you know you’re not alone, you’re still responsible for yourself, and you will continue putting all of this weight on your shoulders until the angel and the devil give up. But they never do. They can’t, not as long as you’re still alive.
For Eliza, the portrait of herself she kept seeing, following her around everywhere, might as well have been the angel and the devil combined into one. She was always on her shoulder, always in her head. She saw her because she was the only one on her side. She always has been, always dependent on herself with nothing to defend herself with other than her brain, intellect, and physical strength.
The cold autumn hair brushed through her messy hair. Her nose was tinted red from the drop in temperature and the skin just below her eyes had dried up. Snot was starting to collect in the corner of her nostril. She wasn’t wearing a jacket. The thin sweater she took with her to the roof was already drenched in the cold, sinking her body temperature with every gush of wind and making her teeth clatter.
The city was loud underneath her. Cars honking, people fighting, and the coming and going of the police sirens never stopped for more than five minutes. She could see the citizens of New York on the sidewalk, some faster than others. In the building across from the tower, the CEO of the company who owned the offices on the sixth floor threw a retirement party. Just a few floors above, a woman was stuck on paperwork while her kids were in bed at home. Her husband had long stopped to wait up for her. They weren’t a happy couple. For the most part, the world was quiet at this time of night. If you looked past the crime, it was almost peaceful in a way. The number of people reduced drastically from the busy work day. Left were workaholics, couples, and night owls. Everyone else was at home, most of them occupying the many apartment complexes along the street.
She never wanted to be like them, but the more she watched, the clearer it became that she had become one of those work-obsessed freaks without a life. She lived for her job. She lacked personality. She had a handful of friends who also happened to be her co-workers, her supervisors, her bosses, and her family. The dynamic was complicated.
She hated who she had become. Not that she had much of a choice. She was used to following orders. She found comfort in doing what she was told. They told her what she was doing was good. She was doing humanity a favor. This way, she could easily repent for the crimes she committed in her past life. They told her everything would be alright if she just took a new identity and started a new life. Though her life wasn’t much different from where she started, except that she didn’t have to kill people here. She was there to help, not to cause pain. Still, there were orders to follow, paperwork to be done, and people to listen to. There was a hierarchy. She could suggestions, but chances were she would be ignored. She was the black sheep, the beginner, the child. She wasn’t mature enough for what they were doing. She still had to learn.
None of them seemed to care who she wanted to be. She told them she could be better. She was stronger, wiser, and more skilled than other girls her age. She was obedient and did as she was told, there was no reason for them to bench her, but they did.
He asked her to join them because he saw great potential in her. She believed him. He didn’t seem like the kind of man to lie to her. He offered her new hope, a new life. She liked her old job. She liked the people there. It had been stable, they fixed her, and they helped her adjust to society. They weren’t mad when she told them she wanted to leave. She thought she could be better, she could rise where he wanted to take her. They had worked well together once, why not again? She had hope because he gave it to her, only for the group to collectively decide she needed time. She needed time to learn. She wasn’t ready.
Only do as you’re told, she was taught. Don’t disobey or you could get hurt. People could get hurt.
The devil on her shoulder laughed in her face at that. He told her, “You’re better than that. You could do all of this on your own if you wanted to.”
But that wasn’t the point. She wanted to be part of the team so she wouldn’t have to be alone anymore. In the end, she still found herself alone in her room. They didn’t understand what it was like to be her. They could never feel the way she felt without having been through the same trauma she had to endure. They would never understand what it’s like to be belittled or shut out because of their age because someone told them they weren’t mature enough. She hated it. She hated being reduced to someone she never even was.
“It’s gonna be fine,” the angel on her shoulder taught her. “A bit of patience and they will see you as their equal. They just want to protect you.”
That was a lie too. She could handle herself just fine. They knew that. They treaded around her like she was made out of glass and she hated it. She wasn’t going to break. She was stronger than that. She was an Avenger. That was supposed to mean something. It was supposed to mean the same thing it did for everyone else, but it didn’t. She was merely a trainee, not even an active part of the team. The number of near-death experiences she had been through before mattered nothing. In their eyes, she was too small, too fragile. In the eyes of SHIELD, she had at least meant something, not a lot, but she had been able to do everything she was capable of.
