AN matt ya need a nap.

Also, chapter fifteen! Landmarks! Thanks to people who waited for me! Celebration!


The next morning was better, and worse. It was better in that he and Claire had again found some sort of resting place, an island in the increasingly tempestuous sea of them. If he ignored the fact that the island was quickly dissolving beneath his feet and he would have to confront whatever this was head on, then he was fine. But it was also worse in that Matt had to face Karen and Foggy.

Karen, to her credit, didn't say anything about his bruised mouth and tired eyes when he walked in. She gave him a hard look, then carefully asked, "How was your weekend?"

"Fine. Any news?"

Her gaze hardened a little more, unhappy at his dismissal. "The Harlem Echo called again," she said, and Matt wasn't sure if he was just imagining the coolness in her voice. "They're determined to get word about Dugan."

"Just keep brushing them off," Matt sighed. "They'll get everything they need when we go to court."

Karen eyed him, clearly toying with the idea of asking more explicitly what had happened, but she just nodded and went back to her work. Though she was by default nosy in her do-gooding, she knew which things to press and to leave alone.

Foggy had less grace.

"Good morning, Karen! Good—what the hell, Matt."

Matt took another sip of his coffee, like he could hide the cut on his mouth from Foggy's memory.

"Matt," Foggy said, roughly hanging up his coat and marching over, "what happened." A flicker of concern crossed his face. "Is Claire okay?"

Matt flinched. Of course. Of course Foggy would assume this was the product of Matt and Claire's recent misadventure. He would have no reason to think—to fear—that Matt had indulged in the barbarity of the rings.

Foggy glanced at Karen, searching for more information. She just shrugged and shook her head. Matt had only been in the room for perhaps a minute longer than Foggy. Maybe she had been silent out of dread, biding her time until the tragic truth came out. Although, Matt couldn't really imagine that he would go to work just days after Claire dying.

He couldn't imagine himself doing anything, really.

"Yeah," Matt grunted. "Yeah, Claire's fine. This…we're okay."

"What happened, then?" Karen asked.

"We…went to the tailors, but didn't find anything. Then Claire suggested we go to Solano's house, which was only a couple blocks away." He could feel them tense as his story unwound, the air getting thicker with fear.

"We found what we were looking for—a whole file on the gangsters that killed him. But…there were people watching the house, and they came after us."

He held his breath as he waited for them to explode, to call him an idiot, to yell at him for letting Claire talk him into risking their lives. But Karen and Foggy remained very quiet, staring at him.

"What happened, Matt?" Karen repeated.

"We got away," he said simply, giving them the smallest smile. "Claire's fine, they never touched her, and I…" He shrugged, feeling the spread of bruises on his side and the gun wound on his arm. "We escaped on the train."

"And they saw you? They definitely knew it was her?"

"Probably."

Karen stood up, almost knocking back her chair in her haste. "We need to move her family, now. I'm such an idiot, I can't believe I didn't think of this first thing!"

"What?" Foggy asked, turning to face her.

"Claire's family. It's a miracle those thugs haven't gotten them already. Shit, I'm such an idiot!" She grabbed her coat and faced the boys.

"Matt, where does she live?"

"I—uhm, I didn't catch the address, but why you?"

"Because we don't exactly know anyone else that will blend in, those thugs know you, and Foggy might scare her family."

"Wait, what's wrong with me?" Foggy demanded, expression both surprised and a little ruffled. "The only things I scare are made of bread and frosting!"

"And a family whose daughter is being hunted by white gangsters," she said, walking back to the desk. She picked up the phone. "Do you think Claire will answer?"

"Uh—maybe," Matt said, still a little dazed at the sudden whirlwind of activity. He was so used to having to do this alone, waiting and planning in the quiet with Claire. "We never talked about me calling, but…she might."

Karen nodded, thinking. "Who was the gangster Solano wrote about?"

"Fisk," Matt said. "Something Fisk."

"Wilson Fisk?" Foggy demanded. "The guy that's been building schools and parks and stuff for kids?"

Karen swore again and started dialing Matt's apartment. "This is not good. Alright. I'm going to get Claire's address and get her family settled, I should be back by the end of the day. You two stay focused on Dugan's case."

"But—Karen," Foggy sputtered, as she asked the phone operator to dial Matt's place, "what if those maniacs come after you?"

"I can handle myself. Really, Foggy. I've got some friends that can hide the Temples—hi, Claire? This is Karen Page, from Matt's office. Yes, I didn't mean to alarm you, but I think it's a good idea if…"

Matt turned to his office as Karen went on, asking for details and reassurances she could give Claire's family. A part of him wanted to ask how she sounded, wanted to know if the melancholy Matt always heard in Claire's voice was tangible to other people's ears.

But he couldn't do that. It was getting harder and harder to remember, but he could not ask about her and check on her and think about kissing her all day, and then push her away and make her cry and yell the next.

Matt stared at his desk as Karen finished the conversation, said good-bye to Foggy, and left the office. He needed to get to work on the case. Just a few days, and they would be in court arguing that Timothy Dugan was a good man, a respectable veteran, and not at all guilty of the frankly trumped up charges of assault. The drunken disorderly charge would be a taller order to sell, but people's heartstrings were fickle things.

He closed his eyes. He didn't want be at work worrying about Dugan. He wanted to be home with Claire. But if he was with Claire, then his needle fine resistance toward her would be weakened and worn. He had to get to work. But was Claire okay? Karen's worry about her family had put Matt's teeth on edge. No, no, he should not call her back, he should not check on her during his lunch. Work. Claire. No Claire. Work. Claire. No, no Claire.

