AN so here's some sorta cute stuff byeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

(Note I said sorta because this isn't a REAL date, it's a STRESS date. There's a difference.)

Claire heard the tak tak tak of Matt's cane before he knocked. She glanced at the clock. Almost eight-thirty.

"Gimme a sec," she called, stepping around some of her packing boxes as she hurried to the door. She opened it, then took a second to take him in.

Matt was in his lawyer clothes; a sharp, light grey suit over a white shirt and dark green tie. Matt smiled at her, hair properly combed, eyes hidden behind his glasses.

"Matt, hey," she said, trying not to sound breathless.

"I would have gone straight up, but I didn't know when it started," he said, tone holding an apology she doubted he meant. "And calling you from the burner seemed like a good way to give you a heart attack, so I came a little early."

"Only you would think eight-thirty is early," she said, folding her arms. He shrugged, his smile lighting up the whole hall.

Claire stepped back and gestured him inside. "Here, hold on a sec. I just need to grab my shoes."

Matt quietly waited for her in the entryway as she went to her room. Claire took the moment away from him to rally herself. She had invited him as an act of good will, to show that their argument hadn't meant anything serious. He could still rely on her despite their disagreements. Claire hadn't expected the actual event to be so nerve-wracking.

Even before Matt had stepped into her apartment, Claire had been slightly freaking out over their plans, which manifested itself in panicking about her wardrobe. She hadn't really dressed up for the occasion, it was just totally casual paella after all. But she had guessed Matt would be dapper as ever, and she was not about to let the blind man make her look like crap. So, shooting for the dressy side of casual, Claire had done her makeup and chosen her clothes. And then chosen new ones. And then changed her mind again. Now Claire was wearing a loose blue cotton shirt with dark grey jeans and her guilty pleasure pastel yellow slip-ons. Nice looking, Claire looking clothes.

Not that she was dressing up for the blind man. She was dressing up to be seen with the blind man. If she was actually dressing up, which she wasn't. She was chill.

"You know, we need a different form of communication," Claire said, coming back into the main room. She sounded calm. This was good.

"I thought about getting—"

"If you offer me another burner phone, I'm going to throw it at your head," Claire told him, grabbing her keys and cell from the counter.

Matt was silent as they backed out of the apartment and she locked the door.

"Where's your phone?" she asked, rolling her eyes. Matt was impossibly predictable in his need for safety through stilted distance. He frowned at her, not understanding. "Your phone, Matt, where is it?"

"Here…?" he said, pulling it from his breast pocket.

"Here," she said, plucking it from his hand and opening up his contacts before she thought about what she was doing. Claire entered her info, then sent a text to her phone. Matt stood there like he wasn't sure what to do.

"There you go," she said, handing him the phone. She added him as a contact in her own address book. Matt. She didn't miss the way it nestled in beside 'Mike'.

"I…thank you," he said dumbly, slipping his phone into his pocket.

Claire smiled as she walked to the staircase and held the door open for him. Matt automatically took her position and gestured her through. Clearly, he was hardwired to hold doors open for women as well as demand perfection from himself. Claire rolled her eyes yet again, though she was smothering a smile as she stepped through.

"Tell me when the last step is?" he asked quietly. "It…echoes in here."

Claire blinked in surprise. She had never expected a man that mapped out rooms by sound and smell to be uncertain how many steps were in the staircase. She nodded, somehow touched by his request.

"Yeah, sure. No problem," she said, taking the lead up the steps.

He nodded in return, face turned a little down after his request. Claire bit her cheek, getting the distinct feeling that he didn't ask many people for help with his disability. Not for real.

"Here," she said, gently touching his hand when he reached the last step. They rounded the corner and started up the next set of stairs. "So, feel a little odd in your lawyer suit this time of night?"

Matt shrugged. "I was always raised to make a good first impression, so not really. Not if I'm meeting new people."

"Where'd you go wrong with me?" she snorted, refusing to think of all the potential answers (field medicine for mobsters and the city blowing up and one empty voice mail saying he was alright). "Here's the last step, by the way."