The pain was terrible. She hated the skin she was in. She hated everything and everyone, but mostly herself. The people around her were in such agony, she couldn’t help but project it onto herself. And they were loud. The world was too loud, the suffering too great, and she was sure one of these days she might die. Some days, she would lock herself in a room so she wouldn’t have to meet with other people. She didn’t want them to see she was barely holding on. The emotions, thick in the air like pollution, choked her. A strange hand around her throat. She couldn’t breathe when they were around. Humans felt too much at once and she couldn’t control it all at once. She couldn’t do what they told her to. Perhaps they were right, she wasn’t ready, but she wanted to be. She wanted to be good so badly, she would have gone through fire to prove it to them.
Until one day, she pushed herself too far. She channeled the emotions the wrong way, caused too much pain, consumed too many painful memories and she collapsed. She passed out. She woke up and everyone was there, the pity strong in their eyes. It was the last thing she wanted. Yet, she played along. She told them she was fine and that it was just a tiny mishap, just a matter of losing control of her powers, and that she was training hard to fix it. She did. She learned how to manipulate the soul and she learned how to differentiate between her and other people’s emotions. She got back on her feet, only to be put down again.
The world was big and she was simply too small. She was the ant under a steel boot. She was replaceable, didn’t matter much. She had friends that cared about her, but they didn’t know her. She had no one who was really in her corner. She had to suffer through the earthquake alone.
They didn’t recognize the signs. Oxycodone disguised as an antidepressant. Morphine in the form of mints in a metal box. She even harbored cocaine in her room once, right under the mattress Natasha had set on to have a conversation with her. They didn’t take the sudden outbursts of anger or the cold sweats or the nosebleeds seriously until it was too late.
She took a deep breath. The world wasn’t going to stop spinning if she was no longer there. She was just one person among billions. She wouldn’t be missed, only grieved for momentarily, but the Avengers knew how to move on. They always did. Tragedy was their lifestyle, and death was a part of their job.
She could have just jumped. The sidewalk would have swallowed her whole. It wouldn’t have been that big of a deal. Death was often used as a synonym with redemption, she was curious if that was true.
“You know, this is not what I had in mind when I told you you should go work for Stark.”
Her foot inched back on the ledge. The man’s presence suddenly became very clear behind her. He had his arms crossed behind his back, slightly hunched forward. He didn’t seem concerned. He was the last person her death would affect. He still came.
“Oh yeah,” she challenged, eyes still focused on the abyss in front of her, “What did you have in mind then?”
“He made it sound like you were gonna thrive as soon as you’re an Avenger,” he said.
“You’re responsible for the Avengers Initiative, not Tony.”
“Yeah, and there’s a reason you weren’t on the initial draft.”
She scoffed. “Let me guess, I’m not ready?”
“Damn right, you’re not.”
She flinched. One more step and she wouldn’t have to worry anymore.
“I trained you. I wasn’t gonna let this project ruin you, too.”
“Look at yourself,” he said. “This is what I wanted to prevent from happening. For you to make the coward’s move and kill yourself out of your responsibilities.”
“What do you want, Nick?” She threw her hands up. “I gave my blood, sweat, and tears to be here and it’s still not enough. What else can I give that would make me enough?”
“You’re not special.” Nick Fury finally stepped out of the shadows. His one working eye glistened in the faint moonlight. “What you want might be a one-in-a-million opportunity, but if you think your dreams are so special, maybe you are wrong here.”
She turned around. The thought of jumping moved into the back of her mind. “Excuse me?” she asked him.
“You want to belong. You want to be part of something, but you feel like you’re not enough. I hate to break it to you, but that’s normal. We all think that. There is absolutely no reason in there for you to kill yourself.”
