inthewildwood | fanfiction: shape the poet and the beat [part 1] (Reply)

Title: shape the poet and the beat [part 1]
Fandom: Daredevil
Pairings: girl!Matt/girl!Foggy
Summary: Crushing on a straight girl is one thing- she's been down that road. Crushing on her best friend who she knows isn't straight, but being too goddamn chickenshit to say anything is something else entirely.
Rating: M

Foggy’s on the phone with her mother for the third time in as many days (yes, Mom, she packed enough sweaters; no, the cafeteria isn’t starving her; yes, she’s got her class schedule memorized) when a ridiculously hot girl walks through her door.

In Foggy’s defense, she notices things about her other than the hot factor. Sure, that’s the first thing that catches her eye (and it is kind of noticeable) but then she takes in the fact that she’s wearing sunglasses, wonders about that for half a second, and then solves the mystery when she notices that she’s also carrying one of those walking sticks blind people use. Then her brain snaps back to the hotness, because seriously: so hot. Leather-jacket-wearing, dark-haired, nice boobs (look, they’re right there, okay? It’s not like she can’t notice) and the parts of her face that aren’t obscured by sunglasses are all fine lines and high cheekbones.

“Hi,” she says. She taps the cane across the floor until she reaches the free bed, then sinks down on it. “This is room 342, right?”

“I- uh- yeah,” Foggy says, shaking herself out of her boobs-and-cheekbones induced trance. “I’m Foggy Nelson. You’re-”

“Your roommate, I think.” The newcomer extends a hand. “Maddie Murdock.”

“Oh, no way!” Foggy bounces off the bed and grabs Maddie’s hand, shaking enthusiastically. “Murdock from Hell’s Kitchen, Murdock? Fighting Jack’s kid?”

A faint blush is spreading up Maddie’s neck. “That’s me.

“This is so cool,” Foggy gushes, finally dropping Maddie’s hand when her arm starts getting sore. “I didn’t think I’d meet anyone from home all the way out here. Do you box, like your dad did? Er-” Her train of thought finally catches up to her mouth. “I guess you kind of can’t, huh? That must suck. Sorry”

“It’s okay,” Maddie says. She drags the cane back and forth across the floor. “I exercise a bit. Keep in shape. But I’m not a boxer like him.” A self-deprecating grin creeps across her face. “I’m in Intro to Law. I’m gonna end up being a pencil-pusher.”

“No fucking way,” Foggy says, shaking her head. “We’re in the same class! Professor Miller, right?”

“Right.” Maddie tilts her head to the side slightly. “What else are you in? I’ve got Spanish, Contract Law, and Civil Procedure. You?”

“Torts, Legal Methods, and Punjabi.” Foggy doesn’t need to be able to see Maddie’s eyes to recognize the bemusement at that last one. “Hey, don’t knock it. It’s the tenth most spoken language in the world. It’ll come in handy when I’m a world-class, jetsetting lawyer.”

“Well it won’t do you much good in Hell’s Kitchen,” Maddie says, but she’s smiling. “You’re not going back after you graduate?”

“Probably,” Foggy says with a sheepish sort of grin. “I’ve got family there, after all. But it’s fun to imagine.” She extends an arm. “Fistbump?”

Maddie sets the cane down and meets Foggy’s fist with unerring accuracy. “Right on.”

Foggy grins. “This is gonna be fantastic.”

Six weeks into term, and the crack team of Murdock and Nelson have already conquered most of campus. Or figured out how to find everything, which is really half the battle. Maddie has a better sense of direction than Foggy (which seems kind of weird, but maybe that’s how the universe makes up for shooting you in the eyes with chemicals) and an even better sense of how to find all the best bars. There’s a watering hole right by one of the side campuses- kind of a dive, sticky surfaces in all the wrong places, but the beer is great and the company is better. And Foggy kicks ass at their pool table.

So she’s sitting there one day, having already won five rounds and retired to the bar for a victory drink, when a girl from her Torts class sidles up to her. Foggy doesn’t know Marci all that well yet, but she’s already picked up that the girl has a bright future ahead of her as some kind of man-eating shark. She wipes the floor with her opponents whenever they have an in-class debate without even breaking a sweat, and has legs that go on for days. Foggy’s not sure whether she finds her attractive or terrifying. Possibly both.