She held the door for him as they left the stairwell, this time standing firm so he had to walk through first. She liked to think it was her being more contrary than petty.

"Oh," Matt whispered.

"What?"

"I could smell it walking up to your floor, but…" Matt trailed off, and soon Claire could smell the paella, too. Savory herbs and tomato and seafood all tumbled together to make the hall delicious.

"Isn't this better than drug dealers?" she teased, walking down to Mrs. Escamilla's apartment.

"Yes," Matt said emphatically.

Mrs. Escamilla's door was open, letting happy noise bleed out. A few people were standing in the hall, and Claire recognized Santino speaking to a man from a few doors down. He started at the sight of Matt, panic spreading across his face.

"Hey, Santino," Claire said, giving him a 'keep it shut' look. "Is Mrs. Escamilla in there?"

"Y-yes, she's in the kitchen," he said, eyes flicking between her and Matt. His friend gave a big hello to the two of them, oblivious to Santino's panic. Claire didn't know which struck her the most: Santino's panic over Daredevil at her side or his friend eyeing Matt's cane and glasses.

They slid into the crowded apartment, bracing themselves against the laughing, chattering, celebrating people. The smell of the paella was even stronger inside, making Claire's mouth water. She normally liked the energy of a good, wholesome party, but now she felt a little uncomfortable, out of place in the wild mix of bodies. Maybe it was because Matt was with her this time.

Matt quietly reached up to touch her elbow after the first few steps. She tried to act like she didn't notice, but Claire couldn't help but glance back, just once. She wasn't certain what she'd expected him to look like. Stressed and awkward, maybe, flinching away from shouts and loud laughter, huddling in on himself at every stray touch. But found him relaxed and wearing easy smile . He looked normal, holding his cane up by his chest to keep it from tangling in people's legs. The only giveaway to his powers were the tiny course corrections sparing him from an errant elbow or hand.

"Mrs. Escamilla," Claire called once they entered the small kitchen. The woman turned from the stove, wooden spoon in hand.

"Claire!" she said, beaming as she looked up. Mrs. Escamilla's friendship with Claire had always amused her. Claire had considered them acquaintances that saw each other sometimes when they did laundry, but she had been forced to reconsider things when Mrs. Escamilla started delivering cookies and gossip. "And your friend, who is it?"

"Matt Murdock," he said, stepping forward and swapping hands on his cane to shake her hand.

"Oh, he's a good boy," Mrs. Escamilla said, shooting Claire an impressed look.

Claire smiled in satisfaction, but then her stomach tightened. People were going to assume—

"I hope you don't mind me crashing the party," he said with that sweet, upstanding, church going, take-home-to-meet-the-parents sort of tone in his voice. It was an honest effort for Claire not to heave yet another enormous eye roll.

"Oh no, I barely know half the people here and my son knows even less," she laughed. "Please, enjoy the food. Food and friends, that is what tonight is for!"

"Thank you," he said, then fell back to stand by Claire.

"Go on, you two, go have fun! Meet some new people, hear good stories."

"Okay, thank you," Claire said. She touched Matt on the elbow to guide him away. He turned with her, a careful brush on her arm.

"How good are you?" she asked, just low enough for him to hear.

"I'm alright."

"Matt."

"I'm okay," he insisted. "There's just…a lot going on."

"But you still…"

"I won't be running around, no. But there doesn't seem to be enough room in here for that."

Claire smiled and shook her head. "Let's dive in?" she suggested. He bobbed his head, holding onto his cane with both hands like it was nothing more than an out of use umbrella.

Claire guided Matt to one of the familiar faces in the crowd, Daisy from across the hall. Daisy was arguing whether veganism had health benefits (Daisy, despite her free-spirited name, had very conservative world views). Claire was dragged in for her professional experience, while Matt played devil's advocate. His tone was polite enough to keep people from realizing he was poking holes in their arguments until they started sinking.

"Okay, no!" Ethan from another complex snapped, jabbing a good-natured finger at Matt. "You can't talk about 'true vegans' having a more balanced diet in one breath, then say they're going to die of deficiencies the next!"

