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When he comes back from an expert consultation regarding building codes, Foggy finds Danny Rand hovering anxiously outside the office. He’s still in a nice, clean tweed suit, which means he’s either come straight from Rand Enterprises or a very posh charity luncheon. The way Danny’s bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet indicates a bit of pent-up energy, so it’s probably the latter. Danny often chooses to eat in the park or on a walk so he can commune with nature, do some hard thinking, and eat at the same time. He doesn’t like being cooped up with stuffy higher-ups. Sometimes, Matt and Foggy join him on those walking lunches…when Danny pays.
Foggy blinks at the other man and takes a swig from his iced coffee. “Hey, man. How’s it going?”
“Oh, Foggy,” Danny says, in obvious relief. “Glad you’re back.”
“What are you doing outside?” Foggy asks. “Matt’s in the office. Just knock on the door. He’ll let you in.”
“Oh, I know,” Danny says, ominously.
Foggy raises an eyebrow. “What—”
The sound of raised voices penetrates the office walls. Foggy looks to Danny for an explanation. “Jessica’s in there,” Danny says. “Her and Matt have been at it for half an hour, at least.”
“When you say, ‘at it’,” Foggy says, “you mean arguing, right?”
The look Danny throws him is unimpressed. “Yes, Foggy. I mean arguing.”
Foggy holds up his hands. His iced coffee and the extra coffee for Matt slosh around in his grip. “Okay, just checking! I like to be precise when it comes to interpersonal interaction.”
The pitch of the voices in the office gets higher. Foggy can distinguish between Matt’s voice, so familiar in its cadence and volume, and the less obvious voice of Jessica Jones. “What are they fighting about?” Foggy asks.
“Heck if I know,” Danny says. “It’s always something. They can’t ever get along, these days. Colleen and I tried to get them to talk out their feelings, but it just turned into one big sparring session.”
“You mean you guys got involved in the fight?” Foggy asks.
“No, I mean it literally turned into a full-contact practice match. We all got in some great training, but there was no emotional healing at all.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but don’t you lead meditation sessions at the dojo?” Foggy says. “And even you couldn’t get them to work out their problems?”
“Matt will meditate all day long if the mood strikes him. But good luck getting Jessica to do it alone, much less in a room with three other people.” Danny sighs. “I just came by today to give Matt a check. He got Joy’s housekeeper, Yvonne, off the hook for her recent hospital bills. Something about the significant delay in treatment warranting debt forgiveness.”
It’s still a bit surreal, that a billionaire shareholder of a corporate giant just…hangs out with people like them, the avocadoes at law. The fact that he’s a naïve, semi-Buddhist, elite martial artist doesn’t change Foggy’s feelings about it. What’s even weirder is when Danny brings the Meachums around. Unlike Danny, they don’t come with the smell of incense and naivete. They just smell like high-class deodorant, designer perfumes, and the Upper East Side. Unbeknownst to Foggy, Matt actually met Joy at Columbia. At some point, he’d been her unofficial mentor for a semester. When Foggy asked, it turned out Matt still had her number years later. True to Matt’s nature, he’s never taken advantage of this fact in any way, not even to pay off his rental locker at the gym. How Foggy never met Joy in college, he still doesn’t know. Matt never brought her to their shared spaces. The subdued heart-eyes the highly successful CFO occasionally throws his best friend makes Foggy wonder whether the obfuscation was intentional on Matt’s part. Fabulously wealthy people who might be attracted to him make Matt nervous…for good reason.
Foggy’s attention swings back to the office when he hears Matt’s voice get so loud, it becomes intelligible through the door. “Okay, Jess! Okay! Fine, whatever you want!”
“Don’t you patronize me!” Jessica’s voice rises, too.
“I’m not! I’m giving you the win! Take it!”
“I don’t want to be the winner, Matthew! I want you to admit I’m right!”
“I can’t do that, Jessica!”
“No, of course not! Because you always have to be right!”
“Okay,” Foggy says, and swirls his iced coffee with determination. “I won’t be kept out of my own office by an awkward confrontation. I have paperwork to file. Come on, Danny. We’re going in.”
