Title; In Which They Explain Things
Fandom; Marvel (Spider-Man/Daredevil)
Characters/Pairings; Peter Parker/Matt Murdock
Theme; 18. I pity you
Canon; Picking up where (Part 3) left off.
Rating; R/NC-17
Warning(s); Light swearing. Oh, and sex. At the end. With men in it.
Summary; Foggy is rather abruptly introduced to Peter-as-Spider-Man and decides to stick around to patch him up. Peter recaps the last arc (for all you new viewers out there), manages to piss off Matt and Foggy in one form or another, and then limps off to bed and lets Foggy and Matt continue their work. Later, Peter and Matt cuddle in bed and have a rather interesting conversation that works as a segue for something I've put off writing way too long.
Notes; All this is turning into one storyline, so there's a little index here underneath the table if you'd rather read in order. :D


Foggy dropped the first aid kit.

"I...what?" He was staring right at Peter and still couldn't seem to get it. Granted, Peter looked worse for wear, the spider suit torn up, blood dripping off his face and shoulder and leg. He didn't exactly look the same.

Peter raised a hand, waving weakly. "Hi, Foggy." He tried to give Foggy a reassuring smile, but ... well. When your face is covered in blood it doesn't really come off comforting.

Foggy shook his head, pulling himself out of his open-mouth staring shock and grabbing the first aid kit again, setting the bowl of water down on the coffee table. He'd seen Matt roughed up worse; it was the fact that it was Spider-Man sitting there, that Spider-Man was Peter Parker, who was Matt's boyfriend. Who Foggy had warned Matt to be careful with, you might hurt him or scar him for life, he's normal and fragile.

Honestly, he felt kind of stupid now, knowing. Spider-Man had been around before Matt even considered the horns. There was a veteran superhero, sitting on Matt's couch all messed up and gross and not crying like a little baby when he had every right to. It was a little humbling.

"Hi," Foggy managed. "It's ... nice to meet you. Again."

Peter gave him a sympathetic look, seeming to feel genuinely guilty for pulling Foggy in. "You don't have to stay here, this is probably ... really, really weird."

"I can handle it, Fog," Matt assured him, gently sifting his fingers through Peter's hair, searching for head wounds.

"Now, wait just a minute. I've patched you up, and I'm not gonna back out on Spider-Man. On ... Peter." This was going to take some getting used to. Foggy cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably, staring at Peter again (Peter? Seriously? Skinny little kid from Queens was Spider-Man? Holy shit. Holy shit.) before shaking his head. "Besides. You're blind and the smell is going to give you a headache soon."

Matt frowned. "I can handle it." Insulted, like Foggy was implying that Matt couldn't take care of his own boyfriend.

"Matt.."

"Foggy."

"Peter," Peter piped in, rolling his eyes as Foggy and Matt turned back toward him. "Look, I know you ladies would love to duke it out and take care of me, but you're giving me a headache and I hurt enough as it is. I need four things."

"What?" Foggy and Matt demanded, a little harsher than necessary.

Peter flinched, shifting uncomfortably and reaching out, grabbing Matt's wrist, prompting Matt to turn his hand and take Peter's, squeezing reassuringly. "Shower. Band aids. Pain killers. And Mountain Dew."

Foggy cocked an eyebrow. "Mountain Dew?"

Peter nodded. "Or 7UP. I want a damn drink after all that, but mixing Advil and beer is so not a good idea." Funny, Foggy noted, how Peter could be twisting around in obvious pain, trying his hardest to stay still for Matt, and he could still talk his head off. "Matt, can you...? Shower? Please?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course."

There was something incredibly tender in the way Matt shifted around Peter, gently drawing Peter's good right arm over his shoulder and lifting him up, carefully sliding an arm around his waist and taking him to the bathroom. Foggy had never seen Matt so damn loving before, not like this. He was sure Matt and Elektra had nursed their wounds together before, but that was before Foggy had known, and he never would have seen something like this. He was silent as they walked away, muttering something to each other too quiet for him to overhear.

