AN I am very excited for this chapter. Things start getting more momentum and we finally leap into the proper plot of the story.
Warning: A scene of graphic violence.
"Claire! I need you to help Alfonso with his homework so I can finish up the load of laundry!" Maribel snapped from across the room. Claire shot her a look, knowing it would say far more in the din of their apartment than a barked response.
Claire's stomach twisted when she saw that Maribel, despite her harsh tone, looked desperate. She had soap suds trailing up to her elbows, her curly hair exploded from its bun, and her face was flushed from continuous work.
"Maribel, I am making dinner," Claire said, trying to soften her own response. It wasn't Maribel's fault things were insane.
"Have Carmen do it! Just help Alfonso so one of my children will leave me alone for two seconds!"
Claire grit her teeth as Emilio zipped by her with Alejandra, both yelling something inarticulate. "Carmen, finish the sofrito. Alfonso, what do you need help with?"
"Some English questions. I don't get what they're—"
Emilio and Alejandra raced past again, almost knocking a lamp off its shelf.
"That's it!" Claire yelled. She clapped her hands together, two staccato beats of 'stop what you're doing this instant!' "Emilio, Alejandra, go outside! You keep this up I'll hide you myself!"
The two slunk out the door, leaving a ringing silence in the tiny apartment. Two rooms were to not enough. Claire sometimes fantasized about sleeping on the roof to escape her seven family members, but even then she wouldn't be alone. She would have to fight for space amidst the laundry and other people searching for escape.
Claire finished helping Alfonso with his homework, then moved onto Maribel with the laundry. She draped a shirt over the ironing board and began pressing it flat. Maribel flashed her a thankful look and kept scrubbing.
Claire ironed a few more pieces of clothing, guilt prickling through her stomach.
"I'm sorry I haven't been helping as much lately," she murmured.
Maribel glanced up, hands stalling in her work. "Where's this coming from?"
"If I were here more, I could help and you'd have more time to do other things. Look at us, we'll probably finish this before we go to bed," she said, waving a hand at the neat stack of clothes in a chair. "Instead, I'm usually off…" Working for free. Risking myself around a bunch of criminals. Getting my heart broken. "…being a good Samaritan."
"I hear Reynaldo speaking," Maribel said, giving her a knowing smile.
"He means well."
"Absolutely. But if you feel right helping these men…then I think that's fine. Mama is helping me, so there's no need for you to worry."
"But I don't want Mama working her fingers to the bone helping you!" Claire insisted.
"Claire, what's wrong?" Maribel asked, hand settling on her hips. "You've been short all week."
"I know, I know," she said, sighing and pressing a shirt collar flat. "I just…I don't know. It'll pass."
"Is Mr. Solano being hard on you?"
"No, he's fine."
Matthew damn Murdock was her problem. Claire tried to smother the moment when things had gone so horribly wrong, but she completely failed to kill the memories of stomach swooping excitement chased off by curdling dread. Every few hours it would stab back at her, distracting her from work, fanning her temper, and keeping her from sleep.
Why had he stopped? Why had he pulled away after getting so close? The only reasons she could think of was maybe a fear that her brown lips might stain his white ones, but she knew that was wrong. Matt didn't care about that. So why?
"Claire, if it's not Mr. Solano, what is it?" Maribel asked after Claire failed to explain.
She heaved a sigh and set the iron down. "I guess…work has been stressful. Mr. Solano…he's been short for the last week or so. It's probably just rubbing off." Thank goodness she had some shred of truth to tell her sister.
"Is something wrong with the store?"
"No, business is fine. I think it's a private customer."
Maribel sighed through her nose. She set a damp hand on Claire's shoulders and squeezed. "It's okay. Bad days end, even if they last a week."
"You sound like Mama," Claire smiled.
"You say that like it's a bad thing!" Soledad said, coming through the door.
Her daughters laughed and continued doing the laundry as the older woman sat down. Claire tried to make her smile stick, but the memory of Matt's tired eyes made it slide right off.
