Damned If I Do *Matt Murdock* (book one of Damned)

Stalker extraordinaire (Matt)

Matt woke up at knocking on the door. He muffled himself up in the covers even more. He didn't want to get up just yet. He was exhausted. And it was Saturday and there was nothing wrong with sleeping in.

"Get off your lazy ass, Murdock. You know I'll let myself in anyway." And yeah, it was Foggy.

If he wanted to let himself in, so be it. Matt was not about to move. Nope. He relaxed his body with an attempt to sleep. He distantly heard his best friend sigh.

---

The light thud and rustling of thin paper woke him up the second time. Foggy's scent, heat and heartbeat washed over him. He was standing by his bed. "You've been busy."

Yes, yes he was. Which was why he wanted to sleep, dammit. "Go away," he grumbled into his pillow, not caring Foggy wouldn't be able to understand his words. He would figure it out for sure.

The air shifted as Foggy threw his hands in the air. "Matthew!"

Ew, do not call him that. Also, no need to be so loud. He would hear him just fine more than a few streets over, thank you very much.

Matt sighed and pushed himself up. Pain throbbed in his arm. Shot. Right.

Foggy's heart picked up as Matt turned around to face him. "You look like shit."

He felt like shit. One of the robbers had scored a lucky kick right to his healing ribs on his left side. His muscles were worn out, his joints hurt and he managed to pull triceps on his good arm while following around a police car with Vera across the rooftops of Hell's Kitchen. He hadn't slept well. He hadn't slept enough.

Oh and he had lost approximately two pints of blood, because he had been shot. So there was that.

He ran his better hand over his face. "Well, you did just wake me up."

"Cut the crap, Murdock. What happened?" his voice was angry, but Matt knew better. He was angry with him, no kidding, but he worried. And Matt would love him for that if only he didn't insist on socializing at this hour - as he listened to the noise of his apartment building and his city, he guessed it was about half past eight.

He tapped the newspaper Foggy had tossed at his bed earlier. "Didn't you read?" he mocked him slightly, trying to keep the conversation somewhat light.

Foggy sighed. "I didn't have to." And okay, what? He didn't recall his friend being around during the robbery. Perhaps he heard from someone. News travelled fast in Hell's Kitchen. He didn't need to listen to know people were talking about it. Everyone would want to hear about an armed robbery.

"Claire called me. She wanted me to check up on you since you were shot. And you supposedly didn't head right back home like a rational person would. You know. If a rational person ran around beating shit out of bad guys and let them shoot at him while he's in his pajamas."

"It's not pajamas."

Foggy didn't react to his protest.

"Where did you go? If you tell me you went out to stop another armed robbery I'll punch you." He was getting impatient. "And if you lie to me, I'll know. I don't need to hear your heartbeat to tell when you're not telling me the truth."

He wouldn't. Ever since Foggy learnt about Matt's moonlighting as a vigilante, he somehow managed to smell his lies. If his friend wasn't so open and honest about everything, he would suspect him hiding superpowers.

"I wanted to check up on one of the victims."

"Why?"

Because she nearly got shot in her head. "Uhm-"