AN In light of Luke Cage, I'm going to point out I nailed Claire living in Harlem, and the fact that she's Puerto Rican. As for her father being Afro Cuban...well, the show never explicitly said he wasn't, so I'm going to claim it.


Claire sat at the table across from Matt. She was uncomfortable wearing another woman's clothes in someone else's home. It was like tragedy had smudged her sense of self away, and now 'Claire' was just a body. Just a hairstyle, just a face, just a pair of hands working and cleaning and trying to forget.

But she was going back to her own life. Soon she would be back through her own front door and the collective memories of her family would give her shape again.

"You have pretty handwriting," Matt said.

Claire jumped, torn from her thoughts. She stared at him in confusion for a moment, then noticed the list she had been struggling to compile over the last hour. "Oh, I don't—it's just a to do list for when I get home."

"I know. I mean, I guessed when I read it."

"You…it's in Spanish," she said dumbly.

"I know," he said with a teasing smile. "I learned in college."

Claire nodded, flashing back to every seemingly secret conversation she'd had with Santino in the boxing hall. She couldn't remember anything more incriminating than insulting some of the rude boxers, but still. She didn't love the idea of Matt hearing her more private thoughts.

Not that there was much left he didn't know. Something about calamity exposed a person.

"I haven't been eavesdropping on your conversations with Santino, if that's what you're wondering," Matt said. He smothered another grin like he knew exactly what she was thinking.

"Oh, no, I just…didn't know that about you," she lied, then stopped.

It wasn't a lie. She didn't know much about Matt. She knew he bare-knuckle boxed. She knew he lived in Hell's Kitchen. She knew he was lawyer. She knew he had fought in the war. She knew he did—didn't—did—no, he didn't want to kiss her. She now knew he spoke Spanish.

It should have been a stark contrast to his knowledge about her, but it didn't really feel that way. Claire didn't know the intimate details of his life (though she had a feeling that would change, now that she was in his home), but what she did know was overwhelming.

Matt smiled at his food. They were both quiet for a few moments. Claire ate her stew, trying to stifle the panicked screaming in her head. That had been going on for most of the day, the senseless anxiety over the night before making it hard to think. Honestly, she would have been happy to lay down and never get up.

"Claire, we should probably leave soon."

She looked up. Matt had finished and was watching her with a sad, tired expression.

"Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah, let's go."

They cleared their bowls. Claire kept her eyes down, too tired to meet his gaze. The two of them moved to the front door and Matt helped her into her coat.

Claire settled into it, watching him put on his hat. He reflected some of her exhaustion back at her, a weight to his eyes that said he needed to sleep for the next ten years. Or maybe Claire was finally mirroring his exhaustion, understanding just a bit of his weariness.

For a moment they just watched each other, then Matt cleared his throat. "Ready?" he asked.

"Aren't you worried about people seeing me?"

He smiled at her. "I think there are bigger things to worry about."

She blinked, heat spreading up from her stomach. She gave him an uncertain smile and nodded. Claire braced herself, then stepped into the hall.

They walked through the building, breath held in case there was trouble. Claire kept her eyes forward, not ready to see open stares of the people around her. Thankfully, she and Matt reached the road without incident. Claire sighed in relief, wondering how on earth she was supposed to make the walk back in.

Matt and Claire were silent as they made their way down the sidewalk. The sky was dyed pink, edging its way to night. People milled through the streets, not paying them any mind.

Claire wanted to take Matt's hand. She wanted the security he'd given her the night before, but she would not do it. She was alright. The only reason she had given in last night was because she was scared out of her mind and needed someone, anyone to anchor her to reality. Now, though, she was strong enough to walk on her own.

After they had walked a block, Matt cleared his throat. "Claire?"'

"Mm?"

"There…was something in the paper today. About what happened."

"What did it say?" she whispered, words barely squeaking through her throat.

"It didn't mention you."

"Okay," she said. The word came out in a huff. She hadn't realized she was holding her breath.

"But…there were some things that didn't add up."

"How?"

He pulled a folded newspaper from his inside coat pocket. Matt handed it to her, pointing out the article.

