AN I emerge alive with a new chapter in my hands. This chapter...wowie zowie, I wanted so badly for it to be good and to nail the subject that I ended up way too in my head and nothing happened at all :'D Hopefully we're past all that nonsense, so we can enjoy the sweet cuddlerific chapters ahead.

Claire had one day to savor her night with Matt. One day to soak in the warmth of comfortable sheets and another person beneath her fingertips. Claire may have been at best a quarter conscious, but she had felt Matt's honest adoration as he held her close.

And she had felt his hesitation. Matt had lingered at the corners of their makeshift bed, afraid to commit or afraid to believe that this was allowed. She hadn't thought much of it in the moment, but looking back, he had been stalling, trying to buy himself time to decide what to do. It reminded Claire of his request to know if touching her was acceptable. Matt was so willing to second guess himself in this relationship, ready to believe he had made some mistake, that he was inherently not good enough to be with her.

But there was also the sweetness of his trust as they slept together, got up, and ate breakfast. Claire had a cottony happiness in her chest all the next day, fuzzy and light and beautiful.

Going into work a day later poked a hole in a bit of that happiness. Blood and stupidity often had that effect on the bubbly, impractical side of her.

First thing she had to deal with were a couple of gangbangers wheeled in after textbook toxic masculinity resulted in a shootout. Those kinds of injuries were officially Claire's least favorite, to the point that Claire sometimes wished Matt could take his Daredeviling into overdrive and eliminate gun violence altogether. Then again, that sort of micromanaging would likely require him to become a domineering crime boss, which was a no go. Also to kill himself from exhaustion, which was even more of a no go.

But that was both their burden, she supposed. Neither one of them stopped the problem; she didn't keep people from getting hurt, and he didn't prevent people from hurting others. They were the best and worst kind of reactive force, because they could not stem the flow.

"Hey, Claire, can you take care of the girl that just came in?" another nurse, Skylar, asked. He was possibly the sweetest person Claire knew, and almost assuredly too nice for Hell's Kitchen. She looked up from her yogurt to where he had poked his head into the break room.

"Yeah, I can take her," she said, pushing back her chair. She threw her empty cup in the trash and walked over to him.

"She's in bed number five. Came in with what I think is a broken rib. I'd take care of her, but my daughter's getting out of school soon, and my wife's out of town…"

"Yeah, sure, no problem. Go get your little girl," Claire said, waving him off. Skylar grinned and clapped her on the shoulder, then left to the lockers.

Claire walked back into the ER, ignoring the complaints of Idiot Gangbanger Number One about how he wanted them to plug in his iPod so he could listen to Drake.

"Alright, Emily," Claire said, consulting her chart. "You…fell down the front steps of your apartment?"

"Yeah," the girl said. She looked Polynesian, with her hair cropped into a shaggy pixie cut. Claire could barely see her eyes beneath the bangs. "Jacked up my side pretty good."

"Could you let me see?" Claire asked, drawing the curtain around her bed.

Emily grimaced as she shrugged out of her jacket. Claire stepped over and lifted her shirt.

Sometimes, even after all the years of damage and harm Claire had seen the human body take, there were some injuries that hit her with fresh force. Emily's side was mottled purple, with edges of green and yellow creeping along the sides. Something that ugly had to be hiding at least a cracked rib.

"It hurts to breathe," Emily said, her voice softening a little.

"It probably hurts to do everything," Claire murmured, thinking of how her own cracked ribs had felt like hellfire pressed under her skin. Emily flashed her an appreciative smile but didn't say anything.

Claire glanced back at Emily as she let her shirt go. There was a bruise on Emily's cheek. Not dark like the one on her side, but faded like it had happened a few days ago.

"Are there any other injuries?" Claire asked. "Banged up elbow, twisted ankle, anything?"

"Nah, just normal bumps and bruises. I was just worried about my ribs," Emily said, surprisingly breezy about falling down the steps. Claire chewed her cheek.

"Alright, you're going to need x-rays for me to tell if there's any damage to your actual ribs," Claire said. "How'd you get here, by the way? Someone drop you off?"

"No, I took the train."

Claire raised an eyebrow. Emily brushed some hair behind her ear, then flinched in pain. Her wrist had a bracelet of bruises around it.