“I could just stay out here,” Danny says.
“Don’t you have business with Matt?” Foggy asks.
Danny pats his jacket pocket. “I just have to hand him a check. You could do that for me.”
“Or you could just come in,” Foggy says, slowly.
“I don’t want to get sucked into the argument, and if I go in the office, I will.”
Foggy gives him a look. “Are you a CEO, or are you not a CEO?”
“I’m a figurehead,” Danny says, truthfully. “Very different from a real CEO. Much less biting, much more barking—"
A new voice echoes up the interior stairs of the building. “Danny? Why is it taking so long to drop off a check? We’ve been waiting in the car for thirty minutes!” There’s an echo of fancy shoes on the stairwell. Foggy looks down as the owner of the voice marches up the stairs. It’s one of the afore-mentioned Meachums, but not the beautiful, socially adept Joy. Instead, it’s her (also beautiful) intense older brother.
“Yeah, sorry, Ward,” Danny says--far too casually, in Foggy’s opinion. “Um…Matt’s busy.”
“I would think so,” Ward Meachum says, as he hoofs it up the last few stairs. Foggy notes with envy that he’s not even winded. “He’s an attorney. No rest for the wicked, and all that.”
Despite Ward’s implication that he and his associate are wicked, Foggy doesn’t snark back at him. Instead, he fights the impulse to rush into the office and slam the door behind him, leaving Danny stranded in the hallway. He would never admit this to anyone, but Ward Meachum scares the shit out of him. Back when he’d worked for Hogarth, Foggy had sat in on a few Rand Enterprises board meetings. He had listened to Ward verbally eviscerate people for doing their jobs too slowly, too disreputably, or simply not doing their jobs at all. Foggy had sat at the far end of a long table, uncharacteristically doing his best to melt into the floor whenever Meachum’s razor-blade gaze passed over him. Foggy had never bought into the idea that a good CEO was statistically likely to be a psychopath…until he had met Ward Meachum.
Defending violent offenders that might try to knock off the District Attorney? Foggy can do that without breaking a sweat. Mingling with alcohol-dependent superheroes? Not a problem. Having a best friend with freakishly good hearing who constantly tries to die on him? He can handle that, most days. But trying to carry on a conversation with the force of nature that is Ward Meachum? Foggy would rather file twenty pointless copyright injunctions while juggling hot coals.
As the actual CEO of Rand Enterprises walks toward them in his crisp navy suit and aggressive leather shoes, Foggy gulps down more iced coffee like it’s going to drain out the bottom of the cup if he doesn’t. Maybe caffeine will save him in this situation. At least it might clear his head. “Hey, Foggy,” Ward says sharply, as he closes the last few feet between them, “why are you and Danny hovering around outside? You look like you’re waiting for the principle to expel you.”
“Do we?” Foggy says, over the rim of his coffee cup. “I wouldn’t know. Never got expelled. Did you?” He wants to kick himself as soon as he says it.
Ward isn’t offended. “Yeah. Six times.”
Foggy forgets to be intimidated and says, “You got suspended from six different schools?”
“In one year,” Ward continues, as if this chaotic level of expulsion is normal.
“For what?”
“Oh, I don’t even remember. Stupid stuff.” Ward shrugs. “I think I pulled a knife on somebody, once.”
Foggy gapes a moment before saying, “Okay, so at what point did your mother decide to get you a home tutor? And a therapist?”
“She didn’t. She just shipped me and Joy upstate to a preparatory boarding school. It was great.”
Foggy waits until Ward turns away before he mutters, “Damn rich people.”
Ward faces the office door, where Matt and Jessica can still be heard. “What the hell’s going on in there? A cage match?”
“Have you ever been to a cage match?” Danny asks, with a snort. “Because that would be the most boring fight ever.”
“Okay, so what is happening?”
“Matt and Jess are arguing about who-knows-what.”
“And you don’t want to get involved,” Ward concludes, “so you’ve been standing out here this entire time.”
Danny bites his cheek a moment before he mutters, “Maybe.”