“Hey there,” Marci says, flashing an unnervingly bright grin. “You here alone?”

“With a friend.” Foggy nods across the room to where Maddie is hanging out by the jukebox. There’s another girl next to her, spider-walking her fingers up and down Maddie’s arm while Maddie throws her head back and laughs. Maddie has a really long neck. How has Foggy not noticed that yet? It’s so long and . . . neck-y. Like a swan. Or a giraffe.

Okay, maybe she’s a bit tipsier than she thought. Note to self: whiskey and Foggy do not go together.

“So,” Marci’s saying into her ear, with the air of someone about to launch into a proposition. “You’re in Legal Methods, right? And your roommate’s in Contract Law. I’ve got both of those coming up next semester, and I know you’re not in Ethics or Legal Research yet. So I was thinking . . .”

Foggy’s still looking across the room, watching Maddie with her new friend. The girl she doesn’t know has a hand curled around the back of Maddie’s neck, and it looks- weird. Proprietary. Who even does that to someone they barely know? That’s just creepy.

“Ahem.”

Foggy blinks. Marci’s giving her an expectant look. “Oh. Right. Um- what were you saying?”

Marci heaves an exaggerated sigh. “I was saying, we could swap notes when next semester rolls around. In the meantime, I need a debate partner for the end-of-class seminar, and I know you did really well on the Dispute Resolution Training assignment. So how’s it sound? You want to partner up?”

“Uh-huh,” Foggy says. Maddie and her new friend are gone. “Sounds great. Fantastic.”

Marci slides off the barstool, shrugging her jacket around her shoulders. “I’ll e-mail you, then. I’d invite you back to my place, but-” She snaps her fingers under Foggy’s nose. Foggy blinks hazily. “You’re a total space cadet right now, so it should probably wait. See you tomorrow.” Foggy blinks again, and Marci’s gone, leaving a cloud of confusion and Chanel in her wake.

When Foggy leaves out of the bar, several- hours? Minutes? Is there a measurement between hours and minutes? - later, the sky outside has turned blackish-pink. Normally she stumbles back to their dorm with Maddie, but Maddie’s nowhere to be seen, and it’s fine. She can walk on her own. She is a strong, independent Foggy who can walk on two legs without help. She only falls over twice. The feeling of bumping her head against brick actually clears her mind a bit, so by the time she actually mounts the stairs to room, she’s only a little bit out of it. Clear-headed enough to look at the doorknob and realize that there’s a sock there, and hear-oh.

Well, then.

“Great,” she says out loud, sinking to the hallway floor. She’s not really all that pissed- good on Maddie, if she can get some this easily- but it does present the problem of where exactly she’s gonna go until the room opens up again. Just sit out here? Things might get kind of awkward when Maddie comes back out. On the other hand, it’s not like there’s anyplace else on her list of Places to Crash, and isn’t this what roommates are for? Making your one-night stands embarrassing after the fact?

So. She’s just gonna sit here. For however long it takes.

“Awesome,” she says out loud, then giggles at the sound of her own voice. She’s becoming increasingly aware of the noises coming from inside- high-pitched squeals in a voice she doesn’t recognize (that’ll be Weird Fingers Girl- god, what had Maddie seen in her?) and other, lower moans that must be coming from Maddie. She sounds kind of nice, actually. Well okay, maybe nice is the wrong word, but she at least sounds like she’s having fun instead of being murdered. They’re the kind of sounds Foggy would like to hear from a sexual partner, if she had one. Although maybe a bit less loud, because she’s pretty sure anyone walking by can hear what’s going on.

Maddie keeps making noises from low in her throat, somewhere between a grunt and a groan, and her voice occasionally shoots up- probably when Weird Fingers Girl does something good. There are probably sexual pluses to being Weird Fingers Girl, if you’re having sex with other girls. Or possibly with guys too? It’s getting kind of difficult to consider the vagaries of Weird Fingers Girl’s sex life, because Maddie is getting louder. Like, a lot louder, guttural grunts and little pants like she’s trying to gulp air but can’t catch enough of a second wind for it. Foggy can just about picture the look on her face, back arched, neck curved, maybe turning pink all over instead of just that neck flush she gets sometimes, her fingers all balled up in the sheets, shades off so that whoever’s with her can really see what’s going on, how close she is, how good it feels-

Foggy almost hadn’t realized where her train of thought was taking her until she notices her hand creeping towards the waistband of her jeans, and she hastily slaps her palm down on the floor instead. No. Nuh-uh. She is not getting off in the hallway listening to her roommate have sex. There are lines, and this is definitely crossing one of them. Maddie is going to open the door in a few minutes, and Foggy is going to be sitting out here looking perfectly innocent, because she did not touch herself imagining Maddie getting off. Nope.