Mr. Solano had been anxious all day. Claire had thought the previous week had been bad, but now he was practically frenetic, fidgeting and straightening and quadruple checking everything. It made Claire want to scream. He kept re-examining her work, clicking his tongue and muttering under his breath. His meticulous nature was charming when he was simply her friendly, slightly flustered employer. Now he was mother-henning her to an early grave.
Claire begged for a customer to walk through the door or the phone to ring or something to take his mind off her. She had tried asking him what was the matter the last few days, but her only answer was a shrill bit of laughter and a quick insistence that she recheck the bolts of fabric on display.
Just a little bit longer, she thought, staring down the clock like that would make it go faster. The last hour had dripped by, the minutes passing in fits and starts. But now they just had a few minutes, just a few seconds before she was free.
The door chimed, and Claire looked up in relief.
"Welcom—" she began, then broke off in a strangled gasp.
Matt. Matt was there, Matt Murdock, the boxer, the man that had almost but not quite kissed her. Her face burned at the memory, fueled by her horror.
"What are you doing here?" she hissed in English, stalking around the counter to face him. He looked embarrassed like he fully realized what a trespass this was. And yet, there he was.
"I…I'm sorry for barging in. But I thought we should talk. You never came back to the hall—"
"We can't do this here, this is where I work. Get out!"
"Claire—"
"Go to the back, around the corner! Wait for me to come outside."
Claire practically shoved Matt out the door, desperate to get him out of sight. Matt thankfully obeyed, disappearing out the door.
"Who was that?" Mr. Solano asked, appearing from the back.
"Oh, no one! Just a guy looking for directions," she said, fighting to make her voice smooth.
Mr. Solano nodded at her for a moment, seeming disappointed at the lack of distraction. Claire smiled and wasted a couple of minutes pretending to clean to make him leave. She waited for him to get settled at his desk, then crept past his office to the back door.
"Matt," she hissed, glancing around for him. It was dark in the back alley, the mid-spring evening setting in fast.
Matt stepped into sight from behind some crates. She practically stomped over to him, confusion and hurt and panic stuffed away in favor of anger.
"Why are you here!?" she demanded.
He grimaced at the ground and Claire finally registered that he looked different. He seemed neater, somehow, more smartly dressed than he normally was at the boxing hall.
His clothes, she realized. They were finer than she was used to. It was slight, but she noticed he was actually wearing a coat for once, and not just dealing with the cold in his suit. And his hat. It wasn't the news boy cap she was used to, it was a fedora. When had he had time to update his wardrobe? Was this what the fight winnings were used for?
"I told you, we needed to talk."
"How did you find me? Did you check every tailor shop in Spanish Harlem until you tripped across me?"
"No, I'm a little more subtle than that."
"How?" she hissed, biting the word out instead of yelling like she wanted. "You're an Irishman beat purple in Spanish Harlem."
Matt looked away. His hands twitched like they wanted to jump to the fading bruise on his cheek, but he smoothed the action by pulling off his hat. Claire hated herself for thinking he looked attractive in his new finery and without something haunted lingering in his eyes.
"Claire, I'm sorry. I just—the way things happened the other day…"
No. Hell, no. She was not going to ever talk about this, and certainly not in the back alley of her very respectable job.
"Look, it's really not something I want to discuss," she said, raising a hand to cut him off.
"Claire, make sure you finish cleaning up on time!" Mr. Solano called from inside.
She flinched and glanced at the door. "Ap-ple-sauce," she said, chewing on every syllable as she whirled to go back inside. "Stay," she commanded, shooting Matt a filthy look over her shoulder.
Claire hurried inside, straightening up the shelves and putting away her tools. Her mind kept buzzing back to Matt standing quietly in the back alley, fedora in his hands, apology caged by his teeth.
Why had he come, what was so serious about their near kiss that he had to track her down? He had waited a couple of days, so surely it wasn't horrendous? Or maybe he had been stalling, giving himself as much time as possible before slamming home the knockout punch.
Claire swept the floor, hands tightening around the broom as Mr. Solano nagged at her to get in the corners, then make sure she locked the door. If he could just go away, she would be able to handle this without wanting to explode.
