AN Remember when I promised you the good stuff? This is the good stuff.


As much as Matt had worried about Foggy and Karen coming over, he dreaded them leaving even more. Them leaving meant it was time for Claire to put herself in danger. Only now it was endorsed by Karen.

Sure enough, it only took Claire a few moments before she turned expectantly to Matt.

"Are you ready?" she asked.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "First, let's go through this. We need a plan."

Claire watched him for a moment, then said, "Well? What have you got?"

"Go to the shop and look in the desk drawer," he said, pointedly dead-panning her exceptionally vague clue. She made a face at him but continued.

"Okay, what else? You being the wise guy that wanted to go alone."

"Well," he said, scrambling for time. He hadn't actually made a plan, preoccupied as he was by resenting Claire coming along. Not that he would have necessarily come up with one in the first place. "Go there, look around. If nothing looks promising, come back."

Claire watched him, mouth pursed in concentration. She glanced up at the ceiling, mouth pursed like she was holding back something. He narrowed his eyes in suspicion, but when she looked back her gaze was steady.

"Okay," she said, face painted with innocence. He raised an eyebrow. She was definitely hiding something from him.

"If it looks dangerous, we go back," he insisted.

"And what does dangerous look like?" she asked, smothering a smirk as she slipped past him.

This time, Matt and Claire took the subway to Spanish Harlem. Matt stood while Claire took a seat, just enough space between them to keep people from making assumptions. Claire watched the floor as they rattled on, stealing peeks at Matt at each stop. She was nervous, her eyebrows pinched together. He gave her a thin smile, but kept his hands on the support and not in hers.

Twenty minutes later, they walked the streets of Harlem. They moved fast, edging through the work crowd. Matt couldn't help but scan the streets, ready for something to leap out at them.

Claire forged on ahead, either leaving her fear back on the train or pretending it had never existed. This wasn't the scared girl returning to see her family, unsure of the damage left in her wake. This was a woman on a mission, determined to set things right. Matt couldn't help but envy that surety.

Solano Tailoring was an unfriendly ghost of what it had been. The front door had been sectioned off, and people on the street still gave it a berth. Matt's eyes skimmed the darkened windows. He had only seen the store once, but he distinctly remembered the honeyed warmth of the lit windows.

Or maybe that was just seeing Claire inside. No, no, it couldn't have, not when he was going in with the express purpose of keeping them from happening. Not that he had any grand illusions that a bit of idle flirting would gave way to something so impressive as coming home to Claire.

Matt shook himself. His head was in entirely the wrong place for what they were about to do.

"Okay, let's go around the back," Claire said. They looped around the block, ending in the alley behind the shop. Matt's mouth pressed into a troubled line as he gazed at the alley. Three days. He had been here just three days ago, hat in hand, heart in mouth.

And then Solano had been murdered, and Claire's life had crumbled around her ears.

He worked his jaw, resisting the urge to push himself between Claire and the door. It wasn't like a gunman was lying in wait for them to do this exact stupid thing.

Matt's palms began to sweat.

"Remember, first sign of danger," he murmured into Claire's ear. She glanced at him over her shoulder, but rather than complaining, she gave him a shaky nod. Apparently, her confidence had disappeared as well.

Claire produced a key from her pocket, the one he belatedly recalled her holding after their escape from the shop.

"Do you think it'll be locked?" he asked, eyeing the police blockade on the back steps.

"We didn't lock it when we left, but it can't hurt."

Claire sidestepped the blockade and tried the handle. The door opened, creaking inward. She flashed him a hopeful smile and disappeared inside. Matt looked over the alley once more, then followed.

The shop interior was dark, making the light from the overcast sky more sulky than subdued. Claire was a ghostly shape in the storage room, rustling around before appearing with a lit candle. Matt let out a short breath as she sent the creeping shadows flying.

She paused in the hallway, face lit by one tiny flame as she looked up at him. He noticed she refused to turn her head toward the short hallway leading to the main room. That was probably a good thing, considering Matt couldn't tell if the dark shapes on the floor were shadows or bloodstains.

"Alright?" he asked gently.

"Yes, I just…realized the last time I saw Mr. Solano, I was angry with him." She let out a slow breath, then forced a smile. "Guess that teaches me."

Claire hurried into the office before Matt could comment on the break in her voice.

"Any idea what we're looking for?" Matt asked, opening drawers. She shrugged, holding another lit candle out to him without turning around.

"No. I was hoping for a file or note or even a photograph…" Claire began. They worked in silence, rifling through the drawers and cabinets. Matt's hand skimmed over old notes, opened envelopes, and an assortment of pens. Claire extended her search to the whole office, picking through cabinets and shelves in desperation. Finally, Matt put a hand on her shoulder.