Please, God, not this.

"Are you sure your ribs are the only thing?" she asked delicately. "That wrist of yours looks pretty bad."

"Oh, that. Uhm, yeah, I guess, but doesn't hurt to use or anything."

Claire looked at her for a long moment. "I don't think you fell down the stairs."

Emily stared at her, flinching again at the words. She grimaced in pain, eyes shifty as she glanced at Claire. Then she curled her lip in an impressive sneer, and demanded "Were you there to see me fall down those steps?"

Claire set her jaw. She was too damn tired to play this game.

Emily kept talking, unsettled by Claire's silence. "Look, I'm a klutz, alright? Just fix me up and get me outta here. Shit, you're acting like my mom or something."

"Emily," Claire repeated, "I am not by law a mandatory reporter. Nothing you tell me will necessarily be acted on. But the hospital does have resources, if you need—"

"Look, it was Daredevil, okay?"

"—anything—wait what?"

"Daredevil. He wrecked my shit earlier. I didn't wanna say anything, because I was into some shady stuff."

Claire stared at her. Oh hell no. This girl did not just use Claire's boyfriend as some damn patsy for her abuse.

"Daredevil gave you that nightmare on your side," Claire said. The disbelief in her voice could have given Emily another blunt force injury.

"Yeah."

"And the one on your hand? Or the one on your face?"

Emily shifted, her smugness fading with every word.

"See, a lot of guys have come through here after rumbling with the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. Broken hands, dislocated limbs, cracked skulls, really nasty stuff. Months of physical therapy ugly. And usually, they don't come back often enough to let their bruises fade. So, knowing all that, do you really wanna keep blaming him when we both know that's not the case?"

Emily stared at the floor and didn't say anything. Claire rocked aback on her heels. "I'll go get those x-rays," she muttered, pulling back the curtain.

Claire managed to walk all the way out of the ER before she had to stop and physically keep herself from shaking.

She knew anyone in the public eye for something as dubious as violence was an easy fall guy. If nothing else, she had learned that after Fisk pinned the bombings squarely on Matt. But that was big stuff. Matt had invited that sort of underhanded trickery when he kicked the hornet's nest. Claire had never imagined he would be used for more selfish reasons, more shameful reasons. More my-boyfriend-is-a-piece-of-shit-and-I'm-too-stupid-to-leave reasons.

Claire grimaced and put a hand over her face. No, that wasn't right. Claire couldn't cheapen what Emily was going through just because she was pissed Matt had been dragged into this.

The rest of the day was a blur. Not the cute, warm-fuzzies blur of earlier, or even the productive working blur. Just the tense anxiety blur that didn't let her think of anything else. The worst bit was that Claire couldn't really tell why she was so upset. Emily had lied about domestic abuse, yes, that was horrible. Horrible stared Claire in the face at least once a week. But this stayed with her, twisting her gut and making her want to yell or choke back a sob. There was just something so fundamentally wrong, so grossly unfair about the whole thing, and it ate at her inside.

Soledad was all excited chatter when Claire called after work. Even though Claire called her mother multiple times a week (when she didn't out and out visit her), Soledad was always delighted to hear her daughter's voice.

"How are things?" she asked. Claire had to focus a second to sort out her mother's words from the blend of English, Spanish, and clattering dishes in the background. She was probably at the cafe, then.

"Okay. Not great. I wanted to ask you something."

Claire tapped the back of her fork on her placemat, preparing herself to make the plunge. Soledad had heard little crumbs of Claire's relationship with Matt, but never anything concrete. It was an unfortunate byproduct of the hellacious rollercoaster that had been the first few months (vast majority) of their relationship. It was also a point of deep consternation on Soledad's part. Then again, it hadn't been an accident Claire had chosen the ever supportive Nikki as her confidant all those weeks, not her ever opinionated mother.

"Mm? What's the matter?"

"I dunno, just…some things were said about Matt today and they just got to me."

"Matt? The boyfriend Matt?

"Yeah."

"What was it?"

"Just…someone blamed him for something, or I guess not him, but made a blanket statement that caught me off guard and I just…I dunno. I've been thinking about it all day."

"You could not have been more vague if I paid you."

Claire groaned through her nose, reconsidering her choice to call. She opened her mouth, trying to think of what to say.