Before Foggy can blink, Ward steps forward and knocks sharply on the office door. The raised voices cut off abruptly before Matt’s voice says, “Come in?” and Ward strides into Nelson and Murdock like he owns the place. Foggy and Danny trail behind him. Inside the office, Matt and Jessica face each other over Matt’s desk. They both have a flush high on their faces. Their hair is tousled, like they’ve been tossing their heads. They lean away from one another and stare at the three men as they enter.
“Hello,” Ward says, and then, with all the subtlety of a fist to the face, “sorry to interrupt—whatever is happening here—but I have things to do this afternoon. I can’t wait around for a ceasefire to deliver this.” He snatches the check from Danny’s pocket and waves it in the air.
“Ward,” Matt says, with a startled flinch, “what are you—”
Ward slaps the check down on Matt’s desk like he’s trying to kill an enormous fly. He leans around Jessica to do it. He keeps a respectable amount of personal space between them, but Jessica still glares at Ward like she hopes he’ll drop dead. “This is your payment for settling Yvonne’s hospital bills. It’s about two finger widths’ away from your desk phone. And I had the bank double print it, in lettering and in Braille.”
“Oh.” The interruption has totally killed Matt’s verbal momentum. He’s still poised in a tight stance, but he’s turned from Jessica to Ward. He looks confused. “Um, thank you,” Matt says, as he regains control of the situation. “I appreciate the punctuality and the accommodations.”
For her part, Jessica continues to eye Ward like he’s just emerged from a sewer manhole.
Ward sniffs. “Well, I said you’d get your money within two weeks, and I meant it.”
“Who the hell are you?” Jessica finally asks, with more antagonism than is warranted.
Ward fires right back at her. “Well, who the hell are you? And what’s with the attitude? I have done absolutely nothing to you.”
“That’s Jessica Jones,” Danny interjects, helpfully. “You know her. She helped Joy find dirt on all the board members.” Foggy thinks it might have been a better character reference to lead with Jessica’s critical role in saving New York City from certain doom…but to each their own.
“Oh.” Ward gives Jessica a once-over. His eyebrows draw together. “Oh.”
“What is with this guy?” Jessica asks Matt.
“Jess,” Danny cuts in again, “this is Ward Meachum. My old friend. CEO of Rand Enterprises.”
“You’re Ward?” Jessica asks. Her eyes narrow as she scrutinizes Ward again. “Yeah, that checks out.”
Ward frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re super male, super rude, and super entitled.”
Foggy nearly groans out loud. Having a person like Jessica Jones in his social circle is kind of like hugging an activated bomb. It’s not a matter of if she’ll go off; it’s when. It’s one reason why he wishes Matt would keep her away from their workplace. Jessica is an amazing private investigator, but she’s bad for business. From the way he sinks down onto his heels, Foggy knows Matt is also mortified by his friend’s attitude.
Danny tries to smooth things over. “Come on, Jess! We’re just here to deliver Matt’s check. We don’t want to get in an argument.”
“Am I wrong?” Jessica asks.
“Yes!” Matt says, exasperatedly. “About so many things, but especially in this instance: Yes.”
“No,” Ward says, calmly, “she’s not. I can be a bit of an asshole.”
Whether it’s his intention or not, Ward takes the wind out of Jessica’s combative sails with his concession. She scowls for a moment, but her voice is even when she says, “I did come at you unprovoked.”
Ward nods. “I just got here.”
“And we’re basically strangers.”
“We’ve never met before,” Ward says. “Pretty sure that makes us actual strangers.”
“I was pissed off at Matt,” Jess says, by way of explanation. “He’s being difficult about something that could be simple. As usual.”
Foggy sees Matt open his mouth. He quietly snaps his fingers. The others barely hear it, but he knows Matt hears it loud and clear. His best friend takes the hint and shuts his mouth. To reward him, Foggy steps around the other three and carefully slides Matt’s iced coffee onto his desk.
“Well,” Ward says, as he pulls away from Matt’s desk, “it was sort of nice to meet you, Jess.”
“Likewise,” Jessica mutters.
“Okay!” Danny claps Ward on the shoulder with one hand and waves at Jess with the other. “We got to go. Enjoy that payout, Matt. Thanks for helping Yvonne!”