"There's nothing here, Claire," he murmured. She stopped picking over a stack of papers, but didn't turn around. Her shoulders sagged in disappointment. His heart panged at the dead end, that she had fought so hard only to be rewarded with nothing. Matt didn't take his hand away. After a moment, he let himself step closer. Claire leaned back into his touch, slicing away at the sparse few inches between them.

Matt bent his head a little closer to hers, mouth practically brushing the edge of her hat. He could smell lavender again, just soft enough to be enticing. He opened his mouth, partly so the smell could wash over him a little more, partly so he could say something. But only silence slipped past his lips. Matt grimaced and made himself let go. Claire gave an unsurprised sigh.

"The chances he would just leave evidence where I could find it…" she mumbled, then shook her head. "Okay. Okay, there's one more place we can look."

"What? Where?"

Claire faced him, jaw set. "His house."

"His house?" Matt demanded. "No, no way. There's an even bigger chance things will go sideways if we go there. We're pushing it as it is."

"But it's just a couple blocks away!" she insisted. Her candle danced crazily in her hand as she spoke, making her glance down at it in worry. She let out a huff and glared at Matt. "Like you said, we don't have a lot to go on. Why on earth would we stop before we try all our options?"

"Because all our options include bullets."

"And you're telling me you wouldn't try it if you were alone?"

"I never even considered going to his house!" he hissed, forcing himself to keep his voice low.

"If you had, you would have been fine doing it by yourself."

"No, I wouldn't." Matt didn't enjoy the thought of being shot at—he'd had enough of that overseas. But if it came down to it, he much preferred him getting hurt over Claire.

They glared at each other, both lit from beneath by their candles. Matt pursed his lips. He was really getting tired of arguing with her.

(Although, he secretly liked seeing the intensity in her face when she opposed him. It was irresistibly attractive when she clenched her jaw and stretched ever so slightly so that their faces were almost even.)

Matt looked away before he got himself into trouble.

"How many blocks?" he asked.

"Three," Claire said, not quite ready to give into triumph.

He looked at her, then looked at the window. "It'll be dark, soon."

"And it looks like it's going to rain."

"Promise me you'll run if—"

"If there's even a hint of danger," Claire said. "I know."

He checked the window again, then nodded. He needed to get out of this damn tiny office and into the fresh air, where he had more to smell and hear and see than just Claire.

Claire blew out her candle and left the office. "Come on," she said. "It's a short walk."

Despite her stubborn confidence, Claire was skittish as they made their way to Solano's home. She glanced around the growing shadows, ready for something to leap out at them. Matt's neck prickled, though he didn't know if it was from paranoia, real danger, or the impending sense that rain was going to fall. He wished he had a gun instead of just his hands.

By the time Claire led him down a narrow alleyway between buildings, a soft drizzle was falling from the gloomy sky. The water collecting on Claire's hat caught the streetlamps, glittering like she was covered in stardust.

"Is Solano's family going to be alright with us just showing up?" Matt asked.

Claire shook her head. "Mr. Solano never married. He has a sister, though, who lives down the street."

"Were you close to them, then?" he asked, waving his hands at the building they were skirting.

Claire rounded the corner of the building, voice low when she spoke. "I guess so."

She didn't sound convinced.

They slunk down another alley, then reached the back of Mr. Solano's home. Matt surveyed the windows before turning to Claire.

"Do we have to break a window?"

"No, there should be…okay, here." She turned over a couple of bricks meant to prop the door open. One of them proved to be hollow, revealing a key taped to the inside.

Claire unlocked the door, then let Matt in.

Solano's home didn't have the eeriness of the office. It might have been the knowledge that there had never been a corpse on the floor, but the place merely felt sleepy and sad. And a little more well off than Matt expected. He raised his eyebrows as he surveyed the dark kitchen, impressed at the fine furnishings. Tailoring was a good business, when it didn't get people killed.

Claire rummaged the kitchen, finding another candle and a set of matches. She struggled with the matches a moment, though Matt couldn't tell if it was due to anxiety or rainwater sliding from her fingers onto the head of the match. He held the box steady for her. Claire paused, looking up at him. Neither one said anything as she struck the match and lit the candle.

"I think the desk he's talking about is upstairs," she said, leading him out of the kitchen.

They ghosted through the townhouse, the building's every groan and creak setting Matt a little more on edge. The halls were dark and strange, the carpet stealing their steps and the glass on the picture frames scattering the candlelight. The windows cast yellow squares on the floor and walls, offering Matt glimpses of Claire's skirt, neck, hand.