(If she gets off on it later, in the privacy of her own bed, rolling her hips desperately against her hand and imagining its Maddie there instead- well, that’s nobody’s business but hers’.)

It’s colder outside than March in New York has any right to be, but Foggy doesn’t feel it, because Maddie’s pressed up against her, shaking with laughter, and Foggy’s on top of the goddamn world. They’re stumbling across the quad, and Foggy’s stolen Maddie’s cane, whacking everything they walk by and singing out “look at me everybody, I’m blind Maddie Murdock!” while Maddie runs at her heels and grabs fruitlessly at her, mostly because she’s laughing too hard to get a grip.

“Most people-” she gets out between gasps of laughter, “most people would probably just say ‘Maddie Murdock.” She hooks one of her feet around Foggy’s ankles, and Foggy goes down with a shriek as Maddie steals the cane back and thumps her with it. They’ve reached the stairs that lead up to the student housing building, and Foggy doesn’t really feel like making the effort of getting back up- not that she could anyway, with the sky spinning the way it is- so she just crawls on her hands and knees up the stairs and flops over at the top. Maddie thumps down next to her, the cane sticking out at an odd angle.

Foggy’s on her back, chin tilted upwards, staring at the night sky. “D’you know- d’you know how pretty it is? It’s so pretty, Maddie.”

“I know,” Maddie says, gulping lungfuls of air. “I know. I remember. I can feel it.”

“Feel it how?” Foggy asks, but before she can register Maddie’s odd silence, she barges on forward. “Y’know, I bet- I bet if everybody was just, like, faceblind, we could have world peace. I bet we could.”

“How d’you figure?”

“Like-” Foggy waves a hand, “like nobody could start fights by saying ‘hey I don’t like your face,’ because they can’t see it, right? And nobody’d get all pissy because somebody else doesn’t look like them, because they just wouldn’t fucking know! Fuck, it could work.”

“You’re drunk,” Maddie says, amused.

“You’re drunk,” Foggy retorts. “I’m a genius. I just solved world peace.”

“I don’t think so,” Maddie says, sprawling across the steps next to Foggy. “I’ve still got people whose faces I don’t like. You can just tell.”

Foggy half-lifts her head. “Tell how?”

“Weeeeell . . .” Maddie pokes the end of her tongue out in concentration, then gets momentarily distracted waggling it around before she continues. “You know how some people, they look just like they sound? It’s like that. Like, I know your friend from Torts class dyes her hair blonde-”

“You do not,” Foggy says automatically, although it’s true and she knows it’s true because she’s seen the bottle herself. “So what do I look like, then? Or sound like, or . . . look-sound like?”

Maddie stretches her legs out, hooking one of her ankles around Foggy’s. Foggy does her best to ignore that. “I dunno. Friendly.”

“Friendly’s not a look,” Foggy says, although she’s pretty sure she is. At the very least, it’s a much nicer descriptions than the various ones that she’s heard applied to herself over the years, most of which involved variations on the phrase “troll doll.”

“It is,” Maddie insists. “It’s kind of- I can tell you smile a lot. I know your hair is about down to your shoulders. I think you have a button nose, but I’m not sure. I could tell, if-” She cuts herself off.

“If what?” Foggy asks, curious. Okay, mostly she wants to hear Maddie talk about her more. And distract herself from the slight press of their ankles together. Maddie even has nice ankles. Life is deeply unfair.

“IfItouchedyourface,” Maddie blurts out. Foggy’s not sure if she’s slurring because she’s drunk or because she’s embarrassed. Either way, she blinks at Maddie. “Huh?”

“If I touched your face,” Maddie said, carefully spacing her words out. “I know, I know, it’s really weird, but I can like- get a feel for your features. Sort of like sense memory? You know what, nevermind, its stupid-”

Foggy reaches out, cutting Maddie off mid-ramble, and grabs her hand. “With gloves or without?”