“It was nothing,” Matt says, as his questing fingers find the iced coffee. “I’m glad Yvonne’s doing better. I hope she can go back to work soon.”
“She’s on paid leave,” Ward says. “Aaron’s filling in for her.”
Matt smiles. “Well, then, I hope she can take it easy until she’s recovered.”
“See you later, Jess,” Danny says, as he backs towards the door, towing Ward with him.
“Bye, Danny,” Jess says.
“I need your card,” Ward says.
Matt tilts his head. “Don’t you have my contact information?”
“Not you,” Ward says, as he shrugs off Danny’s hand. “Jessica.”
“Me?” Jessica says, startled. “What? Why?”
“Aren’t you a private investigator?” Ward asks.
“Yeah,” Jess says. “Do you have a case for me?”
“Potentially,” Ward says. He holds out a hand. “Can I have your card?”
Jessica reaches into her back pocket and pulls out her wallet. She pauses with it folded in her hand, then says, bluntly, “I don’t date.”
“Oh, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Foggy hears Matt say, under his breath.
Silently, Foggy takes a long sip of his coffee. He’s careful not to make even a slurp.
Ward tips his head to the side in an inquiring gesture. “Okay?”
“I don’t date,” Jess reiterates. “Ever.”
“I’m not going to ask you on a date,” Ward says. “If I was, I would have asked you already.”
“You would?” Jess asks.
“Obviously,” Ward scoffs. “I think I’d know whether I found you attractive or not. Only a psycho asks for a woman’s business card so he can hit on her later. What, do you think I’m going to send nudes to your business phone?”
“Yes,” Jess says.
“Why?” Ward asks.
Jess stares at him. “Are you serious?”
Ward stares back. “Do I look like I’m joking?”
“Because lots of men do,” Jess sighs. “Everywhere. Anywhere. All the time.”
“Really?” Danny asks.
“Just ask Joy,” Jess says, grimly.
Ward blanches. “Oh, god!”
Danny makes a horrified face. “So many weird work moments suddenly make sense, now!”
“Welcome to true enlightenment,” Jess says. “Realizing that, if life sucks for you, it sucks about fifty percent more for any given woman around you.”
Foggy considers this concept as he finishes the last of his iced coffee. He thinks of Marci and Jen and the ridiculous shit they endure as female attorneys. He thinks about that one time he had to personally escort a perverted client from the building because the guy tried to grab Hogarth’s ass. He remembers Marci asking for permission to claim him as a fake boyfriend when they were in college so she could escape weirdos in bars and clubs. He recalls a client he recently helped to petition for a restraining order against an obsessed ex-coworker. He concludes Jessica speaks nothing but the truth.
“Here,” Jess says. She pulls out her business card and hands it to Ward. “I only do investigative work. I don’t impound cars or do hits for hire. I’m not a bounty hunter.”
Ward puts the card in his jacket. “Understood.”
“Can you give me an idea of the kind of case you have in mind?”
The confident, straight line of Ward’s shoulders bends. He scrubs a hand through his hair and says, baldly, “Someone is stalking my son at school. The cops won’t do anything about it because the stalker hasn’t spoken to him or crossed onto private property. But I know they’re following him. They sent me pictures.”
“Ward,” Matt says, shocked, “why haven’t you said anything before now? It’s a private school. You could sue them for letting a stalker trespass—”
“They haven’t done anything that drastic yet,” Ward says. “The security guard let me review the school tapes. Nobody trespassed. They’re just trying to scare me, for now.” He laughs dryly. “It’s working.”
“Wait,” Foggy blurts out, before he can stop himself, “you have kids?” This is the first time anyone has mentioned Meachum offspring in his presence. He’s never seen even a hint of children: Not in the Meachums’ chauffeured cars, not on schmaltzy Rand Enterprises advertisements, and not even on a phone lock screen.
“I have a kid,” Ward says. “His name’s Dominic. He’s seven.”
“Dominic Matthew Meachum,” Matt says, with a straight face that does not fool Foggy.