"Mr. Solano sometimes had me run errands for him," Claire told the darkness. "Mostly, he would forget something at home, like notes for a suit, or part of a dress, and he'd send me to get it. Once, he went on vacation to California and couldn't remember if he'd closed all his windows."

She gave a tiny laugh that sounded a little more choked than it should have. Matt stared awkwardly ahead as they reached the end of the hall. This was where he comforted her, he could tell. This was where he was supposed to touch her back and whisper she was okay and run a hand through her hair.

He grimaced. The line between decency and desire had become so blurred over the last few days that Matt no longer knew what was safe to do. He watched Claire step into the room, his hands clenched at his sides. He didn't want to have to sacrifice comforting Claire or treating her with any level of familiarity because he couldn't control himself.

But then, Matt thought darkly, resignedly, hopelessly, that was the devil for you; working in many, wicked ways.

Matt followed Claire into the room, which proved to be a combination of an office and a workspace. A small writing desk sat against the far wall, while a chest of drawers was pushed into the right hand corner. A dress form sat between the two, a partially made dress still sitting on it.

Claire ignored the dress form and went straight to the desk. Matt took the candle from her so she could search with both hands, leaving her to the light from the rain-streaked windows. He examined the bookshelf on the back wall. One shelf was completely dedicated to sewing, while the rest of the books varied from novels to biographies to magazines.

"Now we've got it!" Claire said, making Matt jump and face her. She grabbed a key from a drawer and faced him. Excitement shone on her face as she held it out.

Relief washed through Matt, spreading a smile over his face. The key was too small for a door, smaller even than Matt's pinky.

"It looked like it's for a safe or lock box," he said.

"Yes! That certainly sounds like something Mr. Solano would lead us to!" Claire said, part question, part declaration.

Matt nodded and gestured at the room. "Do you think it'd be in here?"

"Honestly, it could be anywhere. But I don't know why he would keep the key in a different place from where the safe is."

They began searching, pulling paintings from the walls, checking for loose floorboards, and investigating the chest of drawers. Matt found the safe behind the writing desk, a little gleam of metal set into the wall.

Claire helped him shift the desk aside, leaving them to stare at the safe. Claire clenched the key in her hand, knuckles pressed against her mouth.

"What if this isn't it?" she whispered.

Matt glanced at her. "We'll find another angle. Don't worry, Claire."

She sucked in a breath and unlocked the safe. It wasn't very big, roughly large enough for a small stack of books. The paper files staring back at them were underwhelming, a sad sheaf that could be anything.

Claire grabbed them and handed a few files to Matt. He skimmed the documents in his hands, eyes sliding over a folder of letters dated during the war, a few papers for Solano's business, and his birth certificate. There was something embarrassingly intimate about looking through a dead man's life.

"Find anything?" he asked.

"A copy of his will," Claire murmured. Matt looked up in concern, but her expression as more tired than devastated. "He took very good care of his sister's family."

Matt touched her shoulder. Claire gave him a quick smile and took a shaky breath.

"Okay," she said, steeling herself. "Okay, okay. O—oh my word."

Matt looked over the top of the file she had just opened. It as a stack of handwritten papers, the words written in varying pencils and pen ink.

"What is it?"

Claire shook her head and turned the paper toward Matt. He tilted his head to read it, stomach tight. It was written more like a report than a diary, the account boringly factual. Solano visited one of his clients to tailor a suit, then—

I pretended not to notice, but there were guns under those men's suit coats.

Matt looked at Claire in surprise. She pointed to a spot lower on the page.

I overheard them discuss importing Irish whiskey or Canadian bourbon. I would have ignored it, expect Mr. Fisk ordered the dealers be murdered if they attempted to change the deal.

Matt and Claire stared at each other. Matt hadn't expected a clue, much less a detailed account of what had happened. Now that it was in his hands, he didn't know what to do.

"We'd better—" Claire began, then froze.

A creak sounded from downstairs. Then another.

"Shit," Matt breathed. He closed the file and grabbed a paperclip to keep it shut, then pushed it into Claire's hands. She blew out the candle and set it on the desk as he grabbed a metal paperweight.

They hid by the doorway, waiting for the intruders to walk in. Claire crossed herself and mouthed the Lord's Prayer.

Matt's mind was quiet for once. The buzzing distractions from moments before were gone, silenced by danger. He hadn't felt this way in years. Not even boxing matches caused this, savage and godless as they were.

Maybe that was where Matt went wrong. He sought to sate, not to silence. If he just risked his life a little more, maybe he would have been better off.