Foggy watched them go, shaking his head before plopping down on the couch, going through the first aid kit. He knew his way around it, having had to patch Matt up a couple times. Bandages for Peter's leg and shoulder, patches for his face, ointment for the nasty burn on his cheek. Matt would be nursing those kind of injuries for weeks, the burn would pulse and ache the whole time, he'd be flinching every time someone passed too close. From the look of Peter's shoulder they would need a sling for support; there had been a large area of blood, he'd probably been stabbed---or, with Bullseye involved, had something thrown at him, though judging by the way he moved, nothing had gotten lodged in there. Or if it was, Peter wasn't saying anything. All that would have had Matt shaking and crying---would have had anyone shaking and crying. Maybe Peter had gone numb. Maybe he was crazy. They were all crazy, the people who put on tights and played superhero.

If he listened carefully, he could hear Peter hiss as he stepped into the shower. When Matt didn't come back out, Foggy had to assume he was there with him, helping him wash off the grime and the blood. He didn't want to imagine it, his best friend with his hands all over some guy.

It would be a lie to say Foggy wasn't jealous. He'd been there for Matt, through everything, and suddenly some other guy had shown up and given Matt what he needed and Foggy was left with ... what? He was still Matt's friend, but Matt was absorbed in Peter. Just like he got absorbed in the women he dated, but this was different. Peter was a man---so Matt did manly buddy things with him, too. Peter could be the boyfriend and the best friend, and Matt wouldn't come to Foggy to bitch about Peter the way he would bitch about his girlfriends. He was aware that Foggy was uncomfortable with the whole thing---or maybe it was because he hadn't wanted to give away Peter's alter ego. Either way.

Eventually, Matt returned to the living room without Peter, easing back down on the couch. "He'll be in a bad mood," was the first thing he said. "Peter's kind of a bitch when he's in a bad mood. You really ... you don't have to stick around if you don't want to."

Foggy frowned. Despite Matt's tone, he could tell Matt was shaken---and it was no wonder, with Bullseye being involved. Matt didn't like to share his pain, even with Foggy. Foggy knew what he was trying to do.

"I'm not going anywhere," Foggy assured him, reaching up to put a hand on Matt's shoulder. "How's he doing?" Peter was Spider-Man. Wow. Just ... wow.

"He's tired," Matt said quietly, distractedly. He must have been watching Peter in the shower. Making sure. Even in another room, all he could concentrate on was Peter. Foggy wasn't sure whether he should find it sweet or hate it---

So maybe he was just being vindictive. That wasn't fair. Matt was allowed to worry.

"He looks tired." Holy understatement, Batman. "He gonna be okay?"

Matt laughed, but it was a harsh, wet noise, like someone trying not to cry. "Pete? Yeah, of course he will be. He's always okay. It's one of his super powers, apparently."

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence when Matt rested his face in his hand, pulling off his glasses and setting them on the coffee table. Foggy just squeezed his shoulder.

"...So. Spider-Man, huh?"

Matt cracked a smile. "Yeah."

"Can't believe some kid is Spider-Man," Foggy said; there was a weird relief in being able to say it out loud.

"As opposed to ... who?"

"I don't know. I always imagined him as older, almost. Our age, maybe a little older. He's been around for so long." Yeah, wow. Spider-Man had been around for ... twelve and a half, thirteen years? Foggy paused. "...How old is Peter?"

Matt opened his mouth but found he had to think. Closed it. Frowned. "Twenty-eight? I think. Turned twenty-eight last April."

"Jesus Christ, Matt," Foggy breathed.

"Kicker, isn't it?" Matt shook his head, like he hadn't even gotten over it yet. "He'd been Spider-Man for five years before I even considered... ---He was just a kid, Foggy. He still is. I'd say he's too young to be doing this, but he's better ... better at it than I am," he finished, voice hushing. Like he was embarrassed, or maybe he felt sorry for Peter. It was hard to tell.

All Foggy could think of to say was 'Jesus Christ'---so rather than repeat himself, he was quiet, letting Matt concentrate on Peter in the shower. It was more than Matt had ever talked about Peter, and it was no wonder. They were both superheroes. This was the biggest thing they had in common, and what else did they really have? A teacher and a lawyer, ten years apart, completely different parts of the city, different lives, different everything. Superheroism must have drawn them together---and because of that, they had some deep bond that Foggy could never hope to compete with. No matter how much he didn't like it.

"Is it bad," Matt said suddenly, "that I still want to protect him? Even knowing how strong he is, I still want to... ---It's stupid. Peter can handle himself. I don't need to watch out for him, he just fought off Bullseye. He's fine."

