I LOVE IT.
“No shenanigans,” Foggy says. “That’s your one rule.”
“There are more rules than that,” Matt says.
“Is that rule for me or Mary, Mr. Nelson?” Peter asks, nervously. There is currently a six-year-old clinging to his back and humming what Foggy’s pretty sure is the Imperial March. Their daughter is spectacularly weird.
“…Mary,” Foggy says, after a minute. “You hear that, kid?”
“No shenanigans,” Mary repeats, butchering the word shenanigans and not sounding earnest at all.
“There’s a helpful list on the kitchen counter,” Matt says. “Oh, and she’s going to try to get you to give her coffee because somebody let her try it—”
“It was a frappucino,” Foggy says.
“So don’t give in to that,” Matt says, “because she’ll break everything in the house and try to climb out the window.”
“Wonder who she learned that from,” Foggy mutters.
“No coffee,” Peter says, nodding. “No windows.”
“No shenanigans,” Mary says, brightly, climbing around until Peter’s holding her instead, precariously balanced on his hip while she wraps her arms around him and beams at her dads. “Are you leaving yet?”
“Wow,” Foggy says, amused, taking Matt’s arm, “I can tell when I’m not wanted.”
“We’ll be back before midnight,” Matt says, letting Foggy drag him towards the door. “There are emergency numbers on the list—call Karen if we don’t answer for some reason.”
“Got it,” Peter says, sounding like he’s about 40% sure that he’s actually got it.
“Be good, baby girl,” Foggy says, then makes Peter looks about 25% sure when he adds, “I expect for Peter to have all his limbs when we get back.”
“Love you,” Matt says.
“Love you, too,” Peter says, automatically, then turns bright red. “Uhm, I mean—”
“We love you, too, Spidey,” Foggy says, laughing. “Good luck.”
“No coffee!” Matt calls over his shoulder, before the door shuts behind them.
“No windows!” Peter yells back.
When they get home, they find Peter passed out on the couch wearing a tiara and Mary sitting on the coffee table, calmly reading a Nancy Drew book because she’s spent too much time around Jessica Jones and has decided that she definitely wants to be a private detective.
Better than a superhero, at least.
“I knew it,” Foggy sighs. “You killed him.”
“Shh,” Mary says, glaring at him and gesturing toward Peter with her book. “He’s sleeping.”
“Like you should be,” Matt says, sitting their leftovers from dinner on the kitchen counter before walking over to pick Mary up. “You know when your bedtime is.”
Mary looks mutinous but she wraps her legs around him and her arms around his neck, holding on tight.
“We were having fun, Dad,” she says.
“That’s great and I’m very glad,” Matt says, “but you, my brilliant daughter, are a horrible monster after you stay up too late.”
“Am not,” Mary says.
“Are so,” Foggy says, laughing when Mary turns around to stick her tongue out at him as Matt carries her off to her room. He looks over a moment later to see that Peter’s sitting up and yawning.
“Oh, crap,” Peter says. “She didn’t set anything on fire while I was asleep, did she?”
“…was she threatening to?” Foggy asks.
“No, Mr. Murdock’s note just said to keep her away from the stove,” he says.
“Oh, right,” Foggy says. “We had a cookie baking incident a few weeks ago. No casualities, though–hey, kid, you look like I did for Mary’s entire third year of existence. Do you want to crash here so you don’t have to travel home?”
“Uh huh,” Peter says, immediately lying down again. “Thanks.”
“Least I can do for you keeping my progeny alive,” Foggy says, going to get him a pillow and blanket and seriously considering giving him more money. He probably deserves it.
oh my god, they were roommates 