Maddie’s neck is turning red above her scarf. “Without, but you don’t need to-”

Foggy fumbles with Maddie’s glove- a slightly trickier operation than usual, given that her fingers feel like sausages all of a sudden- and slaps her bare hand against her face. Maddie freezes for a second, fingers clenching- it kind of hurts, actually, although it would probably hurt a lot more if Foggy’s face wasn’t so cold- and then her hand relaxes, and she starts to skim her fingers over Foggy’s cheeks and chin. She touches one finger lightly to the tip of Foggy’s nose, and Foggy would be tempted to giggle and say “boop” to this, but it’s not really on her radar at the moment, because Maddie is touching her face holy shit, just running her fingers all over her and oh by the way their ankles are still touching, and this is either the best or worst thing that has ever happened in Foggy Nelson’s entire life. She’d be having flashbacks to the sexiling incident if not for the fact that she’s contemplated what it would feel like to have Maddie’s hands on her more times than she’d like to admit, and they all start to run together after awhile. She never pictured this specific scenario, but Maddie’s fingers feel nice. Really nice, actually. Her thumb is under Foggy’s earlobe, sort of gently rubbing the soft skin there, like she’s trying to figure out where Foggy’s ear fades into her neck. She’s wearing earrings, and the bob dangling at the end of the earring is bumping against Maddie’s hand every time she moves, while her fingers are brushing the edge of Foggy’s hairline. Foggy’s starting to think that she doesn’t care that much where Maddie’s touching her, as long as skin-to-skin contact is involved. Especially because Maddie’s palm is full-on cradling Foggy’s cheek now, like straight-up caressing it, and it’s all she can do to keep from leaning into the touch and purring like a cat. She never, ever wants this to end, ever.

It does end, though, and she tries not to make a disappointed sound as Maddie pulls away and puts her glove back on. “What’s the verdict?” she asks, keeping her tone light. “Give it to me straight, doc.”

She can’t really read Maddie’s expression- not that Maddie is especially scrutable (is that a word?) at the best of times, but she seems blanker than usual at the moment. “Like I said,” she says. “Friendly.” She pauses. “Nice. Really nice.”

“Oh.” Foggy tries to keep disappointment out of her voice. Nice is better than nothing. It’s certainly better than troll doll. “I hope you know you just took my face-touching virginity, Murdock. You better call me in the morning.”

Maddie throws her head back and laughs. “Nope. Love ‘em and leave ‘em, that’s me.”

“Sure is,” Foggy says with a companionable giggle, leaning her head on Maddie’s shoulder and feeling chuckles reverberate through her body. At this distance- which is no distance at all- she can catch the smell of Maddie’s shampoo, a faint whiff of vanilla and mint. If she turns her head just a little, she thinks, she could kiss Maddie’s shoulder. Maddie would never know. If she gets caught, she could say her cheek slipped, and how would Maddie be able to tell? Do face-touching senses extend to knowing whether or not someone’s moved accidentally-on-purpose? Could she play it off if she gets caught?

She hates herself for it as soon as the thought crosses her mind, but it’s there, and it’s not going away. You’ve fucked yourself over for real this time, she thinks- it was one thing to be in denial when she hadn’t let Maddie grope her face, but the cat is well and truly out of the mental bag now, and she’s pretty sure she won’t be able to stuff it back in. She’s equally sure that she can not say this out loud, not now, not ever. Maddie’s still giggling a bit, sounds trailing off into the air, like she has no idea that her roommate- her best friend- the girl currently leaning on her shoulder- has what could accurately be called designs on her virtue. The night air is suddenly painfully cold on her face, and she suddenly wished she’d drunk more, a lot more. Enough to give her courage, or at least to not care.

“We should go home,” she says abruptly, and pulls herself to her feet, dragging Maddie with her. Maddie comes up easily, hand warm and pliable in Foggy’s, and they weave away together. Maddie’s arm looped through hers’ feels like fire, heat and ice intertwined, and Foggy doesn’t know which one burns worse.

(Less than a year later, Maddie says let’s start our own firm, and Foggy says sure, why not because saying “no” to Maddie Murdock has been beyond her capabilities for a very long time. At least since that night in the quad. Maybe since the day she first walked into their dorm room. Point is, if Maddie wants to go bankrupt defending the downtrodden, then Foggy’s going down with her, and the rest of the firm- hell, the rest of the world- can go fuck itself.