“What is this, an attempt at tough love? ‘Cause, that’s not gonna change anything.”
“I’m trying to tell you that if you want to be heard, you have to fight to be listened to,” he said, shaking his head along the lines of, “I taught you better than this. I taught you better than to just fold when things don’t go your way. Jesus Christ.”
Only he could make her most vulnerable moments about himself.
“You can give all you want, but it’s not gonna matter much if you’re afraid to take something in return.”
She wasn’t sure what to say. Her lips parted in a scoff. Words failed.
“Speak up,” he told her. “Speak up and prove to them that you’re not some fragile little kid. Show them that you deserve to be here. They’re not gonna let you if you don’t put up a fight. And if you have to go out there and be reckless, do it. I won’t stand by and watch you fail to rise to your potential. That’s not the Eliza I raised you to be.”
“What are you saying?” she asked. The wind hit her straight in the face. She could taste the nasty smell of New York City on her tongue. The gasoline, rats and liquor, cigarette smoke, sweat, and sewage.
Nick sighed. He rolled his shoulders back. They cracked. “Take the moment and use it.”
“You’re on your own, kid. You always have been. So you better get off your ass and prove yourself before it’s too late.”
She wasn’t reckless because she didn’t know better. He taught her to be reckless to prove herself, to showcase what she believed in. It was a statement rather than a petty act of revenge. After a while, she realized it worked. Taking was much easier than giving, that was how she proved herself to the Avengers in the first place, how she lost the title of immature and became an active part of the team. She worked hard and sacrificed even more. She wasn’t going to stop when things got hard.
If you always listen to the angel on your shoulder, the devil will grow lonely and die. Without the devil, you’re just obedient, nothing more. You don’t have needs and wants, let alone follow them on your terms. You fit in, you don’t have your voice. She was once that person, but she stopped. She gave the devil only a little more power, sometimes too much, but it was the only way to prove herself in a world that was set out to always tear the little guy down for no reason at all.
You’re on your own, kid. You always have been. So you better get off your ass and prove yourself before it’s too late.
Eliza found herself on the rooftop once again. She wanted to feel the freedom, the wind in her hair, and the city so small before her. She didn’t want to jump. It crossed her mind, but it was the last thing she would do, not this close to the finish line. She hoped to find answers up there. She hoped to free herself from some of the pain and pressure that kept plaguing her. She wanted to feel worthy, to be someone else, and in the night you can always be someone else. She wanted to put a mask on and just disappear, not die, simply vanish for a couple of hours, and then return to a changed world.
New York was beautiful. So high up, the skyscrapers and the city lights could easily cloud one's mind. A city filled with so many dreams, yet also the source of so much pain. Birth, life death, crime, redemption - the tides come and go, as do the people, as does the city. It’s the circle of life.
She stared at her hands. They were capable of unspeakable things. Her veins glowed scarlet, in the darkness, they almost looked maroon. Her cheeks were flushed, the tip of her nose red, like that October night on the roof of Avengers Tower. This time though, not even Fury was there to kick her in the ass. Not that she needed it. She was so powerful, she just needed her hands and her mind. The most powerful weapon.
She wasn’t sure how long she spent on the roof, standing close to the ledge, watching the cars and people pass by on the streets below the building. When the sky started to turn from dark red to a lighter pink, she jumped off. She reached for the duffel bag she had picked up on her way back and made her way back inside, descending the stairs from the roof into Matt’s apartment. Everyone was still asleep when she arrived.
The sun was fully up by the time Eliza snuck her way into the bedroom, armed with two cups of coffee, the apartment filled with soft yellow light, underlining the soft brown and blue shades of the furniture. She managed to slide the bedroom door open as quietly as possible.
She hadn’t seen him this deep asleep before. It was nice, knowing he was at peace. His arms were hugged tightly around one of the pillows, leg bent at an angle she was all too familiar with. He was tricking himself that he wasn’t alone in the bed, or at least his mind was. If he had noticed she was gone, he would have raised hell already.
