‘Touch and go.’ That’s what they told him on the phone. ‘Touch and go.’ That was all Foggy had to think about as he blew through questionably yellow lights in his neighbor’s questionably functional car and tried not to call Clint Barton every name in the book because Matt had been impaled and all he could say was, ‘touch and go.’
Actually, he probably owes Clint an apology. It’ll have to wait, though, because right now, Clint’s asleep on Claire’s floor with a pillow under his head and his face stitched up and swollen.
Mostly, it’ll have to wait because Foggy’s got his arms full of conked-out, cuddly superhero. Matt’s somehow insinuated himself into Foggy’s space with all the determination and flexibility of someone without a hole through their right side, leaving Foggy no choice but to wrap his arms around Matt’s waist and keep him from moving too much in his sleep.
Not that he minds.
He’d gotten to Claire’s apartment just in time to see Matt pass out as Clint motherfucking Barton (and Foggy still isn’t used to the fact that Hawkeye is just some weird guy who occasionally shows up places) yanked a piece of rebar out of his side. It had nearly taken them too long to stop the bleeding.
In the present, Matt makes a soft sound and rubs his cheek against Foggy’s sweatshirt. Foggy melts a little. He rubs a hand over Matt’s back, mindful of the fresh stitches.
At some point, he must have drifted off, because he wakes up with a crick in his neck and Matt sprawled over his chest and a very scary and alarmingly unfamiliar woman watching him. For some reason, he doesn’t bolt upright screaming. He does make a sort of squeaking noise, though.
The scary lady watching him is standing where Clint had been sleeping. She’s got shoulder-length red hair and she’s wearing a hoodie that must belong to someone else for the way it hangs down her thighs. Clint is nowhere to be seen.
Foggy doesn’t manage to regain the power of speech before Clint comes stumbling out of Claire’s bathroom, stitches now wrapped in gauze and a beat-to-shit backpack over his shoulder. He takes one look at Foggy and snorts.
“Quit it, ‘Tash, you’re scaring him,” whispers, cuffing Scary Woman upside the head. She grabs his hand and pulls it over her shoulder, twisting his wrist until he yelps. “Ow, ow, okay, sorry. Can we go now?”
Finally, she breaks eye contact with Foggy, turning towards the door. “Yes, let’s.”
Over his shoulder, Clint whisper-yells, “Tell Matt I’m sorry for breaking him!”
The door closes. Foggy shifts around awkwardly until he finds a position that allows the blood to rush back to his arm. He presses a kiss to Matt’s hair. “Clint says he’s sorry for breaking you.”
Matt just snuffles in response. Foggy understands.