It’s the same when Karen comes along- Maddie wants to help her, and Foggy would almost feel like a pushover for how easily she caves, but the truth is she wants to help too. She doesn’t have Maddie’s unshakeable certainty that Karen’s innocent, but the whole case smells just off enough that she wants to get to the bottom of it, whatever it turns out to be. Besides, she likes Karen. Not like she likes Maddie, but honestly, it’s kind of a relief to have someone around who doesn’t make her feel like she’s on fire in all the best and worst possible ways.)

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Foggy says, taking another sip.

“You and Maddie were in college together,” Karen says. Her face is slightly pink, and Foggy can’t tell if it’s from the drinks or not. “Were you two ever- you know?”

Foggy freezes, her beer bottle halfway to her mouth. “Uh,” she says, and the sound comes out in a squeak. “Uh- no, never.” As soon as the words leave her mouth, she knows she’s given herself away, her already-shaky sense of deception entirely collapsed under the weight of the evening. She closes her eyes so she doesn’t have to see Karen’s look of pity.

“Oh,” is all Karen says. She reaches across the table, and Foggy feels a warm hand clasped over hers’. “That sucks. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” Foggy manages, draining the last of the bottle. “Kinda does.” When she opens her eyes, Karen’s face isn’t exactly as bad as she feared- pity, yes, but with more of a sense of camaraderie than of looking down on poor, sad, pining Foggy.

“Been there,” she says, and clinks their bottles together. Foggy forces a laugh. “Yep. Done that.”

Karen doesn’t push it any further, and Foggy’s grateful for that, because she doesn’t want to go into the whole mess any more than she already has. She doesn’t know what, exactly, Karen thinks is going on with the two of them, but she’d prefer that her idea of the situation stays vague, just so she doesn’t realize the extent of how pathetic it all is. Crushing on a straight girl is one thing- everyone’s been down that road. Maddie’s probably been down that road, assuming the girl in question didn’t immediately switch teams as soon as she laid eyes on her. Crushing on her best friend who she knows isn't straight but being too goddamn chickenshit to say anything is something else entirely.

By the time they make their way back to Karen’s apartment, there are pale streaks of light across the sky outside. Karen fumbles in her purse for her keys, and they jangle as she draws them out. Foggy notices her hands are trembling slightly.

“Hey,” she says. Karen looks up. “If you want, I could stay over. If it would help.”

Karen’s face, frozen at first, relaxes into a smile. “I’d like that,” she says. There’s a brief, pregnant pause where Foggy can’t tell exactly what’s hanging in the air, and then Karen leans forward and presses a soft kiss to her mouth. Foggy freezes, eyes squeezed shut, heartbeat accelerating in her ears. Karen feels nice- the ends of her hair are brushing Foggy’s cheek, and for a second, she allows herself the same thoughts that always cross her mind. Maybe. Maybe this time it’ll work. Maybe this time, I can actually move on.

She dismisses them, and gently pulls away, smiling apologetically at Karen. Karen smiles back, all sympathy. “Maddie, huh?”

Foggy lets out a long sigh. “Yeah.”

Karen looks away, fumbling the key into the lock. Foggy takes a deep breath. “I could still stay, though. Like-” She gestures. “Sleep on the couch?”

Karen pats her shoulder. “Of course.” Foggy’s not sure which one of them is really doing the other one a favour. Maybe both. Maybe neither.

“Call Claire,” Maddie gasps, and then she faints. At least, Foggy thinks she faints, because she’s not talking anymore, and she’s gone chalk-white. Foggy fumbles in her pocket until she finds a cell phone, and pulls “C.T.” out of the contacts, hoping that Maddie hasn’t stuck this woman’s number under some bizarre nickname. Maddie only has about four people plugged into her phone- Foggy, Karen, some guy from the church, and this C.T. person- so Foggy can’t think of anyone else it could be.

The phone rings twice before she picks up. “Hello?”

“Hi.” Foggy looks back down at Maddie, and wishes she hadn’t. The puddle of blood is getting bigger. “Um, my friend just collapsed in her apartment and she’s bleeding everywhere and she said to call you, so . . . I’m calling you. I guess. Whoever you are.”

There’s a pause, then “I’ll be right there.”

