usingthelaw | ic inbox.

I can take care of myself, I don't need looking after.

[Says the zombie ninja whose life has been actual hell for these past few months. Second life? Whatever. But Matt's lips press together into a thin line, at the thought of Foggy still being in danger the longer he stays in New York. But he's got a point, damn it. He has cases and a life, and Matt can't ask him to uproot all of that because of the Hand.]

I'm not—There's a chance they'll come after you again. How can I keep you safe if I'm not "going gargoyle" on you? [And there's Matt again, always prioritizing the safety of others over his own. Even months under the Hand hasn't quite wiped that out of him.

At the mention of food, his stomach growls. Right. He—does have to eat. He hadn't really thought much about breaking in here and then staying around, beyond the bone-deep instinct of keeping Foggy safe and not dead. He sighs.]

Food would be good, yeah. Anything but rice. [He has no idea what kind of food he likes, just knows he's kind of sick of bland meals, at this point.]

[ Hands waving through the air, Foggy refrained from answering in favor of going into the kitchen to start making some food. Admittedly, he stocked his fridge with easy and very quick meals. Currently, plenty of frozen dinners and other don't need to think selections with all the late hours and when he didn't feel like ordering out. Sometimes, you just wanted to feel like 'home cooking.' ]

You're right, you don't need anyone looking out for you. You need someone to knock some sense into you. [ He finally voiced as be placed chicken nuggets on the pan and some fast fries. Something to remind Matt of their life before.

Placing it into the oven, he turned back to Matt. ]

How about this we can take care of each other. A compromise. You might be open to them more now.

[ He put some sandwich crackers on the counter, beckoning Matt forward. ] These were your favorite at one point.

[The chicken nuggets already smell good to him and he doesn't even think they're his favorite. He stands and follows Foggy into the kitchen, absently reaching a hand out to the counter to feel the shape of it, the texture. His fingers catch on the edges.]

And you need someone to watch out for you. [Somebody who's made enemies like the Hand definitely needs someone watching out for them in Matt's opinion, and clearly he's the best choice for it. He knows the Hand all too well by now. Probably better than he knows himself.

He drums his fingers against the counter, absently. Each sound seems to reverberate in the darkness, helps tame the fire around him into shapes he recognizes, even if dimly.] I'll—take the compromise. [There's a moment's hesitation before he says that, like he can't be certain he deserves that much. He's stayed too long, taken too much already.

Sandwich crackers. Those smell good. He reaches for one, takes a bite, and makes a face like he is seriously doubting the veracity of Foggy's claim here.]

Sure about that?

[ Having Matt in front of him made his head spin because the grief over the past few weeks especially had been too much, too heavy of a weight to try and cope with. Loss colored their life, of course, as lawyers and as citizens of a place like hell's kitchen where death seemed all too real of a possibility at any moment. Dangers lingered in the shadows and some never went away, only grew with time.

The Hand being a prime example but how could Matt believe he fit the category? Ever? ]

As long as you don't go full creeper on me. You're not as sneaky as you think. [ At least with him.

Frowning, he leaned forward to look at the package. ]

Look, Matt, coming back from the dead probably made a lot of changes. My sanity, your tastebuds. It's all doing something.

[ Don't even try, Murdock, he knows you better than yourself. ]

Follow your nose to something that tastes better in here if these offend you.

[hdu, he is very sneaky.

Matt's mouth twists into a frown, the space between his eyebrows creasing as he "looks" at Foggy. In truth he's looking at Foggy's silhouette in his world on fire, tracking where Foggy's voice is coming from. He looks—offended, kind of, like he honestly believes he is much sneakier than Foggy gives him credit for.]

Your sanity's fine. [He should probably be reassuring about that, right? This is him being reassuring. Granted, Matt is not exactly the model of mental health right now, but he tried.

He tilts his head up a little, sniffs the air like a bloodhound. He moves, feeling out the cupboards and the drawers, before he pulls a handle open and frowns at the packages and jars all stacked and sorted.. It's hard to tell which package is which even with his senses, so he sighs at last.]

Which one of these is—is the blueberry jam?

[ Even it being nearly a wasted effort, Foggy glared right back with an offended tilt of his head. He knew everything! About Matt, at least, with how often they were together growing up and how much they shared back and forth. It meant more to him than he'd ever admit aloud. Just add another secret to the pile, it grew steadily by the day and he worried when it might topple over and crush them all.

Sighing, he muttered under his breath about falling down rabbit holes. The blueberry jam paused any other retorts because since when? The whole back to life really did a number.

Grabbing it out, he placed it on the countertop. ]

Anything else with it?

[ Moving forward, he took the items out of the oven to let them cool down. ] We might have to relearn each other at this rate.

More and new ways to judge you.

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