"Some girl at work said it was…lawyers' fault for something, something totally not true."

"He's a lawyer?"

"Mom. Yes. Please."

"Okay, sorry, go on."

"Anyways, she said this thing and I clocked her on it, but I can't get what she said out of my head."

"Do you believe it?"

"No, it was some junk like lawyers are just out to bleed people dry. Doesn't matter," she said quickly, hoping she could herd her mother away from the lie. She wasn't about to get invested in a made up offense as well as a real one.

"But…you're still upset."

"Yes, I just—where's she get off talking crap about my boyfriend?"

"Did she actually know your boyfriend was a lawyer?" Soledad sniffed, her compassion muffled underneath the unspoken 'I certainly hope you didn't tell her before you told me…'

"No, but I just—I don't know, I'm grumpy and want to rant!"

"Then rant, honey. I'll be quiet."

"I can't," she groaned. "I don't even have the words. I don't even know why I'm bothered." Claire picked at a scuff mark on her knee. "I guess I'm less mad and more hurt, you know?"

It hurt to hear someone carelessly sling blame on Matt. He carried too much suffering on his shoulders as it was for Claire to let some stranger muddy his name even more. They had come too far for her to stand aside.

But she would have to, Claire realized. Until the world knew Matthew Murdock was the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, Claire would always have to lie, stay silent, and keep secrets for as long as she knew him. Claire would never be able to set the record straight.

"He…he's trying really hard, and it just hurt to hear someone cheapen that."

And it unsettled her to realize that, under a different set of circumstances, Claire was fine with someone suffering the trauma that was a tussle with Daredevil. Emily's shitty boyfriend or whatever, for example, she was totally okay with being curb stomped. Which had some pretty bad implications, considering her status as a decent human being, not to mention nurse.

"It sounds like there's something a little more at work here," Soledad said, perceptive as always. Claire rested her head in her hand, appreciating the way her mother's voice softened the exact way she needed it to.

"Did you and Dad even have something like this?" she asked.

"Oh no," Soledad sighed. "Usually, when people told us when we were doing something wrong, they gave us a very detailed outline and the exact course we needed to correct it. But it helped to talk about it."

"I am and it sucks."

"With him, honey."

Claire hunched her shoulders. That didn't at all sound like the conversation she wanted to have.

"That's a lot of silence there," her mother observed.

Claire scowled at her plate.

"Okay, fine. Is he going to get mad about it, like you did?"

"No, probably not," Claire grumbled. Matt would likely zero in on the piece-of-shit boyfriend, rather than the injustice done to his name. It wasn't that slander rolled off his back so much as he whole-heartedly expected and believed he deserved it. "But that…sounds like an awkward conversation."

"You can't stay in the puppy love stage forever."

"But that's the nice part." Not to mention it had taken so much damn work to get there in the first place. If two people could even have puppy love after interrogating mobsters and being kidnapped. Honestly, the best description of their relationship was probably 'grizzled dedication with a side of kissing'.

Which unfortunately (and maybe thankfully) meant it was a conversation Claire was fully equipped to handle.

Matt's couch was quickly becoming once of Claire's favorite places in the entire apartment. It was a little larger than most couches (certainly larger than hers), and just big enough for cuddling. Which, Claire was learning, happened to be one of Matt's favorite pastimes.

She had come over after he got off work and flopped onto his couch. It had taken maybe two minutes for him to slink over and lay down beside her.

Claire couldn't help but smile at the expert delicacy he used to nestle in between her and the cushions, his legs wrapped up with hers, his cheek on her collarbone. Whatever hesitations he had had before they spent the night at her place were completely and perfectly gone.

He settled into her as she smoothed her hand over his hair. Claire closed her eyes. The last time they had laid together on this couch, she'd nearly given herself an ulcer from anxiety. Then she had been consumed with the thought that she would never be able to have a cute, buttery happiness with Matt. Now she knew she was delightfully, deliciously wrong.

"Are you asleep?" Matt mumbled when she stopped stroking his hair.

"No."

"What are you thinking about?"

"Lots of stuff."

He smiled then stretched, and for a moment he was nothing but limbs. Then he settled back, hands smoothing over Claire's sides.