“Wow,” Foggy says. “That’s a very…Catholic name.”
“His mother named him,” Ward says. “I had no part in it.”
“But it suits him,” Matt says.
“It really does,” Ward says, in resignation.
“Wow,” Foggy says, again. “You have a seven-year-old. Okay.”
“Dom wasn’t around when you worked for Hogarth,” Danny explains. “He lived with his mother then.”
“Is Mom still around?” Jess asks, re-entering the conversation. “Are you guys in a custody battle or something?”
“Bethany got Dusted,” Ward says, brutally honest yet again. “Lo and behold, that’s when I got custody: When Dominic’s mother vanished into thin air.”
“Uh-huh,” Jess says. “And after Thanos bought the farm? What happened then?”
“By then, Dominic had lived with me longer than he ever lived with Bethany. As with most half-Dusted, separated parents, the court couldn’t award either of us full custody because of potential psychological trauma to our son brought about by The Blip. My lawyers wouldn’t allow it, either, as it wasn’t in Dominic’s best interests.”
Jess looks at Matt and Foggy. “Wow. I’m reminded—once again--why I never want your job.”
“Hey,” Matt says, scowling.
“We don’t separate families,” Foggy says, defensively. “We’re not family lawyers."
“Bethany gets Dom every other weekend,” Danny says. “You don’t think she could be the one setting up this whole stalker scenario, do you? To make Ward look like a bad parent?”
“I don’t think that at all,” Ward says, quickly. “Bethany’s a good person. She’s a great mother.”
“Hmm.” Jess holds out her hand. “Fine. Give me your business card.” Ward takes one sleek black card from a fancy silver money clip and puts it in her hand. Jess scans the information on the card, then says, “I’ll be in touch. I don’t make any promises about accepting work. But if I like what I hear about this case, I can start working on it in the next few days.”
Foggy hears a series of slapping sounds outside the office, like someone’s bouncing a ball at warp speed against the hallway floor. There’s a pinpoint knock on the bottom half of the office door, then the door itself swings open and admits a small person into the room. The little boy’s dressed in one of the common private school uniforms that can be noted around the city, but his gray polo shirt and charcoal slacks seem a bit more uptown than usual. His only personalized touch to the bland outfit is the pair of miniature galaxy-print Converse on his feet, the source of the slapping noises Foggy heard. It’s easy to see the boy’s parentage: He has the same almost-black hair, dark blue eyes, and intense gaze as his father. “Hello, adults,” says the little boy, in a small but strong voice. “Sorry to interrupt, but I’m hungry.”
“Dominic Matthew Meachum, I presume,” Foggy says, dryly.
The little boy nods. “I am Dominic! How did you know?”
“Because I’m psychic,” Foggy says, seriously. He feels Matt’s foot lightly kick his ankle, but he ignores him.
The little boy’s eyes widen. “Whoa. Really?”
“Sometimes,” Foggy says. “But not about important things. Just about silly things. Like the weather.”
“What’s your name?” the boy asks.
“Foggy.”
“Nice to meet you, Mister Foggy!”
“Nice to meet you too,” Foggy says, with a smile.
“Dom,” Danny says, as he puts a hand on the kid’s head, “didn’t your dad tell you to stay in the car with Fadel?” Foggy can only assume Fadel is the chauffeur.
“I know,” Dominic says, “and Fadel told me not to go! But I was hungry! I can hear my stomach screaming!” He clutches his abdomen dramatically.
“You are a bottomless pit, Dominic,” Ward says, and the smile that breaks through his hardened CEO shell looks like the sun shining through a thunderstorm. He grabs his son from Danny and reels him in. “And I know you’re hungry, but you just ate Dunkaroos in the car. You’re not going to starve.”
“Dunkaroos have zero nutritional value, Dad,” Dominic says. “I need something with staying power.” He’s clearly repeating what he’s heard from adults. Foggy finds himself charmed. Dominic’s quite clever for his age.
“Keep your shirt on, kiddo,” Ward says. “We’re leaving now.”
“Protein, Dad! Protein!”
“Yes, I understand you need protein. You and your protein obsession can wait until we get back to the house.”