When the woman- Claire- arrives fifteen minutes later, Foggy’s already dragged Maddie over to the couch and pulled her mask and boots off. She hasn’t touched her pants or shirt, partially because she’s afraid of making it worse (are you not supposed to move hurt people? Or is that just if they fall down the stairs?) and partially because the whole black-suit-mask combo is freaking her out. She doesn’t have time to start freaking out actively, though, which is a good thing, because she’s pretty sure she won’t be able to stop once she starts.

Claire brushes right past her and over to the couch, dropping a doctor’s bag on the floor next to her and bending over Maddie to check her injuries. Foggy stares at her, pieces starting to click together in her brain. “Claire- holy shit, burner phone. You’re the nurse.”

“Yep,” Claire says briefly. She’s already pulling a needle and thread out of her bag. Foggy’s stomach lurches.

“Well, that’s great,” she says. “That’s wonderful. Fan-fucking-tastic, is what that is.” She sinks down onto the ottoman, her head in her hands. Seeing Claire now, she gets it, which almost makes things worse- the woman is gorgeous, like all the women Maddie’s ever gotten involved with. Whether they’re “involved” in the kiss-kiss-bang-bang sense, Foggy doesn’t know, but apparently Maddie trusts this total stranger enough to let her in on the fact that she’s the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen when she wasn’t willing to trust her best friend with the same information. She gets up and paces around the room, still rubbing her forehead with both hands trying to distract herself from both the situation and the sight of a needle being pulled through Maddie’s skin.

“I hate sewing,” she says aloud. Claire barely glances up. “You know that? Fucking hate it. My mom tried to teach me, and I stabbed myself, like, twenty times.” Still no response from Claire, which is about as much as Foggy’s rambling deserves, but dammit, she has to do something, and she can’t make herself look at Maddie. Can’t force herself to acknowledge the situation any more than she already has.

When Claire finishes up, she rises to her feet with a sigh, stripping off her blood-soaked gloves. “Make sure she gets plenty of rest,” she says to Foggy, who stares at her open-mouthed. “She shouldn’t move too much, or she’ll rip her stitches. And get her to eat something when she wakes up.”

Foggy finally finds her voice. “Who- how the hell-”

“She should probably be the one answering those questions,” Claire says briefly. She slings her back over her shoulder. “I need to go to work. If there’s an emergency, ignore what she says and call an ambulance. She really should be in a hospital.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Foggy says out loud as the door closes behind her. She looks back down at Maddie, who’s out cold- probably a combination of the blood loss and whatever Claire injected her with. Still, her eyelids are fluttering, and Foggy can see the rise and fall of her chest.

“You better not fucking die,” she says, “because I have a lot of questions.”

The more I say, the faster your heart beats.

When Foggy hears that, her heart just about stops. Maddie can- fuck, she can tell when someone’s lying. She can tell when Foggy lies to her. How many things has she said over the years that Maddie’s seen right through? How many times has she seen her friend head out for a date, feign sadness when it didn’t work out, pretend like it didn’t feel like a carving knife to the chest? How much did she know? Could she even ask that? Could she even trust Maddie to give her an honest answer?

“I wouldn’t have kept-” she starts, then cuts herself off as acid rises in her throat, thinking you hypocrite. Her first thought when she hears Maddie can detect lies is that her cover’s been blown, and here she is giving a lecture on honesty? What right does she even have to expect it? Maybe that’s why. Maybe Maddie knows what Foggy’s been keeping tucked away for the past ten years, and that’s why she didn’t trust her. Maybe she’s known all along that Foggy’s unreliable, can’t be trusted, and everything else has just been an act.

“I wouldn’t have kept this from you,” she finishes in a strangled voice. “Not this.”

Maddie bites her lip and looks down, and Foggy can’t take it, she just can’t. She can’t stand in this room any longer, waiting for Maddie to drop that bombshell- or to explain why she hid this, if she has any explanation at all. She spins on her heel and storms towards the door. Fuck Maddie; fuck her powers, fuck her injuries, fuck her secret identity. She can call her nurse friend if she needs help. Foggy’s not going to stay here, nosing at her like some kind of lovelorn puppy (and that’s what she is, isn’t she? That’s what she’s been all along) who can’t live without Maddie’s approval. She doesn’t want it. Not now.

“Foggy-” Maddie says, but she’s already gone.

[part 2]