Foggy got the sense that Matt wasn't really asking him anything, trying to work it out for himself, but he still answered, "It's natural to want to protect the people you ... love." Foggy paused before tentatively asking, "...Do you love him?"

Matt didn't answer him.

Before Foggy could repeat the question, Peter was coming back out of the shower in a pair of boxers, a towel wrapped around his head. He was limping, heavily favoring his right leg, and Matt was up as soon as Peter entered the room to let Peter lean against him before easing him down onto the couch. Close up and clean, the injuries didn't look quite as bad. Watching him sit, Foggy retook the inventory: cut cheek, small circular burn---from a cigarette, maybe---a couple gashes on his side, a small but clearly deep cut in his shoulder (that one went all the way through, as Foggy could see from his position beside Peter from a glance at his back; ouch), though that seemed to have missed any vital areas. Peter held his left arm strangely, but it must have ached from the wound and having to pop it back in. A line of short, deep parallel cuts were on his left calf and thigh. Bullseye must not have had time to slice open the artery in Peter's leg, or had never intended to in the first place. All this Foggy took in while Matt sat on the coffee table, carefully avoiding the things Foggy had laid out, touching Peter face and neck and leaning in to kiss him on the cheek, ignoring Foggy when he shifted uncomfortably and looked away. That tiny show of affection still didn't sit well with him.

"We should take you to a doctor, Peter," Foggy finally said, interrupting their little moment. "Whatever happened to your shoulder---"

"Quarter," Peter supplied.

"Right. You'll probably need stitches." Peter shook his head, and before he could protest, Foggy added, "Don't you go pulling that 'I'm too tough for stitches' junk Matt tries to pull over on me all the time. Besides, the Night Nurse is nearby, she'll take you. You know the Night Nurse, don't you?"

"I do, but I actually am too tough for stitches." Peter grinned, and Foggy wanted to smack the look right off his face---and might've, if it wasn't so obviously strained. "Give me a few days, maybe like a week. This'll all heal up---or at least turn to bruises. The shoulder's gonna take a while, but I've had a lot worse."

Foggy frowned, reaching for the hand sanitizer in the first aid kit. He didn't want whatever germs were on his hands to get into Peter's open wounds when he went slathering Neosporin all over them. "Don't tell me. Super healing is actually one of your powers?"

Peter shrugged without thinking---and then hissed, flinching. "Yeah. It actually is."

"Go figure," Foggy muttered, picking up the tube of Neosporin amd squeezing some out onto his finger, gently touching the cut on Peter's shoulder. Peter grunted, but stayed put. Foggy noticed Matt's disappointed frown, could practically hear Matt thinking at him. This is my gig, Foggy, get your hand off my boyfriend.

Jackass. Then again, he could have misread that---but probably not. Foggy was nearly as good at reading people as Matt was, and he could definitely read Matt. It was a lawyer thing, and a best friend thing. ...That, and Matt had some seriously transparent facial expressions. Came with the blindness.

But Foggy stubbornly bandaged Peter's arm while Matt cradled Peter's head against his chest. Matt was being oddly clingy---especially in front of Foggy; he tended to avoid being all over Peter when Foggy was around---but considering Peter had just escaped death by Bullseye, Foggy had to forgive him. He just needed to touch Peter to assure himself that Peter was alive. That was okay.

Peter spent the whole time chatting to keep his mind off of the pain in his shoulder, mostly murmuring to Matt. Assuring Matt he would be just fine, a little sleep, some time, he'd be perfectly back to normal. Foggy's hands moved almost automatically, half-listening while he patched Peter up, mostly thinking to himself. He wasn't even sure how much he liked this guy, and here he was, wrapping a bandage around his shoulder before tending to the cuts on his side---nasty gouges where a short blade had sliced through and something that wasn't a knife had connected, so the cuts were framed in nasty bruises.

"What I want to know," Matt said, cutting off Peter's idle chit-chat. "Is what actually happened. Pete." He pushed the towel up a bit to lean down and kiss his forehead. "And if this has anything to do with why you haven't been coming near me."