"I don't understand," she said once she had skimmed the piece. "Did the reporter just—this is wrong. There's no way those prohibition vigilantes were the ones that did this."

"I know," he said.

"No, but—this is wrong," she repeated. Claire looked from the paper to him. "This—this detective, he can't—what's he even saying, 'there is a strong likelihood of justice being served'? This sap, Detective Blake, he's got it all wrong." She shook the paper like she might rattle answers from it.

"That was this morning's paper," Matt said, sounding glum.

"So have they updated the story, brought anything new in the afternoon or evening editions?"

"Claire," Matt said, and it was so gentle that she had to stop. "I think whoever ordered Solano to be killed has contacts at the paper. This one, anyway. There's no way they could pull together a story that fast."

She blinked, then looked at the article again. "So…you're saying this is a cover up?"

"I'm saying this is bigger than we thought."

She closed her eyes. She didn't want to be involved with this. She didn't want anything to do with this—murders and cover-ups and gangster sticking their fingers into it all.

Claire inhaled, hating how the air stuck in her throat. She wasn't going to cry, not any more. She had done that enough.

She looked at Matt, searching his face. She didn't want answers, exactly, but she certainly needed strength.

Claire took his hand. This time, it wasn't about being able to walk on her own. She didn't want to walk on her own, not against this. She squeezed his hand tight, afraid that she might start to think if she didn't cling to him.

"It's gonna be okay," she said. Her voice shook, but she made herself say it again. "It's…it's gonna be okay."

"Of course it is," he said, squeezing her hand back.

They walked to Claire's home, neither one letting their hand drop. Claire was thankful for the long walk, as it gave her time to compose herself. By the time they entered Spanish Harlem, the tension in Claire's stomach had dissipated. The sounds of home mixed in with the New York rumble; the sound of a trumpet a block over, a few older women bickering at break-neck speeds, people gathering to set up a domino tournament.

This was home. This was where Claire Temple lived. She was going to be okay.

About a block away from her apartment, Matt asked, "Are you nervous?"

"About what? Seeing my family?"

"Along with everything else."

"Are you nervous?" Claire asked, noting the lines in his forehead.

Matt unfurrowed his eyebrows almost reflexively. "Just unsure."

Claire stared at him, trying to puzzle out an answer to her vague statement. She was glad Matt was there with her, but dammit, he was not the most forthcoming person she had ever met.

Claire almost stopped walking when they entered her tenement building. She felt self-conscious all of a sudden, unsure what to do with these two aspects of her life mixing. She knew Matt wouldn't judge her for her humble home life, but her family might not be so understanding when she waked in with one of her illegal boxers in tow.

She looked at him again, earning a "What?"

Claire sighed. "I just realized I have no idea how I'm going to explain this."

Matt was about to answer when someone gasped "Claire?!" from down the hall, and then she was being tackled by Santino. He spoke in rapid fire Spanish, completely ignoring Matt's presence.

"Claire, you're alright! I was so worried, your family's been scared out of their minds! Mom's been asking around all day, even though she should be in bed. Oh, thank God you're okay!"

She laughed, heart squeezed into her throat by the fierceness of his hug.

"Santino, please, I'm fine."

"You just went missing, what—"

"I'm okay, Matt's been looking after me."

"Matt?" Santino leaned back and looked at him. He blinked a few times like he couldn't register what he was seeing. "What—what are you—"

"It's a long story," Claire sighed. "Just…let me see my family first, okay?"

"Oh! Yeah! I just—I'm glad you're safe," Santino said. He gave Matt an uncertain nod, squeezed her shoulder, then slipped out of the hall.

Claire let out another long breath. "Okay," she told Matt, "let's go meet my family."

Claire led Matt up the stairs to her family's apartment. Then she hesitated, unsure if she was supposed to knock or go right in. Deciding to err on the side of caution, she knocked. Matt shifted behind her, and she found herself wishing she had reclaimed his hand after Santino left.