"It's all about context," Matt said, tilting his head. He was wearing a mild smile despite the noise and press of people, like he had forgotten them in his delight at having been caught. "If they do veganism properly, I would say they're healthier than ninety percent of people in America. If it's more of a trend than a lifestyle, then they're asking for trouble."

"If anyone eats properly, they're better than ninety percent of America," Daisy said, rolling her eyes. "Grease and cardboard do not a healthy body make."

"Absolutely not. But you can't use people who don't know what they're doing as a reason why veganism isn't healthy."

"What is it you do again?" Chelsea from Claire didn't know where asked, squinting at Matt. He tilted his head toward her, a slightly cocky smile on his face.

"I'm a lawyer."

"Oh geez," Ethan said, tossing his hands up. "Claire, way to warn us."

"Hey, if you're willing to seek my opinion as a nurse, you're opening yourself up to his logic as a lawyer."

"Not fair, not fair," Chelsea said, shaking her head. "Whole thing's null and void. You guys cheated."

"Gosh, who was the genius that asked over a nurse and a lawyer?" Daisy asked, a self-deprecating smile on her face.

"Talk about a power couple," Chelsea muttered into her drink.

Claire didn't hear it. She totally didn't hear it, Chelsea had said something else. And if Matt could hear any flickers in her heartbeat (which he wouldn't, because there was nothing to even cause them), he sure as hell better feel the 'shut it' vibes she was sending him.

"Claire, can you come help serve?" Mrs. Escamilla asked, appearing at her side. Claire turned around, agreement on her tongue even as she glanced at Matt. He appeared to be listening to Chelsea, but she noticed the way his head was just barely tilted toward her.

"Uhm, yeah…sure, yeah," she said, flashing a the woman a quick smile.

Matt was a grown ass man that frequently took on mobsters and pimps and crazy people. He could deal with a party by himself. If worse came to worst, she could always patch him up from the mean neighbors and insensitive comments afterword like normal.

"Hey, Matt," Claire said, partially because she felt she needed to and partially because she didn't want to be labeled as 'that one chick that walked away from her charming and actually blind date at a party'. "I'm gonna go serve the food, okay?"

"Yeah, alright," he said, bobbing his head. He touched her elbow and she responded with a quick touch to his side. Claire didn't know why she did it, it just happened and she felt embarrassed but strangely okay.

Claire entered the kitchen to find Mrs. Escamilla, an older woman about Mrs. Escamilla's age, and a woman in her twentysomethings all speaking in Spanish.

"Ah, Claire, here, you fill up the cups for now," Mrs. Escamilla said, waving at a card table that had been set up in the middle of the kitchen. One half had a bag of plastic cups while the other had an enormous pot of paella.

Claire dutifully filled half the cups with water and the other half with a lemonade from a drink mix (she could feel Matt wrinkling his noise at the smell all the way across the room). The older woman turned out to be Mrs. Escamilla's sister, Angela, while the younger woman was Angela's daughter, Maia. They all talked and laughed in Spanish, mixing gossip and complaints and random observations seamlessly. Claire smiled and took part just enough to be polite, but she was keenly aware that she was the only one in the room not related by blood. And they really didn't need her help. Which meant—

"Claire, what about that cutie in the suit you have out there?" Maia asked, waggling her eyebrows.

Dammit, she was right. Claire faked an innocent look and asked, "What about him?"

Angela rolled her eyes, hands on her hips. "Anyone that cute has to have something going on."

"Matt's just…here for the paella, really." Nope. Nope nope nope she wasn't doing this. A room full of noisy, noisy people and another language was not enough cover for this conversation to ever happen. Ever. Especially not when Matt had super hearing and an unfortunate understanding of Spanish.

"Mm-hm."

Claire refilled the pitcher of water to avoid looking at the cackling hens behind her. When she turned back around, she realized she could now see Matt speaking with someone in the other room. She narrowed her eyes. She was so onto him.

"Really, he's just a poor lawyer that can barely feed himself," she said. Serve him right for listening. She dropped her voice to a stage whisper and said, "Who knows when he'll eat next."

"Well, if that's what it takes to get him in your back corner, do it girl!" Mrs. Escamila said, scooping more paella onto a plate.