He flinched hard, her hand combing through his messy hair. His eyes flew open. He reached around, trying to find the intruder, but he calmed significantly when he picked up on her heartbeat and the warmth next to him.
“Hey,” he said, voice gruff.
She stroked his forehead. “Hi.”
“But why aren’t you in bed next to me?” He turned on his back. “What time is it, anyway?”
Her worried eyes ran over his bare torso. “You wanna talk about last night?” she asked.
“Last…” he grunted, “Oh.”
He sniffed the air. “Are you,” he wondered, “Baking?” The apartment smelled of sugar, cinnamon, acidity, and fall. The apples were responsible for the latter.
“Yup. Apple pie. But wait, can we talk about-”
He interrupted her with his index finger on her lips. “It’s like I had a very vivid dream,” he told her.
The truth was, Matt, felt far from fine. Other than his back hurting with every move, the picture of the sky was branded into his brain. The feeling of being able to see after such a long time had been overwhelming. He knew it would be gone when he woke up. He was prepared. Though he woke up to the sound of the city, the screaming, the injustice, and he was reminded that this was his reality. His senses would never be as calm as they were the night before. She made him see, made him normal, and it was the most relaxed he had felt in decades. He didn’t have to worry about a thing. Daredevil didn’t exist. The world wasn’t cruel. It was just him, her, and the constellations.
The early morning hours made him wish he had never woken up in the first place.
He couldn’t tell her that. She made his wish come true. She did something extraordinary for him. He was more than thankful that she suggested it. If anything, it was his fault because he said yes. He agreed. He told her he wanted to see the sky again and he jumped at the opportunity to be able to. The way he felt, the sudden drop in his mood, the uneasiness, and the overstimulation from the many sounds, weren’t her fault. She had enough on her plate already. If he had told her, she would have blamed herself, and he refused to let that happen. Not on his watch.
He took the coffee from her. “C’mere,” he said, pulling her into bed with him.
Eliza placed her head on his chest, right over his heart. One of his hands stroked her hair out of her face, dragging his nails across her scalp; the other stayed on the arm she had draped over him. Her fingers wrapped around his bicep, stroking the soft skin. He was still warm from the comfort of the blankets, his heart beating steadily against his ribcage. The sound lulled her into a calm state. Her heartbeat, once slightly erratic, synched with his. She allowed herself to forget, for just a moment. She took the comfort he offered gladly, not wanting to disrupt the peace by speaking. The day felt less suffocating, the night less dark. She could just let herself go.
“What are you thinking?” his low voice broke the silence.
She shrugged, tilting her chin slightly upwards to look at him. “Too much,” she admitted.
Matt understood. He was thinking too much, too. His head was full of useless thoughts. He couldn’t catch a break.
“Did you sleep?” He already knew the answer.
She focused on the wall behind him.
“Oh,” the sound came from the back of his throat. “Why?”
“Couldn’t or didn’t want to?” he questioned.
She clawed at his bicep, face buried in his chest. Her lips began to press small kisses into his skin. “I know that if I allow myself to sleep, I will wake up somewhere I don’t want to,” she said. “And it hurts. The nightmares hurt so much, I can’t breathe.”
He only hugged her tighter. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t like the person I’m becoming.”
What she had done to the cops at the hospital was still stuck in her head, clear as day. The news would report it and she would feel even guiltier. They would change her status to hostile, a great threat. The shoot-and-kill order would be put in place, no longer just a threat, and then it was over. There was nothing Foggy or Matt could do to get her out of this. Not even after this was over and she handed herself over. She would be lucky if they incarcerated her, not executing her on the spot.
Matt kissed her head. He didn’t know what to answer. Was there even something she wanted to hear? He didn’t have the answers she needed, lying to her would only have made it worse, so he chose not to speak. Even though it hurt him. She was sad and he couldn’t help. She always helped when he felt down. She took his pain. He couldn’t do that. He had to listen to her suffer, taste the tears, felt her heart breaking. He was helpless. Words couldn’t get rid of pain this severe. She needed solutions, something he didn’t have, and she needed to get this pain off her chest. Even that, he couldn’t do. He was simply just a bystander who had to watch the world burn while being unable to use the fire extinguisher because he had no arms.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
“I wonder if we will ever be able to think less.”
