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All he is physically capable of at this point is screaming in agony. He wants to make it: Come back, come back, come back!, but there just isn't enough fight left in him. All he can do is scream again, a high-pitched wail, like a small child abandoned in the parking lot. When his lungs are empty, he gulps down air, and does it again. It's compulsive, and it hurts, and he cannot stop, even when his vocal folds give in and all that comes out are pressured, raspy exhalations. The screams get shorter, turn into spastic sobs.
It's not as much sadness as fury, at the people who left him before, at the people who made such an ugly liar out of him, but mostly at himself. He fucked this up. He fucked it up badly, and now that all he had left is gone.
He falls asleep when exhaustion takes him, feeling corroded and hollow.
***
It's Karen's day off, and Foggy has been standing in front of the coffee machine for fifteen minutes now, turning the pot left and right, and his mug is still empty. His heart has been speeding up and slowing again, muscles tightening and relaxing. He is anxious, and he wants to say something, and Matt knows it. Matt also suspects that Foggy knows that he knows. He still doesn't push.
“Oh for fuck's sake.” Foggy lets go of the coffee pot and turns, lifting his arms in a gesture of resigned helplessness. “Matt, we need to talk.”
“About what?” Matt keeps his voice carefully neutral.
“You know about what.” Foggy sighs. “You. Me. The daredevilling.”
Matt feels the fury and loss rising again like bile. More corrosion. “I thought we had covered that already.”
“No... no, we haven't.” Foggy shakes his head, and takes a breath, probably to tell Matt that he just did – then he lets it go. “I beat you up for being a lying bastard, that's not talking.”
“Foggy...”
“Let me finish. I kicked you, and you deserved it. You betrayed me, and you let me worry. You fucking deserved it. I'm not taking any of it back.” He takes another breath, and Matt can feel the light vibration in the creaky floorboards. Foggy is shaking. “But I did it while you were on the ground... and I shouldn't have done that.”
Matt can barely hear the last words over his own teeth grinding together. He takes a steadying breath and nods. “You were right. I deserved it, and I can understand if you can't trust me anymore. I certainly wouldn't.” Another deep breath. “I was just hoping that we could at least maintain a professional relationship for---”
“What?”
“---the sake of the practice and Karen---”
“Matt.”
“---at least until all financial issues have been res---”
“Matt, stop.”
He does.
“What the hell are you talking about? Are you even listening to me?” Foggy's voice is rough, and he's shaking his head again. “We're not 'maintaining a professional relationship', for crying out loud.” He is silent for a moment, and Matt can smell salt.
He can feel himself coming apart all over again. Matt pushes his laptop aside, movement as measured as his voice has been before. He can't fall apart in front of Foggy now. He forfeited that right. “I see.”
Foggy makes a sound between laughter and a sob. “You don't see shit, buddy.”
He is right: Matt doesn't, and Foggy calling him that twists his gut. He shouldn't. Matt forfeited that right, too.
“It's not gonna happen.” Foggy steps closer. His heart is still pounding, but Matt cannot tell if it's anger or nerves or something else entirely. He keeps his focus on the words. “I heard you... after I left. You were in pain, and I was so angry... and I just ran for the hills. I'm sorry.”
Matt swallows, hard. He can barely breathe at this point. The apology is new, and he doesn't know how to handle it. He knows rejection, but this has never happened before. “You don't have to---”
“Yes, I do. Whatever you've done, that's no way to treat family.” That last word lies spread on the table between them – an offering. Foggy is watching Matt carefully now, looking for something, and whatever it is: he finds it. “We're family. You're not getting rid of me that easily.”
The relief cuts all his strings. The office seems to just fall away for a moment, and before he knows it, he is sobbing against Foggy's shoulder. It is compulsive, and it hurts, and he cannot stop, but Foggy's hand is on his back, rubbing soothing small circles. He is crying, too, quietly.
“We'll figure this out, buddy. It's a mess... but we'll figure it out.”