"Honestly. It'd be a violation of the Hippocratic Oath to leave him to his own devices," Claire said with a shrug. Which actually was true.

"It'd be a violation of my moral code not to leave me to his devices," Maia said, earning shrills of approval from her family. Claire forced a smile.

"He's a lawyer, cuter than sin, manners, too! Snap that up, Claire, you do it before Angela gets going," Mrs. Escamilla said, waving a spoon at her.

"I like 'em young!" Angela said teasingly, tossing wink at Claire.

"Oooookay you guys, time to cool it," Claire said, eyes straying back to the doorway. Matt was still speaking to someone, but her suspicion that he was listening was still there, fueled by either mortification or just knowing Matt. "He can speak Spanish."

"Only makes him that much cuter," Maia told her. "And he's not even here."

Through the doorway, Claire saw Matt smother a smile.

"Asshole," she breathed, glaring at him. His head twitched toward her, the smile breaking out for a second before he managed to stuff it away.

Some. Times.

Mrs. Escamilla spared Claire from further grief by announcing that the food was ready. People cheered and crowded into the kitchen while Claire dutifully manned the cup station. When Matt came through, thoughtfully guided by Ethan, she was half-tempted to spill a drink on him…but she wasn't about to let her pettiness make her 'the one who spilled a drink on the blind guy', either. He would just love to let that fall back on her.

Claire was shortly ushered out of the way by Mrs. Escamilla's son, who said he had no right eating while a guest worked. She gathered her plate and a cup of lemonade, then shuffled through the crowd to find a safe place to eat.

She saw Matt tucked away in a corner, sitting on one of the few chairs. When she came closer, he made as if to stand up.

"No, you're fine," she said, but he continued trying to stand. "Matt," she said, putting her hand on his shoulder. "Stop. You're okay."

"Are you sure?" he asked, face tipped up to her with worry. "You really can have the chair."

"Matt, seriously, I can stand. It's a miracle you managed to snag a chair. I'm not going to take it from you."

He sat back down, but stayed on the edge like he was expecting her to change her mind. She leaned against the wall, watching him.

"How're you liking the party?"

"It's…nice," he said.

Claire laughed as he took a bite. "I love that pause. 'It's…nice'. Has it really been that bad?"

"No, just…different. I'm not accustomed to an evening so…comfortable."

Claire scoffed and took a bite of paella. She closed her eyes, momentarily forgetting her mildly amused irritation with Matt. The food was every bit as amazing as it smelled, and absolutely worth the ribbing she had endured in the kitchen. Still, she was in control of herself enough to say, "You need to stay in more."

"I do," he agreed, loading up his fork again.

"We both needed this, though," Claire said after a pause. "I can't remember the last time I went to something like this."

"I can."

"Yeah?"

"I was in college and it was a frat party."

Claire actually snorted into her plate, probably lodging a few grains of rice in her nose. Neatly pressed Matt Murdock amidst red Solo cups, keg stands, and a pervasive man smell? It was a miracle he hadn't exploded the moment he went through the door.

"Yeah, I can tell by your combed hair, nice suit, and lack of stale beer smell that frat parties were totally your scene."

"Foggy said we had to go, at least once."

"And how was that?" Claire asked. The more she heard about the mysterious Foggy, the more she wanted to properly meet him. At least, when he wasn't peppering her with panicky questions as she yet again beat death away from Matt.

"We left a couple minutes before the cops showed up."

"What a random stroke of luck," she said, nearly choking on the amount of sarcasm in her voice. Matt gave her a shit eating grin that said he had totally heard the sirens before everyone else and saved him and his friend from arrest.

"Always good to have someone like me in your back corner," he said, that slick grin still on his face.

"Don't you dare," she laughed, heat jumping to her face. "That was a private conversation!"

"They were practically yelling," he said with a shrug.

"That's it, I'm not taking you anywhere ever again," she declared. "I'm half-tempted to throw one of these shrimp shells at you."

"No, it'll stain my suit," he said, almost whining as he deflated before her. They both knew he would have to let the shell hit him to maintain his cover.