She stepped into his office under the pretext of getting the keys, then slipped outside when she saw he was on the phone.
Matt was still there, thankfully (or maybe not), waiting to finish whatever it was he had planned. She scowled at him as she came to a stop a few feet away, arms folded tight over her chest. Claire clenched the keys in her hand, the edges biting into her palm.
"What is this, Matt? Why did you come here?"
"I wanted to apologize."
"You already did that." Claire grit her teeth at the bite in her words. She hadn't meant to sound so hurt.
"…To explain, then."
"There is really no need," she said quickly. "I'm fine leaving things alone, Matt."
He glanced at the dark sky, expression unhappy. "I don't…I don't want you to misunderstand."
"What is there to misunderstand?" she asked. She still sounded embarrassingly upset. She needed to stop talking. Every word seemed to fuel Matt's determination to explain, to justify an event Claire would prefer to strip from her mind. "Things—we shouldn't have fooled ourselves. The end."
His face folded into another grimace, like her words personally pained him. Claire watched him, seeking every last twisted detail she could get. She wanted to soak up his presence, and yet also get as far away from him as possible. Her charade of being fine was wearing thin.
"Claire, did you lock the front door?" Mr. Solano asked, voice closer to the door than she would have liked. She stiffened, praying he wouldn't check on her.
"No, I forgot," she yelled back. She felt rather than heard Mr. Solano sigh, then looked back at Matt. "Just go home, Matt. It would probably be easier for both of us."
Matt's mouth tightened again. Claire turned to leave. She couldn't look at him anymore, not when he was so handsome and tragic.
The front door chimed open, and Claire heard Mr. Solano protesting to someone that the store was closed. She didn't hear the distinct words through the rumble of the men's response, but she knew it was her cue to leave. She thought maybe she should smile at Matt over her shoulder, offer some sort of false reassurance. She couldn't do it. Not when her heart felt like it was bleeding in her chest.
"Claire, just let me—I don't think it's like you expect," he began, reaching out to grab her arm.
A thrill shocked up her at the touch, but Claire kept herself in control. He was the one that had created the distance between them. For whatever reason, he thought they—
"Claire," he insisted, tugging her to him. She stumbled back, turning to right herself. Matt snatched his hands away, like he was embarrassed he had pulled her so hard.
Claire stared up at him, mouth pressed into a firm line. Matt shuddered out a breath and closed his eyes. Hesitating once again. She sighed, then stepped away.
"I need to help finish closing down the store," she said, unsure if he would be there when she came back.
Matt nodded, eyes on the ground. His expression had fallen into something sad, like he was disappointed in himself.
Claire walked inside, apologies to Mr. Solano primed on her lips.
"—I really don't think there's any need for this!" Mr. Solano was saying, voice high from strain.
Claire tensed, then slipped into his office. What was going on? Who had come into the shop, why did Mr. Solano sound so stressed? And why was he speaking in English?
"This is how it goes. You don't talk. Now we gotta make an example of you."
The men had hard New Yorker accents. Claire's hands clenched tight around the keys, heart thundering in her ears. She didn't know what was going on, but she was certain no one had noticed her come in. Could she slip back out to the alley? Could she even make her legs move?
"Please—please, no—I haven't done anything—just tell him, tell Mr.—"
"Hey," another voice snapped, and foolishly, Claire hoped he might have come in to help. "We don't say his name."
There was a short scuffle and a shout of pain before the sound of someone spitting.
"Snitch," one of the men hissed, then there were footsteps and the pleasant jangle of the bell on the door.
Claire peeked around the corner, relief thudding through her when she saw the backs of the two men disappearing from sight. She crept out of the office, looking for Mr. Solano—
Claire bit out a gasp.
Blood. Blood seeping out across the floor, staining everything a cruel, sickly red. And Mr. Solano was lying in the middle of it, hand clasped feebly to his throat, the sickening gurgle-wheeze of his breath interrupted by all of that blood.