A man entered the room, gun first. Matt lashed out, paperweight in hand. Boxer quick, it collided with the man's forehead. He reeled, and Matt kicked the side of his knee. The man dropped to the floor. Matt snatched up his gun.

Then the world moved very fast.

"Go!" Matt yelled as someone down the hall shouted in surprise. Claire barreled out of the room, colliding with the other man. Matt kicked the disarmed one in the stomach for good measure, grabbed his gun, then launched after her.

The man in the hall chased after Claire, taking the steps three at a time. Matt shoved him in the back, sending him flying into the landing wall. He rounded the corner just in time to see Claire grabbed by another mobster, her screams loud in his ears. She tried kicking, biting, anything she could without letting go of the folder.

Then the man saw Matt bearing down on him and fumbled with his gun. Matt slammed the butt of his own gun between the gangster's eyes, making him release Claire.

They sprinted out the back door and were immediately pelted by rain. Matt pushed Claire ahead, flinching as a gunshot tore through the air. The bullet lodged into the brickwork overhead, sending rubble onto their shoulders as they passed.

Claire ran ahead as Matt wheeled around to fire off a shot, just enough to slow their pursuers down. More gunshots chased them from the alley, loud and echoing and agonizingly like mortar shells. Matt focused on Claire ahead of him, her shoulders soaked by the rain, her coat flying behind her. He breathed hard, glanced at the reflection in the store windows he raced by, then wheeled to take on the man just behind him.

Matt's first punch was sloppy, allowing the man to block it with his arm. He dodged Matt's second and raised his gun. Matt kneed him in the stomach and fired off a shot at the thug running toward them. The gangster Matt was fighting flinched and dropped to his knees, reeling from the discharge by his ear. Matt slammed the gun between the man's shoulder and neck, sending him to the ground. Then Matt fired again at the man farther down the sidewalk, grazed his shoulder, then again, backing away.

The gun clicked, empty—what idiot doesn't load his gun all the way—and Matt hurled it at their pursuers. He turned around and ran without seeing if he hit his mark.

Claire watched him from the end of the block, horridly mesmerized by this new brand of violence. Once she saw Matt pelting toward her, she resumed running.

"Dammit I told you not to stop!" he hissed at her, catching up and pushing her forward.

Claire didn't answer, just barked, "Subway!", stabbing a finger at the entrance.

They both ran into the street, dodging around cars. People were yelling now, finally aware of the little burst of chaos on the road.

Another gun cracked across the street, and then Matt's arm burned like a knife had sliced cross it. He gasped, stumbling and almost falling beneath the wheels of a truck before he righted himself. He clamped his hand over the bullet wound—just a graze, really, nothing in the long run—and raced down the steps to the subway entrance.

Claire was paying for her ticket when he reached the bottom of the stairs, hands fumbling as she grabbed coins from her purse. She slipped through, already looking back for Matt. He was about to call out to her when a hand grabbed the back of his coat. Matt choked on the words as his collar cut into his throat. He writhed to get away as the person dragged him back up the steps. He slammed his elbow back, sickly satisfied when it slammed into a body.

Matt shoved himself down the steps as the hand let go, going too fast to stop before the ticket booth. He leaped over the turn stile, ignoring the attendant's shouts. Matt grabbed Claire's arm as he sprinted past, tugging her along. He glanced over his shoulder to see the gangsters caught by the irate attendant and people swarming from the trains. A gun went off, churning the crowd into a mob.

Matt and Claire dashed down the hall, hands bracing against the walls when they slipped. He didn't check if they were still being followed, focusing instead on breaking away from the crowd to reach the train. The doors were already being closed, they wouldn't make it, they were going to reach it just as the train pulled away—

"Wait!" Claire shrieked at the attendant working on the doors. He hesitated, seeing Claire waving at him. Matt was going too fast, though, and he grabbed her up as he sailed into the car. He cradled her, turning so his shoulder took the brunt of the blow. Matt grunted as the air was shoved out of him, dazed from the impact.

Claire clutched onto him, staring at the staircase as the attendant hesitated, closed their door, then moved on. One of their pursuers thundered down the stairway.

Both Matt and Claire tightened their grips on the other, breaths held, eyes wide, counting the seconds as the train started moving, picking up speed, stretching the gap between them and the men—

They left the platform.

Matt let out a slow breath. He rested his forehead against Claire, her brim pushing his hat slightly off his head. She relaxed into him, her pants easing with each second.

They didn't say anything. Matt guessed from the creaky silence around them that the car was empty, allowing them a moment of peace. He stroked his thumb over Claire's arm, so blessedly relieved they had made it through safe. They were both soaked and rattled, but aside from the graze on Matt's arm and some bruises, they were unhurt.