Claire broke into a laugh at his borderline pathetic expression. She tried to smother it with her hand, but the look was just so out of place on the world-weary brawler that refused holidays and pain medication day after day after day.

She shook her head and hid her laugh behind a hand. He might have been a world-wise brawler, but he didn't look like it. He looked like an adorable and well-dressed man that happened to have come to this party with her.

He looked like someone she could kiss.

Claire kept her hand against her mouth as Matt continued pouting, toying with the idea. It had just popped into her brain, a simple, extremely tempting maybe. It wouldn't be difficult, she could lean down and peck the corner of his mouth and lean away before she drew another breath. He wouldn't stop her, Matt had never been the one to say no to the ambiguous idea of 'them'. It had always been 'yes', 'of course', 'if that's what you want', 'you're right, you shouldn't'. He had never been the one to say no.

You're right, you shouldn't. The words had a bit of a sting even now, weeks after they had been said. It was a bad idea to love Matt Murdock. It was dangerous to love Matt Murdock, because he drew lines in places that left him wounded and bleeding. Because the desperate fanaticism that drove him day after day after day was confusing and strange to her. Because he had a brutality that let him push men off rooftops and shatter bones and pull far, far away when he needed to prioritize saving the city over saving himself.

She needed to watch herself, even though he was bleeding less, even though his drive was making more and more sense.

And it wouldn't be right to kiss him. Not like this, not after saying no then maybe then never mind then let's talk about something else. That was in no way fair, and he deserved fair. More than anyone, he deserved fairness.

Claire left her hand by her mouth after the laughter died away. It was a good thing he couldn't see her. He would have caught her whole struggle in a second.

"How do you like the paella?" she asked, praying her voice showed nothing amiss.

"It's delicious," he said with a grin. "A lot of the food I eat is pretty bland, but this…"

"Bland? Are your taste buds that sensitive?"

"Yeah," he said with a shrug. "Well, bland isn't the right word. Normally, I'm eating dinner when I'm tired—" after spending half the night beating up the worst parts of Hell's Kitchen, she amended in her head "—and it's harder to…zone things out after a long day."

Claire blinked, wondering what eating was like for him. 'World on fire', he'd said, sounds and touches and tiny, tiny tastes swirling into a defining inferno. But did that mean everything he did was set alight? Did he chew coals and sip flame to keep himself alive?

"It's not just taste with eating," Matt explained, lowering his voice but not sounding self-conscious. "Every sense I have—every sense everyone has is included. Taste, touch, hearing, smell…it's more involved than people seem to notice."

'Involved', he said, but Claire could only think 'intimate'. Now that she was imagining being able to hear every bite, feel every texture, Claire felt like she had been shown a little too much.

"That's very impressive," she murmured, hyper-aware of the activity around her, the people and smells and cars and animals and planes of the city.

Matt turned his head away like he was just realizing he might have revealed too personal a thing. "It's just…something I'm used to," he said quickly.

He thinks I'm pitying him, Claire realized, wondering if he could hear her heart break.

"And I find that amazing," she told him. She touched his shoulder, knowing he heard the truth in her words. He didn't say anything, though, just gave her a firm nod.

They left the party a little later, pleasantly tired and full of delicious food and conversation. Matt walked Claire to her door, both of them lingering for a few minutes. Claire could still hear the party upstairs, a sleepier rumble than it had been earlier.

"Goodnight," Claire said, leaning against her door.

"Night," he murmured, swinging his cane absently. He didn't look like he wanted to leave. She didn't want him to leave. Claire had never seen Matt like this, calm and easy going and handing out smiles made of gentle down rather than black cynicism. She had never seen him as Matt with other people. He'd always played the Devil of Hell's Kitchen when others were present.

"I didn't only come for the food," he half-whispered. Claire watched him, recalling what she had said in the kitchen. "The party was nice, but…it wasn't just about the food."

"I know, Matt."

He nodded and squeezed out a quick smile, bid her good night one more time, then quietly tak tak takked his way down the hall. He tossed her another smile before he entered the staircase, and this one said he knew it hadn't been about the food for her, either.

AN How about that season two? Stressful, am I right?