The door opened, revealing Maribel. She stared at Claire for a moment, eyes wide and disbelieving. Then she gave a wordless shrill and grabbed Claire into a hug. Maribel crushed the air from Claire's lungs, but also managed to press a bit of her soul back in. Just as Claire had predicted, being home reminded her of who she actually was.

(Though, there was still the new part of her that missed the warmth of Matt's hand.)

"Maribel—Maribel what is it?" Reynaldo demanded, appearing from the kitchen. The others in the family trickled forward, their voices less distinctive as Maribel laughed and cried in Claire's ear. Claire glanced back at Matt and wondered just how much of the Spanish he understood.

"You're back, you're back, I thought you were hurt, we were all so scared, but you're back," her sister kept murmuring into her ear, heartfelt and wonderful. Claire laughed, her own tears forming as hands patted her back and voices filled her ears and love swelled her heart.

Her mother managed to pull her from Maribel, squaring off as she held Claire by the shoulders.

"Oh, honey, we were so worried," she whispered.

"I know, I'm sorry, I never meant to make you worry," Claire said, smiling in apology as she dabbed at her eyes.

Soledad shook her head. A strangely amused laugh escaped her lips, surprising Claire. "We're just happy you're okay. After what happened to Mr. Solano, we didn't even know if you were alive."

The excited warmth froze in Claire's chest. She blinked, new, horrified tears coming to her eyes.

They had thought she might be dead. No wonder everyone was so relieved to see her. It was obvious, really, so obvious, why had she forgotten?

"I'm so sorry, Mama," Claire whispered. She sucked in a breath and stepped back. Claire gestured for Matt to come in, drawing attention to the man standing quietly in the doorway.

"Everyone, this is my friend, Matthew Murdock," she said.

Everyone's eyes shifted to Matt, who stepped forward with flawless manners.

"Pleased to meet you, ma'am," he said, his Spanish slightly accented but clear. He offered Soledad a hand. She took it, eyes demanding answers from Claire.

"Let's…let's close the door. I need to explain some things."

"Wait, I'll go get Alfie," Emilio said, slipping out the door. Claire watched him go, surprised that she hadn't noticed Alfonso was missing.

They all settled in the living room, everyone crowded onto or around the sofa. Claire sat in the armchair, while Matt stood quietly on the edge of the room.

Claire explained what happened as best as she could. The words felt too sparse to explain properly, to detail the brutality of Mr. Solano's murderers, the smell of murder, the horrifying slink of blood on her skirt. So she didn't even try. She explained in simple detail about the two men, about Matt helping her, about what they thought might happen now. She didn't start when Emilio returned with Alfonso, she didn't get derailed when the people next door began yelling. She didn't even glance at Matt for support. She could do this.

When she finished, Reynaldo swore softly. Maribel and Soledad were so stunned by Claire's story that they didn't even reprimand him.

"And you think this is all mobsters," he said. He ran a hand over his hair, searching for something to say. "You're…you're sure?"

"As sure as I can be," Claire said. She forced out a tiny smile, like that might help.

"But…how? I mean, Mr. Solano…he'd never do that. He was the sweetest person on the whole street," Maribel murmured.

"Have you seen today's paper?" Claire asked.

"Yes? They mentioned what happened to Mr. Solano, but nothing of gangsters," her smother said.

"Not the Spanish ones. The English ones all picked up the story by the evening," Matt said. Again, all eyes slid to him as he fished the paper back out of his pocket. He handed it to Carmen, who scanned the page as she listened.

"The details are very good. But they never mention me or the two men," Claire continued.

"They probably didn't know you were there. Once the reporters find out, though—"

"That's the thing. They have witnesses describing what happened, but anyone could have said I worked there. Or seen the two men that—that killed Mr. Solano. Instead, they say it's one and that it's one of those prohibitionist vigilantes."

"It's not completely strange to have white people in the store, though, right?" Reynaldo asked. "You have one or two of the wealthy people who send runners, didn't you say?"

"That's true, yeah, but this isn't something you just make a mistake about," Claire insisted. "If those papers had actually interviewed anyone on the street, they would have been told that."

