All Inclusive

Foggy had presumed that this particular hallucination was simply the result of too little sleep and too much stress so after repeatedly trying to put the whole thing to bed for the past several days, he resigned himself to the fact that either A) he had actually gone insane, which would affect his ability to practice law to some great extent or B) The Nexus was a real place, removed from New York and Hell's Kitchen and anything familiar.

Foggy had never particularly been enamored of insanity as a legal construct but contemplating it as an actual medical condition was a hell of a lot more frightening. He decided the cure for said insanity was going to be to drink, a lot, and had taken himself down to the Smoking Room to do that exact thing. It wasn't his usual place, no, but since that was currently unavailable to him, he needed to take advantage of the next best thing.

It really had to be stress. He was carrying as many secrets as a parish priest the week before Easter and there was a reason he'd never been interested in being a priest. While being an attorney meant carrying a number of secrets, there were ways to divulge those secrets through discovery and arguments and to purge one's self of that burden. Hell, as an attorney, he could confess to his priest and be covered both ethically and legally. But being a priest, or, apparently, Matt Murdock's best friend, meant carrying secrets he couldn't tell to anyone. It meant carrying things he'd never share with another soul.

"Keep 'em coming. Just leave the bottle, actually," Foggy said, plunking some cash down on the bar in front of him. "Might as well just finish it, at this point."