Peter hesitated, flinching under Foggy's hand. "I ... well. Couple weeks ago, I stopped a mugging---ow---chased off the mugger but tossed a spider tracer on his jacket. I guess Bullseye saw---I think he actually tried to hurl a quarter at me or something and I dodged, but I was too distracted by the mugging to check it out---went after the guy and took the spider tracer before I could get to him." He was talking faster than normal, voice tensing up, but he kept going, talking nonstop to distract himself. "So I go after the guy, went to the building where the signal was before it disappeared, and I find the lady's purse---he ran off with the lady's purse and I chased him to get it back---and there's a note on it that says 'I know who you are', all creepy-like---"

"He knows who you are?" Matt interrupted---a bit more harshly than he'd probably meant to.

"Yes, Sherlock, now shut up, I'm not done. ---Jesus on a stick, what are you doing down there, Foggy?" Peter looked down as Foggy was pressing gauze over the wound.

"Oh, don't mind me," Foggy said, smoothing the gauze and making Peter wince. "Keep going."

"Yeah. Okay. So, anyway, he leaves this note. I get creeped the hell out and go home. Spider tracer signal's gone, and Matt would know if he was around the apartment, so I went to sleep. Went into work the next day, because I can't afford to miss more or I'll get sacked, and there's a note on my window from him." Peter squirmed and Matt tightened his grip on him to keep Peter still. "Right there, and it says 'Hi, Mr. Parker'. But I find it while I'm on the phone with the boss, who's pissed about the Globe headline and now parents are bitching because the science teacher was on the cover of a tabloid with an allegedly violent blind vigilante, so I had to try not to, you know, scream or cry or something when I see the thing. I throw that out, hang up, go into my drawer, and there's another that says 'How's Matty?'---which is why I called you. Make sure you were alive and all."

"You should've told me," Matt snapped. "You should've goddamn told me as soon as you knew what was going on! Why didn't you, what the hell is wrong with you?!"

"Matt---Matt, don't talk so loud, you're giving me a headache." Peter frowned. "I didn't tell you because you ... well, because you ... had that thing with Bullseye last fall. I didn't want you to worry if I could handle it."

The room went quiet, except for Peter's uncomfortable, pained noises as Foggy secured the patches on his side.

Finally, Matt eventually said sourly, "Go on."

Peter winced. "And then there was nothing. Just ... no notes, no threats. Nothing."

"No, and then you avoided me and made me think you hated my guts. Peter." Matt frowned. "Was that it? You were so fucking nervous about Bullseye that you wouldn't touch me? You could've at least told me something was up before I thought you just weren't interested in fu---"

"Okay, ladies, can you do this part later?" Foggy interjected. Matt immediately turned away, embarrassed. "So you spent a couple weeks avoiding Matt because of Bullseye, blah blah blah, and then what?"

"...Well, it wasn't entirely about Bullseye," Peter admitted, mumbling. "I didn't want ... people to see us together." He looked none-too-happy about saying this in front of Foggy---or maybe just about saying it at all. "I didn't want anyone seeing us together as Spider-Man and Daredevil and connecting the dots. That, and ... and that Globe cover got me in a shitload of trouble, Matt. At both jobs. I didn't want it to happen again. You can handle it, but I'm not my own boss, here. Jonah was pissed that he didn't get that headline, Principal Kim's calling me an unreliable danger magnet who's putting the school through more trouble than it's worth. It's scary shit and---"

"Peter." Foggy nudged his leg. "You'll have to move."

"---Oh. Sorry, hang on." Peter shifted---and Matt automatically shifted with him, settling behind him while Peter pulled his legs up onto the couch so Foggy wouldn't have to crouch down. "I don't like having media attention, Matt. Neither do you, but you can afford it. Me and my paycheck can't."

Matt opened his mouth, and Foggy was positive Matt was going to say something to the effect of 'tough shit' or 'deal with it'---but Matt stopped himself, kissing Peter's good shoulder instead and muttering, "Sorry."

"...Yeah. Well." Peter, clearly not used to getting apologies, rested against him, pausing before he continued: "Anyway. That night we, you know ...---" Don't say it, Peter, don't say it, please. "---well, you know. Bullseye saw us, I guess, and used that as an excuse to jump me at school and---"

"He went to your school?!" Matt nearly jumped, jarring Peter and earning a painful grunt.

"Careful, Matt, or I'm going to end up stabbing him in the leg down here." Foggy frowned.

"Sorry---your school? Bullseye went after you in your civs?"