“If you eat too much, you won’t be able to do your forms,” Danny points out. “You might want to wait and eat supper after training.”
“I can’t go to the dojo like this!” Dominic says, with another dramatic stomach grab. “I’ll pass away!”
“It’s called, ‘passing out’,” Ward says. “Not, ‘passing away’. If you’re too hungry, you pass out. If you pass away, that means you die.”
“Rest In Peace to me,” Dominic says.
Jessica turns away quickly, but Foggy still sees her shoulders shake from suppressed giggles. Foggy has to slurp down more iced coffee before he lets out the laugh threatening to burst out of him. Beside him, Matt turns his laugh into a convincing cough. Ward just closes his eyes and takes a breath. Danny’s the only one who maintains composure as he says, “Dom. We talked about this. It’s not funny to joke about death. People you know have family members who died very recently. You wouldn’t want to hurt their feelings, right?”
“Sorry, Uncle Danny,” Dominic says, shamefaced. “I’m just really, really, really hungry—”
“You’d better go,” Jess says, “before your son passes away from hunger.”
“Not funny, Jess,” Danny says, with a warning glare. “No death jokes. We’ve been working on this.”
“Oh, man. That’s my whole routine at the comedy club.”
“Jess.”
“My bad,” Jess says, as she turns back to face them. “No death jokes. Got it.”
Dominic grabs Danny’s left hand and Ward’s right hand. “Can we go, please?”
“We’ve leaving,” Ward assures him. As they walk toward the office door, he looks back at Jess. “I’ll be anxious to hear back from you. I know you’re an excellent investigator. You did good work for Joy.”
Jess folds her arms. She stews a moment, then says, “Screw it. I’ll take your case.”
Ward’s face lightens with relief. “Thank you.”
“What can I say? I liked the death joke.”
“Hilarious,” Danny says, with an eyeroll.
“My secretary will call you tomorrow to set up a meeting,” Ward says.
“Sounds good.”
Ward, Danny, and Dominic make their exit. As Dominic’s chatter about his school day fades into the distance, Foggy finishes the last of his coffee. “Sweet caffeine,” he says, as he tosses the cup in the trash, “get me through the rest of the day.” He watches Matt sit back down at his desk, then he watches Jess gather her satchel from its place on a chair in the waiting area. “Not to ruffle any smoothed feathers,” Foggy says, cautiously, “but I’d appreciate it if you two would keep any more conflict away from the office this week. I have some major cases to finish, and I really can’t focus with ACDC blasting in my headphones to drown out the shouts.”
“Don’t worry,” Jess says, as she slips her satchel on, “I’m done wasting energy on another pointless fight with Matthew.”
“Because it’s pointless to argue when you know you’re wrong,” Matt says, under his breath.
“I heard that,” Jess says, pointing at him. “But I’m going to be the bigger person and walk away.”
“I’d be ever so grateful,” Foggy says, with a pleading look. He looks at Matt next. “Shut up. Please.”
Matt frowns. “That was mean.”
“Matt. You know I love you. You know I’d die for you. But please: Shut up.”
“I guess I should say thanks, Matt,” Jess says. “You helped the Meachums’ help, which brought Danny and Ward here, which brought me business. So, we’ll leave it at that.”
“All right, Jess,” Matt says. “Be careful on your walk home.” He looks like he swallowed a thumbtack, but he refrains from any further comment. Foggy nods his approval.
Once the door closes behind Jessica, the two friends return to normal volume and attitude. “Stop picking fights with crazy, superpowered women,” Foggy growls. “Do you want to die? Again?”
“No death jokes, Foggy. Death jokes are bad.”
“Matt, I will come over there.”
Matt grins. “And do what, exactly?”
“Kick your skinny little ass,” Foggy promises. “You haven’t had coffee since six in the morning. I just turbo chugged a twenty-ounce cold brew. I could do it.”
“You probably could,” Matt agrees. “But I would cry. Do you really want that on your conscience?”
Foggy thinks about it. “That depends. Are you going to cry pretty?”
“No. Ugly crying.”
“Damn.”
Matt shakes his own iced coffee in triumph.