"When do you have to go to work?" he asked.

Claire sighed and wedged her phone from her back pocket. "In…a few hours. We're good."

Matt gave a non-committal grunt that clearly said a few hours was never enough. Claire grinned, thinking it was hard to value antiseptic and foolishness over Matt being the sweetest he could be.

As if he could hear her, Matt turned his head and placed a row of tiny kisses along her collarbone. Claire shivered as he reached her sternum, his scruff barely catching on her skin.

Matt hauled himself up a little further to kiss her on the mouth. Claire ran her hands over his back, giving herself a second to enjoy every muscle stretching and flexing to keep him upright. Their legs tangled together, socked feet toying with each other.

Claire laughed as Matt kissed her ear, his scruff going from barely scratchy to extremely tickly. She squirmed a little and put her hands on his face to keep him from kissing her more.

Matt wore an expression of almost sleepy contentedness as she peered up at him. His eyes were half-lidded, and he smiled as he rested his face in one of her hands.

Claire hugged him to her, suddenly so immensely grateful things had turned out okay.

They stayed like that for a moment before the memory of the girl's accusation against Matt rose in her head. She scowled as annoyance curdled the sunshiney happiness in her belly. It took a concentrated power of will not to clench her fingers into the back of Matt's shirt.

"What's that about?" he asked, propping himself onto his elbows.

Claire's face heated with embarrassment at the dampened moment. She glared at the ceiling, wondering what physical response had given her away. She didn't actually know if she wanted to have this discussion. Well, she knew she didn't, but she was unsure if it was the right time to do it anyway.

"Oh, I just—I dunno, a girl came into the ER the other day with some shitty story about why she was so hurt."

Matt's eyebrows furrowed. "Is she okay?"

"I guess. I mean, clearly something's wrong if she thinks she can keep—"

She pursed her lips and tried again.

"Yes, she left that day. But her story just—it was whack and I can't get it out of my head." Claire gave herself five seconds to back out, then said, "She blamed you."

She stared at Matt, waiting in strained silence for his response. Matt's face closed off in a different way than she was used to, quiet and considerate and maybe a little heartbroken. He didn't pull away from her, for which she was thankful. Instead he froze, still bracing himself on his elbows.

"What did she say?" he asked.

"That you were the one who cracked her ribs. Made up this whole story about how she was dealing drugs or something to cover the fact it was probably her piece of shit boyfriend."

Claire examined his face, searching for the slightest micro-expression to give her a hint at what he was feeling. But for once, Matt's face gave nothing away. He considered her statement for a moment, eyes almost closed.

"I probably shouldn't have brought it up," she whispered.

He cracked a wry smile. "I probably shouldn't have asked."

"But…but I think this is something we should talk about."

Matt's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "You want to talk about how this girl is probably a textbook case of abuse?"

"No, well—that's sad, absolutely, the whole situation sucks—but it finally pointed out that I'm going to have to deal with this on a personal level. Daredevil isn't just a crazy guy I read about in the papers, he's…" Claire trailed off, gesturing at Matt laying on top of her, hands still braced against her sides. "We can't just tiptoe around it, y'know? Part of that whole being honest with each other thing. And…this is really big."

Matt stared at her, or rather, frowned at her for a long moment before shifting aside. He was still cuddling her, but had taken the weight off his elbows.

"Why…should we talk about this, though?"

"We haven't talked about Daredevil and what that means for you," she told him. Those few times when she chewed him out in the early days while sewing up his myriad of injuries didn't count, because Matt hadn't actually been listening.

Claire brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. Her stomach flipped when he didn't turn away, when he showed he was willing to listen now. Progress came in all shapes and sizes.

It almost reminded her of their last meeting before she left the city. Matt had been broken down enough to at least hear what she was saying, to acknowledge the reckless path of destruction he had doomed himself to if he never changed. And he seemed to recognize her words as an act of love, not piety.

"Where do we start?" he whispered.

"Well…do you think about being the scapegoat of people's problems?"

He shrugged, a line of tensions rising in his shoulders. "No. But—it makes sense, in a way."