“We think less when we’re asleep,” he said. “You should try it.”
“Not this again.” Eliza attempted to get up. He pulled her back down. “I’m fine. I wasn’t tired.”
“That’s because I have clinical depression.”
Matt grinned down at her. “You know what I’m gonna say.”
“Sleeping helps,” she imitated his low voice, the New Yorker accent, but failed miserably.
He giggled this time. The sound reminded her of lying in a flower field on a warm summer’s day. Watching the butterflies pass by, letting the sun kiss your skin until you’re either red or honey brown with a tan. The perfect, carefree day. A time when thinking becomes completely useless. The world gets quiet and so do you. It’s perfect, beautiful.
“We gotta work on those impressions,” he told her.
She scoffed. “My impressions are top tier, you’re just too lame to get them.”
“Yeah, and boring. And old. Cracking bones needs a walking stick old.”
“That was an old people joke and a blind joke packed into one. I’m impressed.”
“You’re not funny, that makes it necessary for me to be.”
“Are you just here to insult me?”
“And you claim to be so mature.”
“Seriously, who uses lame as an insult anymore?”
“That’s such a childish thing to say.”
“You know what that makes you?”
She patted his head. “A pedophile.”
“No, I could have lived without hearing you say that ever again. You know,” he said and his grin only grew wider, “You could say something nice about me for a change.”
Eliza contemplated. Humor was her way of coping. The conversation was light and carefree. It made her feel a little better, the small light at the end of this very dark tunnel, but still ages away.
“I have something nice,” she said.
“You, Matt Murdock, are very pretty.”
His breath hitched. Pretty was so much different than handsome or beautiful. He had never been called pretty before. The occasional handsome was a big part of his life. He was handsome, he couldn’t deny that, even without seeing himself, but pretty was something else.
“But you’re a slut,” she added, ruining the moment.
He threw his head back. “Oh, that’s brutal! Can’t you just let me have this?”
“What, you like being called pretty?”
Eliza found a faint blush on his cheeks. “Huh, interesting.”
“You know I can hear your heartbeat, right?”
“So you keep telling me every five seconds.”
“And that means I can tell when you’re lying.”
“You keep telling me that, too.”
“So I know you don’t mean any of the things you said, except for the pretty part, you meant that.”
She moved so that her chin was resting on his chest, eyes directed at his face, hair still disheveled and the blush still resting on his cheeks. “I’m not lying. I do think you’re a slut, but I mean that very endearingly.”
He tilted his head. Her heartbeat remained steady. “Huh, you’re right,” he said. It didn’t hurt him though.
Matt reached over to the nightstand. He took his coffee, he could smell the difference between his milky one to her sugary explosion.
“If I had a dick like yours, I would be a slut too.”
He choked. The liquid went down the wrong pipe and he coughed it back up. He pressed a fist to his mouth to stop himself from coughing it up all over her face. She watched in amusement as he tried to regain composure. His head was beet red.
“You need me to do the Heimlich?” she asked nonchalantly. “No, wait, that’s meant for foreign objects and food stuck in the esophagus. Can’t do anything about the liquid that went down the wrong pipe except maybe pat your back.”
He shook his head, still coughing like an eighty-year-old chain smoker. She took the mug from him before it could fall and wet the bed. Her grin remained.
After about five minutes, he finally calmed down. “Jesus, you can’t just say stuff like that when I’m drinking,” he said. “I almost died because of you.”
She pouted. “That’s sad. Would’ve been unfortunate.”
“Yeah, I’ve gotten quite used to you. If you were to bite the dust, I’d be a little offended. Especially after I just made you a huge compliment.” Her eyes trailed over his face. “Pun intended, of course.”
There were no choking hazards around this time, so she could declare with full confidence, “Have I mentioned your glorious butt?” she said.