"Yeah, he did," Peter said softly---seemingly so he wouldn't start yelling. It was more serious than Foggy had ever seen him; suddenly, this wasn't quite as ... light-hearted or flippant as Peter had been treating the story so far. "I didn't fight him---how could I, without giving myself away and giving him more reason to shoot a kid. He actually ... he pulled a gun on my kids, Matt. Attacked me, jammed a gun into my back in front of them. He didn't touch them, thank God, but he gave me a bloody nose and told me if I didn't meet him, alone, that he'd come after the students next." Peter scratched the side of his nose, wincing hard and nearly pulling his leg away from Foggy's care.

"How did he get past your spider senses, though?" Matt frowned. "I don't understand how he got close enough to you in the first place."

Peter hesitated. "He had a ... a thing. This little frequency device, looked like a pen. He'd used my spider tracer to tap into my spider senses' frequency and turned the power all the way up. I followed him, of course, I didn't feel like I had a choice---and even with that thing, I managed to get him down and to the police. And then I came home. Wasn't easy." He sounded proud of himself, but ultimately seemed to regret how it had gone. "See? I was fine, Matt."

"You could have died!" Matt spat; Foggy could see him shaking. "How is that fine?"

"I didn't have a choice, Matt!" Peter snapped. "I couldn't risk those kids. Not for me, not for anything. He never meant to kill me, anyway; he wanted to mess me up and send me home to you to say 'look what I can do to your life' or something stupid like that."

"It's not stupid, Peter, it's real. I know you have an issue with perspective, but not everyone's as goddamn flippant as you are. Jesus." With that, Matt pushed himself up off the couch, stalking off toward the window, shifting restlessly before he decided to stalk into his office instead, slamming the door.

Peter had to reach back, catching himself on his good hand and watching Matt go. "What the hell is his problem?"

Foggy stared up at Peter, wrapping the bandage around his leg. "You could try taking him seriously, for starters," he said with a frown.

"I do take him seriously!" Peter protested, resting his left arm in his lap. "I do, but I can handle things, you know. I took this on without his help. I saved him weeks of worrying and kept him out of the crossfire. The hell is he pissed for?"

"...Do you wear blinders?"

"What?"

Foggy sighed, shaking his head. "You didn't tell him about Bullseye."

"...Yeah."

"His arch nemesis?" Foggy felt kind of stupid himself, actually using that phrase out loud. "The guy who killed two of Matt's girlfriends? If he'd killed you---"

"Which he didn't."

"That's not the point. Shut up and let me finish." What he wouldn't give to be able to smack Peter right over the head right now. "If he had, you know what that would've done to Matt? You didn't tell him. To him, it's like you don't trust him enough to let him handle his own villain. And then you come back like it's no big deal that someone like that had his hands on you in the first place."

Peter was silent for a moment, looking into his lap. "...Yeah, but. But I'm fine. I'm home. I'm fine."

"It's not all about you," Foggy said slowly, as if he needed to spell it out for Peter. "Doesn't matter if you're fine or not---this, by the way, does not look, smell, or sound fine, no matter what excuses you have---but ... Peter, you scared him. And now you're brushing off his fear. Of course he's pissed."

"Oh."

Finally. "Yeah. So."

Peter shifted, as if to push himself off the couch, saying, "I should go---"

"No." Foggy gently pulled him back down. "I'm not done with your face. You'll stay right here until I'm done."

Peter looked over, blinking. "...Yes, Aunt May."

Foggy snorted. Patching up the cut and burn on Peter's face was a bit of a challenge; he kept flinching away, making Foggy grab his chin to keep him still like a little kid getting his face cleaned. He wasn't even sure why he was going this far, why he didn't let Peter handle himself. He certainly had taken care of himself before, but ... well, maybe Foggy was trying to find some way to like him. He had a healthy amount of respect for him now, but in the end, Peter was clearly still a kid. A brave, reckless, tough kid, but still very young. It was hard to look up to someone so young after going over his wounds.

"So where are your mom and dad, kiddo?" Foggy asked, speaking to keep Peter's mind off the burn; he was fine through the gashes, but that tiny burn seemed to bother him more than anything, and it was hard to keep him in one place. "I met your aunt, but what about them?"