"And this copy came out this morning," Matt added. "Unless a reporter for The Bulletin happened to be walking down the street moments after it happened, there is no way they could talk to several witnesses, a police detective, and write it up in time for the morning edition. This has to be planned."

Soledad sagged back into the sofa, moaning slightly. "God have mercy on us," she whispered.

Claire looked down at her knees. It was kind of funny, somehow. After all her family's worry about bare-knuckle boxing being the death of her, trouble had come from her respectable place of work.

"We thought…it's probably best if I stay somewhere else until we know exactly what's going to happen," Claire continued.

"Where?" Alejandra asked, eyes widening in fear. "Auntie Claire…how long are you going to be gone?"

"I—I don't know," she said, throat stopping up. The kids had been mostly silent throughout her explanation, but now Alejandra's question sent murmurs through the whole family. "I'll be staying with a friend in Hell's Kitchen. If anyone does come after me…I want it as far away from you as possible."

Claire made a point of not looking at Matt as she spoke. There was no need to lend credence to the slight looks her family was sending him. Some things deserved to stay private. And the thought of her staying in the home of a strange man would be enough to make them lock her up, gangsters be damned.

"How is that safe?" Reynaldo asked. "If they find you…"

"I'll protect Claire," Matt promised. The hard certainty in his voice managed to draw her eyes. He met Reynaldo's gaze, stepping forward slightly like he wanted to show Reynaldo just how earnest he was.

"You said he was a boxer, yes?" Reynaldo asked. He aimed the question at Claire, but swung back to Matt. "But you can't be with her all the time. And what if they come after her with guns? You can't stop those with fists."

"And if I stayed here?" Claire asked, staring him down. "How would you stop them?"

"I'm just saying—I'm saying it's not a very good situation," Reynaldo sighed. "It's nothing toward you, Mr. Murdock."

"If it helps, I'm also a lawyer," Matt said. "If it's at all possible, I'll do my best to protect Claire physically and legally."

And what about emotionally? Why was that still off the table?

Matt studied her family, waiting for an answer. Soledad had her arms folded tight against her chest. Reynaldo turned to Maribel, the two of them staring hard at each other. The kids all gazed at the floor.

Claire felt very alone as she sat in a room where her family refused to look at her and the man she thought she could really love refused to touch her.

"Is there something we can do?" Maribel finally asked. Her eyes flicked between Matt and Claire, expression desperate.

"Wait. Keep an eye out. Pray." Claire tried to smile as she spoke, but she didn't think it really worked.

Soledad huffed out a sigh, then sat up. "How long do you think it will be?"

"Hopefully no more than a couple of weeks."

"Then come on, I'll help you pack."

Soledad waved her hands at her daughter, urging Claire to her feet. Claire stood up, glancing at Matt. He smiled in reassurance, as though promising to stay. Maribel and Carmen ghosted after Claire, somber as though they were going on vigil.

Reynaldo directed the kids to the kitchen, trying to reassert order to their lives. Claire heard him continue speaking to Matt, their voices low rumbles in the living room.

Claire stood by her bed, watching dumbly as her family pulled out a carpet bag and began filling it. There was a reverence with which they touched her clothes, neatly folding them up and setting them inside the bag.

"Oh, my sewing kit," Claire said, stepping forward as Carmen closed it.

"And the toiletries, dear," Maribel told her. Carmen nodded and slipped from the room.

Claire faced her mother and sister, hating that she had no explanation to give.

"Who gave you that dress?" Maribel asked.

"A-a friend of Matt's. It doesn't quite fit, I know, but—"

"It's fine, honey," Soledad said. She pulled Claire's hands away from plucking at the fabric. "Though you might want to change while you're here."

"Okay. Okay. Uhm, Mama, don't forget that some of Alfonso's clothes still need to be mended. And did I get another pair of stockings put in? It only looked like two. Oh, and Maribel, I'm sorry, but you—"

"Claire."

She closed her eyes at her mother's steady voice. Of course, she was right. It was fine.

She sucked in a breath, then pulled one of the dresses out of her bag. She slipped out of the borrowed dress, then let her mother ease the collar of the new dress over her head.