Claire leaned into him, her face turning into his coat. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as her breath played across his skin. He closed his eyes on the image of her mouth, parted ever so slightly next to his skin.

Matt's arms tightened around her, pulling her just barely closer. Claire adjusted her grip on his coat, transferring the angry bunch of fabric to a secure hold on his lapels. He could feel the folder she had tucked into her coat pressed between them, the edges digging into his chest. She shifted, mouth barely touching his jaw.

Matt pulled his face back and let go of her. "No," he gasped, shaking his head.

Claire stared at him, dumbfounded. She hesitated, then slipped off his lap. There was a burning moment of silence as she sat beside him.

"Why?" Claire asked, the word hard and painful in the quiet.

"You know why," he said, even though they both knew that was an excuse. He had never actually said why. First Claire hadn't wanted to hear, then he hadn't wanted to say.

"No, I don't," she said, voice hardening with each word. She glared at him, face still too close. He glared back, face burning even as a trail of frigid rain water slipped down his neck.

"Claire—"

"Answer me, Matt! Why are you always running from this? Just give me an answer."

He pushed away from the bench, shaking his head. He stood there, back to her, giving himself time. Matt took off his hat to give his hands something to do. His arm throbbed in pain with each heartbeat, a pain more manageable than the one in his chest. He glanced down at it. There was a small tear in his coat, the fabric singed and faintly stained with watered down blood.

"How's the file?" he asked.

"Fine." There was a loud smack as Claire pulled it from her coat and dropped it beside her on the bench. Her reflection in the window had its arms tightly crossed, mouth set in a harsh line.

"You're going to have to talk to me," she said after a moment. "We're stuck in this subway car until the next stop."

"Claire, it's not really the best time. Gangsters just chased us through the streets," he said, facing her. "Isn't that more pressing than this?"

"I don't know, Matt!" she snapped. Angry tears threatened to fall down her face, ready to disappear in the rainwater still clinging to her skin. "I can barely think about that, much less change it! So I'm going to deal with the one thing I can. Help me, Matt."

Matt shook his head. "There's nothing we can do here, either."

"That's not good enough! Why are you so dead set against us when I know—"

"Know what?" he asked harshly. She flinched at his suddenly change in volume. Matt bit his tongue. "Claire, what's the use in talking about it? You know we can't—I can't, so why—"

"Is it because I'm Hispanic?" she asked, the words blunt enough that he almost choked. "Is it because my daddy's black and my mother's Hispanic?"

"No, no—that's not the problem, not for me, but—"

"Then you're too scared of what other people will say?" she demanded. Claire got to her feet, barely even swaying as the train took a turn.

"No, although you can't deny that it would cause problems. But there are other reasons— we can't—"

"Can't what?" she spat, eyes narrowed. "We can't what?"

"You know exactly what."

"Then say it," she dared him. "Say it, prove to me you actually acknowledge what this could be!"

He worked his jaw and stayed silent.

Claire let out a bark of laughter and looked around the train car, like maybe someone could see the ridiculousness of the man before her. She faced him again, expression now colored by something akin to pleading.

"Talk to me, Matt," she said, voice lower but more intense. "Just tell me what's going on."

"I can't—it's not that simple," he said, suddenly afraid that she would squeeze the horrific truth out of him, that he would be forced to voice the filthy black demons that had inhabited him long before the war woke them up.

"You haven't given me any reasons why it's not."

"Claire, just trust me on—"

"How can I trust when you won't tell me—"

"You wouldn't want to know—"

"But that's why I'm asking—"

"What if I hurt you?"

Claire shook her head. "That's the risk everyone runs in a relationship. You can't—"

"What if I hit you?!" he demanded, and there it was.

What if he lost himself to that smothering darkness and lashed out at Claire? What if he went temporarily mad, like some veterans did, what if he woke up to find her cowering and bleeding because he—

He couldn't stand to think it. But it pounded through his brain anyway, traitorous and so desperately afraid. Loving Claire had never been an issue of skin color or cultural backgrounds or social status. It always, always centered on the haunting fear that he would harm the person he so desperately wanted to protect.

Claire stared at him. Her mouth was open, but that was more the product of shock than the need to speak.

Matt looked down at the floor.

The train started to slow, interrupting the suffocating silence of the car. Matt glanced at the windows and put on his hat. Claire picked up the file and held it to her chest. They didn't look at each other as the attendant came by and opened the doors.

They melted into the crowd, leaving the empty train car without so much as a trace of the hurt that had just filled it.


AN SUCH GOOD STUFF.