“A couple of times, yeah.”
“You were made to be a slut. I mean it. Everything about you is, like, big. That’s the least unfortunate thing about you if we ignore the mental health issues. Okay, they’re big too, but your body… man, don’t get me started.”
“Yes, everything. Ass, dick, lips, eyes. thighs, abs, even your boobs.”
“Boobs?” This time, when he choked, it was on his laughter.
Eliza pointed to his chest pecks. “Boobs,” she stated.
“Why?” he asked. He was genuinely curious about how her mind worked. One minute she was the smartest person in the room, the next she was about as intelligent as a goldfish.
“I don’t know. They’re big, I can squeeze them. That makes them eligible to use the term ‘boobs’ in any context relating to your amazing chest muscles. Giving me a run for my money, honestly.”
He hummed. The hand he had in her hair moved down her back, to her front and promptly squeezed the flesh of her breast. “Yours are still bigger,” he said.
“But they’re saggy, yours are perfectly perky. If I touch them it’s like touching rock, but at the same time, they’re soft like pillows. You flex a lot, that could be why.”
“I don’t flex!” He frowned in feigned offense. “You know, my boobs are all muscle. That’s why they’re so firm. Yours are not.”
“Oh, so now you’re saying I’m not muscular. Thanks, Matt. Way to make a girl feel special.”
He knew she was just playing with him. “You are muscular, but your chest muscles are naturally covered by fat. And you know, gravity exists.”
“So is the fat the reason my nipples are deemed inappropriate by society?”
“How did you even sway from swooning over me to talking about the sexism that dictates our society? How is that possible?”
“You can show your nipples,” she said, “I can’t. I couldn’t even breastfeed my baby in public if I had one. That’s not okay. I’m genuinely curious, do you think it’s the fat or the nipple?”
“It’s the sexualization of female breasts that makes it a taboo to talk about. Hell, even showing them. It is the fat, not the nipple, but it’s also the fact that people forget breasts aren’t meant to be seen as sexual. They’re made for nurturing infants, biologically. It’s society that started viewing them this way.”
She thought about it, eyes directed at the ceiling and her hands crossed over her stomach. “Huh, that actually makes sense.”
“Now, I find boobs attractive. I really do. I like the way they feel and I like the way they taste when I wrap my lips around them, but if it’s not my lover, I couldn’t care less about another woman’s breasts. Even if I could see, what should I care what people with boobs do with them? Not my place to decide. I actually covered a woman who was breastfeeding once because people were staring,” he told her. “She was uncomfortable, so I sat in front of her. She thanked me after, and the baby was happy, so I made two lives better.”
He had no idea how much this was turning her on. What’s wrong with you? It’s sad how the bare minimum is seen as something special.
Matt was a good person, inside and out. His heart was set right, his mind beautiful. She actually felt safe in his presence, something she did not often do when in the same room with a single male. Not just because she had a bad experience with men – okay, that was a lie, it was mostly because of that, but also, the stories she heard from other women made her a little uneasy to spend alone time with a man.
Most women feel that way and it’s terrifying how it has become the norm to fear men because they like to take what they want without asking.
“You know the saying, But it’s not all men?” she asked him.
He tensed. “Heard it too often,” he answered. “In court, too, which is sad.”
“The point isn’t that it’s not all men. The point is that it’s all women and we fail to listen and do something about it, even though we have the power to change something.”
“I like to beat up rapists and abusers and men who like to take what they want without asking or caring. Is it enough? No. But I’m trying, I really am. Is that- am I doing the right thing?”
“I can’t speak for all women, I mean, I’m not their advocate. I personally thank you for your service, but I also think that law should be reformed so it’s no longer necessary to go to such lengths.”
“You’re right,” he agreed with her.
They were already in it, might as well get to know him more. “Your take on abortion?” she shot the question straight into his mind.
“Your body, your choice.”
“So if your partner were to have an abortion, you wouldn’t mind?”
“No, I’d support it. Of course, I would.”