"First of all, please, don't call me 'kiddo'," Peter answered with a frown. "It just ... you know, I'm with your best friend, that makes me feel gross inside. And my parents are dead. Died together in a plane crash when I was a little kid. My Uncle Ben---Dad's brother---and his wife took me in."

"You have an uncle?"

"Yeah." Peter's voice hushed. "He's dead, too. It's a long story, I really don't want to talk about it. Let's just say it's my origin and leave it at that."

"Oh." Foggy dropped it. Okay, parents were a sore spot for everybody here. Go figure. He finished Peter's face in silence, Peter gratefully pulling away when he let go.

"Thanks," Peter said, a little reluctantly, moving again to push himself off the couch. "I need to---"

Foggy hopped up. "No, I'll get it. Soda and Advil, right?"

"Not that, but yeah, I need those, too. Thanks," he repeated, pushing himself up anyway and hobbling over to Matt's office door. As Foggy moved into the kitchen for the soda and looked for the painkillers, he could hear Peter, knocking gently on the door, leaning against it for support. "Matt? ...Matty, come on. I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry. ...You're doing the broody thing, you know that, right? Please? Matt, come out here, I need a hug. Can I get a hug?"

Foggy was just coming back to the living room, looking down the hall and watching Peter. He almost wanted to laugh and immediately felt bad, looking at Peter with his bandages and his banged up left side, foot raised a little off the ground so he didn't put weight on his leg, hands against the door like he could touch Matt through it.

Surprisingly, Matt opened the door at that last bit, reaching out to pull Peter into a secure, slightly-too-rough hug. Peter flinched but didn't stop him, left arm limp while he clung to Matt with the other. Foggy looked away when Matt kissed Peter's neck and muttered something to him; he didn't want to guess what Matt was saying, it wasn't his business.

When Peter returned to the couch, it was with Matt supporting him, easing him down onto the cushions again. Foggy cleared his throat and slid the can of Mountain Dew and the bottle of Advil over in front of him, hearing Peter mutter a thanks before reaching for them. The can opened with a hiss, and Peter swallowed three pills without hesitation, washing it down with most of the soda in the can.

"All right. I need to lay down. Wake me up in, like ... an hour and a half and I'll make dinner or something."

Foggy balked. "We'll order a pizza, Peter, don't worry about it. You go sleep."

"No, it's fine. I'm fine, seriously, just give me an hour and a half. You guys do what you do and I'll find ... something. You know, since you stayed and ... helped. I mean, you're a guest and stuff, we should at least do something and God knows Matt can't cook..." Peter was floundering, he was clearly more than a little tired, and if Foggy didn't know better, he'd swear Peter was trying really hard to get Foggy to like him. Foggy wasn't sure how much it was working, but he appreciated it.

"I---"

"We'll come get you," Matt said, cutting Foggy off.

"But, Matt---"

Matt cleared his throat, and Foggy nodded. Oh. "I'll see you then, Peter. Get some sleep."

"'Kay." Peter pushed himself up off the couch. "Thank you, again. For helping. Means a lot and all that." Peter swayed a bit, Matt automatically reaching over to steady him before gently pulling him closer. "I can make it, Matt. It's just a little limp."

"Shut up and come here." Matt was stubborn, leaning down so he could pick Peter up, despite his protests, careful to cradle Peter's right side against him. Peter turned an interesting shade of red, looking away from Foggy---an action Foggy mirrored, deliberately turning away to pack up the kit and pull out the papers again while Matt took Peter to the bedroom to let him lay down, hearing Peter's good-natured protests the whole way.

When Matt came back, Foggy had returned the coffee table to its former state of paper-covered organized clutter, reaching for Matt's hand when he sat and pressing it over the document he'd been reading when Peter stumbled in, commenting, "I guess he's kinda cute. A little bit."

Matt snorted, clearly more at ease now that Peter was patched up and resting. "And he thinks highly of you, too."

Foggy chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. "Does he really?"

"...Yeah, he does."

"Oh. ...Seriously?"

Matt nodded. "He really wants you to like him."

Foggy frowned, suddenly feeling bad for being uncomfortable with the whole situation. But ... hell. He was uncomfortable, no matter how nice or good for Matt Peter seemed so far. With Matt's relationships, there was always a catch. One that got Matt into serious trouble.

Still, he answered, "We'll see."