The door to his office clicked open. Matt worked his jaw a moment, and decided he simply didn't have the strength to fake a smile and act like he was fine. He could feel Foggy watching him with an expression that was probably unreadable for its unhappiness.

Matt refused to look up.

"What's all this about?" Foggy asked.

There was no condemnation or judgment in his voice. Matt wished there was. He couldn't stand this ceaseless parade of acceptance and understanding. Everyone was too damn accommodating, letting him get away with everything. Claire, Karen, Foggy, even Frank was letting him glide on by, and Matt was sick of it. He was being punished so much by his own brain, why couldn't—why wouldn't the outside world do the same.

"What do you mean?" Matt said, pushing Foggy a little farther.

Foggy gave him a look and stepped into the room. He put his hands in his pockets, surveying the walls as he thought.

"Y'know, I saw the way you were with Claire."

Matt stayed quiet, jaw ticking. Foggy glanced at him, a 'really now?' look on his face.

"You're rash, Matt, but you wouldn't normally walk someone into a situation where you knew they would get hurt. And yet, you also get really dumb around girls you like."

"There's nothing going on between us," Matt sighed, pressing his fingers against his eyes.

"Yeah, I kinda guessed that. You looked ready to tear apart anything that might hurt her. But you also…didn't seem comfortable around her."

"It's not exactly a comfortable position I'm in."

"Hm." Foggy looked back at him, eyes undoing all the careful disguises Matt had put into place. "You look like hell, Matt."

"Hate to break it to you, but you don't look much better, Fog."

"Yeah, but I don't look like I'm living in a war zone."

Matt looked away. "What's that got to do with—"

"Look, I'm not trying to pry, but just…it's okay to let someone else get near you, you know that?"

"What happened to you always lecturing me to leave girls alone?" Matt said, voice almost desperate. He had thought Foggy, ever the voice of staunch pragmatism, would tell him no, would support Matt's belief that he should not. And yet, here they were.

Matt felt the island slip away a little more.

"That was ten years ago," Foggy said, instead of 'the war happened, is what'.

"Why're you lecturing me, Foggy?" Matt asked, giving him a hard look. "You don't even know what's going on."

"Horsefeathers," Foggy said, the contempt in his voice making the word sharp. "I know enough of what's going on. She asked you to walk into what was likely a trap and you went. She's living in your house, she's the only thing you think about all day. And," Foggy said, cutting over Matt's protests, "I know that it's okay. You've been alone for years, Matt. It's okay for you to let someone in now."

Matt shook his head, biting his cheek. Somehow, his voice was steady as he recited his denial, his mantra, his watchword even though he knew it was not true.

"There's nothing going on. I promise you. Once she's safe, she'll—she'll be back to her own life. I don't factor into that in the slightest."

There was nothing going on because he wouldn't let it, because he pretended there was nothing to go on. And every second he did was another second he felt like his world was on fire. He was cracking at the edges, and his options both resulted in utter devastation. The only difference was how soon it all began.

Foggy gave him a long look. "Matt. Come on. Look at me."

Matt blinked, realizing he was staring unseeingly at his lap. He unclenched his fingertips from his thighs, arms shaking from how tightly he had been holding them. He relaxed his hands and set them on the desk.

Foggy's voice was suddenly soft when he spoke next, like maybe he thought he saw something exposed in Matt's face and didn't want to wound. "You've been alone a long time, Matt. You've made yourself be alone. You came back from the war, and it's been hard, hell, I get that. The stuff you saw…" Foggy shook his head. "But Matt, it's been a long time since then. And you haven't trusted anyone to get closer to you. I know you like Claire. There's no shame in admitting it."

"What about you?" he asked, praying that his sudden change of tact would send Foggy off balance. "How is what I'm doing any different from you and Karen?"

Foggy stared at him, mouth working but no sound coming out for a long moment. "I—I…that's different."

"And how's that?"

"I'm not denying it, for one."

Matt looked away. Foggy wasn't wrong. Then again, there weren't many times he was.

They were both quiet. Foggy ran a hand over his hair, smoothing back the bits that had fallen astray. "Why is it so hard for us to love the women we do?" he murmured.

Matt slid him an exhausted, crooked smile, because Foggy wasn't asking him, desperate and answerless as he was. It was a query cast out to the world in general. Why were there so many terrible obstacles banning people from happiness? Why could they never seem to be overcome?

Matt stood up, palms braced against the top of his desk. He let out a long, slow breath, then looked at Foggy. The only way to get Foggy to leave him alone was to be honest, and though it felt suspiciously like losing a battle, Matt was sure it would help him win the war.

"I just can't let myself do this right now," Matt said. "I can't do that to her, can't trick her into thinking I—" The words caught in his throat—too much honesty, he needed to pull it back, be truthful but not honest, not exposed—so he swallowed and tried again. "I'm tired, Foggy. I don't really have the energy to go through this right now."

Which was true, but didn't mean he wouldn't keep going through it over and over and over again in his head.

Foggy watched him a long moment, unhappy at his evasion, but also sensing he couldn't get more out of him.

"Fair enough," he said, shaking his head. "Alright, you go ahead and just…keep stewing, I suppose. But from my point of view…I really don't think it would be as bad as you're thinking."

Matt smiled again, more broken than before, because Foggy had yet to see the inside of his head.


AN if you look close you can see the point in the chapter where i went OH WAIT and had to do a good bit of patching to even pretend that this was vaguely realistic and feasible.

look. it's not the villains that are completely dumb and inept. it's me.