Claire didn't say anything. It made sense that people would blame the very public, very violent, and very impersonal figure for their problems. Tony Stark had been the world's whipping boy after the crazies started crawling out of the woodwork with fantastic and terrifying plans for destruction. Then it had been SHIELD, after their meltdown on the internet. Daredevil got off easy with only one neighborhood to contend with, but he still faced the blowback every day.

"Does it bother you, though?" she asked.

Matt let out a long, slow breath through his nose. "It's not like I don't earn this, some of the time."

Claire bit her cheek. Here were the scary bits that made these conversations so tough. Her stomach wound itself into knots every time she connected Matt with the shattered bones and months of physical therapy that were wheeled into the ER. That was bad enough. But there was also the self-doubt and tenuous, impossibly persistent belief that he, Matt Murdock, had done or believed or was inherently something wrong.

"I think that's another can of worms entirely," Claire said after a deep breath. She had no intentions for them to get lost down their respective rabbit holes of subjective beliefs.

Matt turned his head, laying his other cheek on her chest. It was less an act of turning away and more one of offering himself completely.

"What do you want me to say?" he murmured.

"What you really feel."

He sighed like that wasn't what he'd wanted her to say.

Matt was quiet for a moment, then said, "I just—it does kinda feel like my fault. If I'd caught whoever did do that, then she…"

"You're not responsible for every bad thing in this neighborhood," Claire said sternly.

He shrugged, a tiny nudge against her chest. Claire pursed her lips.

Matt traced a tiny circle into her shoulder with his finger, a motion pretty in its smallness. Claire wrapped her arms around him a little tighter. He may have been the hellish Daredevil, and the tough, sarcastic Matt Murdock, but he was also the gentle, heartsore Matthew. He ached for the world in a way Claire couldn't quite understand.

Didn't understand, she amended. She very much wanted to know what he felt, if only so she could offer the right sort of comfort in return.

"You realize no one is expecting you to save everyone, right?"

"I'm not trying to save everyone," he said, stubborn but with no heat. "Just—just the people I can reach."

"And it never feels like enough," Claire said.

Matt didn't say anything, simply kept tracing the circle on her shoulder. Infinity, stability, simplicity. Everything his life didn't offer.

"I just want to make a difference," Matt mumbled, almost too low to hear.

"I know," Claire said. "And I know that the way you've chosen to do it leaves you open to be lied about, misunderstood, and blamed. But Matt," she said, taking his face in her hands again, "just promise me you won't blame yourself for the bad things that happen."

"And if they're my fault?" he asked. His eyes were aimed at her neck, not even pretending to find her.

"I guess that's up for future debate," Claire conceded. She knew couldn't just force Matt into agreeing with her, simple as that would have been. They both needed time.

Matt cracked a slight smile, tired and concerned and sweet. He turned his head and kissed her wrist, then leaned into her hand, like he could lock in his silent thank you.

"You know, we could have just spent this time kissing," he pointed out, the slightest amount of grump in his voice. She laughed and let go of his face. He grinned at her, hands sliding under her, fingers spread flat against her back.

"Yeah, that would have been lighter," she agreed. "But we do have to talk sometime. We can't just kiss forever."

"I'm not asking for forever," he said, giving her a cheeky smile. And that was it, that was all it took for Matt's fragile heart to be tucked away behind his infallible armor.

Claire let Matt kiss her, lazy and lovely. It lasted for a few long moments, teeth just barely tugging on her bottom lip. Then she pulled back and gave him three quick kisses, each no more than a peck on the lips.

"Alright, hop up, I've gotta go."

"What?" he asked, a little deflated as she slid out from under him. "You said we had hours."

"No, I said I had hours to use as I wanted. Including going to the store, because I'm literally down to freezer waffles and juice. I do, Mr. Murdock, in fact have a life outside of this couch."

"Why?" he asked, pushing himself upright.

"Because I like to tease you."

He made an exasperated noise in the back of his throat as Claire collected her keys and coat from the counter. She smiled and walked back to the couch.

"Take it easy tonight, okay? I don't need the ER flooded with punks tonight."

Matt grunted something that was distinctly not a promise, making Claire's smirk turn a little more wry.

She kissed his forehead over the back of the couch, saying, "Alright. Bye, I love you."

"Good-bye, Claire," Matt grumbled, but she could see the smile on his face as she left.

AN I never feel so fulfilled as when Matt and Claire cuddle.