"Oh my—Mr. Solano! What—you're gonna be okay, you're gonna be okay," she said, dropping her knees beside him, stomach roiling at the gentle splash she made in his blood. Her head was filled with the ripping scream she wanted to lose, but she stuffed it down, ignored everything that wasn't reassuring the man before her. Everything felt too loud in her ears, the sound of his breathing, the cars in the street, the dull shuffle of the oblivious people outside.
"Cl-Claire," he managed, reaching a stained hand out to her. Everything "Cl—"
"No, no, shh, be quiet, it'll be fine—"
"Claire, we need to leave," Matt said, appearing behind her. She turned to face him, confused why he was there and relieved she didn't have to do this alone. His voice sounded so calm, strange and stern and not panicking at all.
Mr. Solano touched her knee, ripping Claire's attention back to him.
"Mr. Solano, who did this?!" she demanded, hands pressing over the hideous gash in his neck like that would help. Blood stained his teeth and lips as he tried to speak.
"W-Wil—"
"Will I what? What is it?"
"Claire, move," Matt ordered.
"Desk—drawer," Mr. Solano whispered. He stared at her for a second, trying to work out another word. His eyes lost focus, though, and his hand fell limp onto the floor.
"Mr. Solano, no, no! Wake up, wake up!" Claire gasped, heart screaming in her chest as Matt shook her shoulder and she tried to hold back the tide and do something with the flickering pulse under her fingertips.
"Claire! We need to leave," Matt said, finally grabbing her up by the shoulders.
"He's not dead, I can still feel his heartbeat, if we get him to a hospital—"
"There is no time for that," Matt told her, jerking her around to face him. He was pale and deadly serious, a bit of steel in his eyes she had never seen before. "We need to leave before those men come back."
She stared at him, unable to process what he had said. She looked down, then blinked when she realized she had grabbed his suit for support. Smears of blood stained his dark grey lapels, strange, mocking shapes that said she could do nothing.
"But—" She looked over her shoulder at Mr. Solano. A piece of paper was pinned to his chest. It said 'rat' in big block letters. Claire thought she might be sick.
Matt forced her to move, pushing her to the back.
"Get your hat and coat," he said, pointing at the office.
She watched him, almost ready to vomit as he grabbed a piece of cloth and scrubbed away her bloody footprints.
"Claire—" Matt bit off the word, pushing past her to the office, grabbing her things, then meeting her again in the hall. He wrapped his arms around her and half dragged, half carried her out.
The outside air felt cold, a harsh slap on her face after the suffocating warmth of the shop. Claire stumbled forward into the dark, confused at the cool wet on her front.
His blood. She had Mr. Solano's blood all over her, on her hands and arms and legs and clothes. She could just see the dark smears in the dull yellow streetlight. She gasped in horror, throat closing on the sound.
"Keep moving, Claire," Matt said, voice firm as he guided her down the alleyway.
She stared at Matt, barely recognizing his grim expression. Her breaths came in disjointed gasps. She couldn't think, she could only feel the disgusting slink of her bloodied skirt against her legs. But Matt was pushing her fast, not heeding her stumbles as he made her walk away from the murder.
Murder. She had just been feet away from a murder.
Claire let out a choked sob. Matt closed his hand over her mouth, smothering the sound.
"Claire, listen to me," he said. He looked right into her face, their noses just inches apart. "You cannot draw attention to yourself. You need to act like nothing's wrong. Here," he told her, holding out her hat and coat.
Claire put on her hat with shaking hands, chewing on her tears to keep from breaking down completely. She stumbled over the coat, though, the blue fabric looking delicate and innocent compared to her filthy, useless, bloody hands.
Matt slid off his coat and draped it around her shoulders. She frowned at him as he buttoned it up, hiding the worst of the blood.
"Keep it together, Claire," he said, voice still that same, distant sort of hard. She stared at him, breath shaking in her lungs. He seemed to soften after a moment, losing the sternness in his eyes. "It'll be okay, Claire. I'll keep you safe."
Claire wanted to say something, to thank him, or cry, or say the world had gone mad, but he stole the words from her throat when he slipped his hand into hers. He didn't even seem to care that her hands were still slick with a dead man's blood.
AN and you thought this was just a cutesy 20s romance story