“I’d like to beat him up.”
“Can’t. Immigration status.”
“Let’s stay on topic. Immigration?”
“I say, just let people seek refuge. Let them live. Don’t separate kids from their parents. Don’t deport someone just because they ran a red light. I’ve seen it happen. I’ve seen what ICE is capable of. It’s terrible. I mean, most of us are immigrants. If you look at history… It’s pretty obvious that ethnicity is not the problem, twisted worldviews are.”
“Hm. Wise choice. So you believe in the law,” she stated. “But what do you say about white cops shooting innocent black kids? Hijabs being forbidden in certain workplaces? People dying because of their faith? People dying because of their ethnicity, skin color, or sexuality? The law is supposed to protect them too, but it is as good as never does.”
“The law isn’t enough,” he retorted. “You don’t have to tell me that. It can’t be, not when all of this is happening. I fight for justice, but more often than not, I lose. Foggy and I lose. And I can’t keep watching injustice happen around me and not do anything. Not when innocent people keep getting hurt. I’m trying to protect them. I’m trying to protect everyone,” he said, “but all of the things you’ve listed, they’re plagues. There’s no cure in justice, sometimes you have to use force to get ahead, and that’s what I’m doing so that these plagues… they start getting better, one bad guy at a time.”
”These are issues spread across the country, states twisted by political views, debates about human rights that shouldn’t even be questioned in the first place. This country is falling apart. The world is falling apart and I can’t stop it. I’m trying, but no matter what I do it’s not enough, and that’s what feels the worst of all. Not listening to it but not being able to stop what I’m listening to because nothing seems to ever be enough.”
“We can’t stop this, not until everyone thinks the same way. You put so much weight on your shoulders,” she trailed off. “It’s not fair on you. The world isn’t supposed to be your weight to carry.”
“Yeah, but it sucks. I hate this. All of it.”
“Yeah. I’m sorry for bringing it up,” Eliza said.
“I’m just covering all the bases and there are things that should be talked about that hardly anyone is mentioning, and I need to know who I’m dealing with. Who the person is I’m sharing a bed with.”
“I’m not turning a blind eye to injustice,” he smirked. “You know that.”
“Good joke, but I wasn’t sure where you stand. You know, religion and all that. But turns out, you’re a pretty decent guy and all of this has made you even more attractive. It’s twisted I even think this, but it’s true. The bare minimum in men is fucking attractive ‘cause you don’t find it often.”
Matt almost gasped. “Did you just say a nice thing about me?” he asked. He decided that was enough politics for the day.
“Damn it!” Eliza squeezed her eyes shut. “I was on a streak. This isn’t fair. You charmed me.” She pointed her index finger at him. “That’s cheating.”
“Didn’t realize we were playing a game.”
“We’re not. I just like to win, even when there’s no contest. I’m a winner, not a quitter.”
“Alright. Has anyone ever told you that you get angry lines on your face?” He gently traced her forehead with his thumb.
She sat up. This was going a bit too far. “I don’t have any lines on my face!” She slapped his hand away.
“You do. If you keep this up, you’re gonna get wrinkles.”
“I’m too young to get wrinkles.”
“I got the first ones at twenty-four.”
“That’s because you’re an old man. I’m as fresh as they come.”
“No, there are definitely wrinkles.”
“I am fresh meat! I’m the freshest meat in the history of fresh meat!”
“Did you know my mom wanted me to be a butcher?”
Eliza almost fell from the bed. “Jesus Christ, Foggy!”
The man of the hour stood in the door frame, eyes still small and the clothes he borrowed from Matt were wrinkled in all places. He rubbed his eyes. Their laughter must have woken him. He had slept through her baking, but he woke up at the slightest sign of Matt laughing. She wasn’t if she wanted to laugh or had to be concerned.
Matt groaned. He instantly stopped touching her. Luckily, she had sat up before he even came in, so the picture wasn’t all too damning. He wasn’t ready to tell Foggy. He didn’t want to tell him that he was right, that he did love her. And he was too much of a coward to tell her. He would never hear the end of it.