"Are you sure you'll be okay? Maribel asked.

"I—I don't know," Claire said, voice catching. "I don't know at all."

"Matthew said he would protect you, are you comfortable with that?"

"Yes," Claire said. She stopped, one arm halfway through the sleeve as she looked at her mother in confusion. He was hardly the thing to be worried about right now. If she had to pick anyone to trust her life with, it would be Matt. Matt, with his exhausted smiles and steady hands and heartfelt determination. "He is a good man, trust me. Trust him. He's gonna keep me safe, he's—he's—"

Claire's words broke off as she dragged in a shaky breath. She clenched her teeth as she smoothed the dress down over her hips. She would not cry, she would not, she would not.

"It's okay, it's okay, hon," Soledad said, waving Claire into a hug. Claire held on tight to her mother. She squeezed her eyes shut, memorizing Soledad's soap and lavender oil smell. When would she smell it again?

Then Maribel was hugging them both, and Claire felt like maybe things would be alright. When she opened her eyes, she might be able to go to work, or go help the men in the boxing hall, or not be so afraid.

Claire opened her eyes. Tears dotted the fabric of her mother's shoulder . Claire let out a slow breath.

"I love you," she whispered. "I love you both."

"It's alright, it'll be alright. We'll find a way through, we always have," Soledad told her.

The two women pulled away from Claire and finished packing. Claire tried to help, but her brain stalled out after picking up her sewing kit. She had had a list this morning. She had been so determined. Claire had been so certain that seeing her family would solve her answers, but now that she had she felt every bit as lost as before.

They walked back into the living room. Matt and Reynaldo sat quietly. The whole apartment was quiet, really, the ghastly hush of tragedy silencing a dozen people. Claire's mouth twisted. She didn't want silence any more. Not if it cost a man his life.

Matt got to his feet as Claire entered the room, his eyes fixed on her face.

"Are you ready?"

"Uh…yes."

No, no, no no no I don't want to leave, I don't want to go back out there, don't make me, please please please.

"I'd offer to let you stay and eat, but...it's probably best if you go," Reynaldo said. Claire gave him a thin smile.

"Here," Maribel said, pushing something into Claire's hand. She looked down and found a small picture frame. It was the only full family photograph they had, taken a few years back. Everyone's faces looked sad instead of solemn, like they were attending a funeral. She didn't know why. They hadn't been anywhere near so sad at her Papa's funeral.

"I can't take this—" Claire began, but Soledad shook her head.

"Take it, honey. Just for a bit of comfort while you're away."

Claire closed her eyes, refusing to let more tears fall. She grabbed her mother into another hug, this one a fast squeeze before she broken down entirely.

Then everyone was there, queuing up to hug her goodbye. Claire gave up fighting her tears as she hugged her sister, the children, then her brother-in-law. They whispered goodbye, that they loved her, that they all would see her again soon. She noticed that they hugged Matt, too, enveloping him in their teary thankfulness for taking care of Claire.

Claire pulled away from Alejandra to hug the next person, then caught herself when she saw it was Matt. They both hesitated, torn between the rhythm of the moment and everything that had come before. Claire nodded at him and stepped past, trying not to notice that Matt's arms had been opened ever so slightly to welcome her in.

Claire paused by the door, both her bag and the picture frame in hand.

"I love you," she told her family. Her stomach was tight from nerves, terrified and nauseous at the thought of leaving her family for the forseeable future. Carmen nodded and said she loved her back, while Claire's mother just nodded. The rest of the kids were crying.

"Take care of her," Reynaldo told Matt.

"Of course," Matt said, voice a solemn whisper. He stepped to the door, hesitating before Claire once again. He seemed different somehow. Not the boxer, brutal and quiet in turn, not the lawyer that was polite and caring one moment to the next. When Matt looked in her eyes, Claire saw something determined and steady fixed on keeping her safe.

"Are you ready?" he asked again, and Claire nodded. This time, when she said yes, her voice didn't shake.


AN Guys, I just really love Claire's family. I love them a whole lot. Her having a support system is very, very important to me.