Little did he know that Foggy already lit the fuse. Eliza refused to believe it, so she acted normal, but she knew.
He moved the blanket to cover himself. “Not the butcher story,” he said.
“What are you guys doing up?” Foggy asked. He yawned, making his way toward the bed. “Are you having sex?”
“Foggy!” Eliza glared at him. “No!”
“Good. I don’t need to see that. Move over.” He shoved Matt to the side, throwing himself on the mattress and into the silk sheets. “Man, this is so much more comfortable than the couch,” he muttered.
“Get out,” Matt grumbled. He tried to steal his blanket back, to no avail. “Foggy, you’re not going back to sleep.” He kicked him. “Get up.”
“It’s six in the fucking morning,” he retorted. “I’m going back to sleep and so should you. Just one more hour where we do not have to worry about Hydra. Please.” Foggy flipped onto his stomach. The look he gave Matt was too good to ignore.
He sighed. “I’m not cuddling you.”
“I’m feeling a little something. I mean, it’s cold in here.”
“Remember that time in college-”
She began to wonder, what exactly happened in college? Her eyes switched between the pair. Foggy’s eyes betrayed him. Matt’s expression was stern, a little embarrassed too. Something happened in college. She had a small presumption as to what went down between them. They had been roommates, after all.
Foggy opened one of his closed eyes. “Are you coming?” he asked Eliza.
“Into bed. Are you coming?”
“I’m not going to bed with you guys,” she said.
“I’m not suggesting a threesome.”
“That’s not what I was insinuating. I don’t want to be squished into a sandwich.”
“Oh, my God.” Matt let out a frustrated groan. “Just get in here.” He patted the space between him and Foggy. It was rather small and she already felt suffocated.
“You can lay on me if it makes you feel better.”
“No, actually, it doesn’t.”
“And I’m telling you, come in here and sleep. Take a nap. Don’t make me force you.”
“But Foggy snores,” she pouted.
He lifted his head. “Hey!”
“She’s right though,” said Matt. “You snore like a lawn mower.”
Eliza got up. She would go and nap on the couch. She didn’t need to be involved in their bed-sharing. Though Matt had other plans.
He grabbed her waist and pulled her into bed. He threw her into the middle, tucking her under the blanket. He even gave her part of his pillow. Foggy was hoarding the rest of them and he was about to hog the blanket.
She kicked him. His knee was digging into her thigh. “If you try to steal this blanket one more time, I will strangle you to death,” she said.
“Sorry,” he said. “I just need…”
Matt grumbled something inaudible, reached around until he found what he was looking for, and threw it at his best friend’s head. “Take the fucking duvet cover and shut up.”
Eliza sighed when she could finally wrap herself in the blanket. Matt was radiating enough heat for the both of them. She was tired. She realized so when she let herself get swallowed by the mattress. His arm moved so it was resting on the pillow above her head. It was an invitation.
Foggy shifted next to her. “Are we gonna spoon?” he asked.
The two reacted at the same time, stopping their attempt to get close. “NO!”
“But why does she get a cuddle and I don’t? That doesn’t seem fair.”
“It’s tight in here, I’m just trying not to suffocate,” she told him. “Besides, you’re hogging all the pillows. Matt’s boobs are great to lay on.”
“That’s true. He has great boobs.” He sounded drunk. Sleep was already catching up with him. His words didn’t make much sense.
Eliza agreed non-verbally by snuggling into Matt’s side, placing her head back on his chest. He instantly hugged her against him.
Just when they thought Foggy had fallen asleep, he voiced something, “I think you need a bra, Matt. Somewhere to put the excess boob.”
“He’d need D-cups,” she murmured.
“What does cup size even mean?”
“I don’t know. I don’t wear bras. They’re annoying.”
Sleep deprivation is fun until it isn’t.
Matt grunted. “I hate you guys.” Still, as he said it, the faintest smile played on his lips.
He couldn’t hate them even if he wanted to.
