AN i feel like a man reborn as i update this.

also ngl i'm lowkey bitter posting this after defenders because WE COULD HAVE HAD IT ALL.

also also there's a pablo neruda quote hidden in the chapter. snaps if you can find it.

"So, tell me, Matt," Claire began, voice a little scattered as it bounced into the kitchen from his couch.

"Mm?"

"Why do you have glittery reindeer antlers on your counter?"

He blinked a few times, surprised by the question. It was Friday, and they had just finished a casual dinner together. Lately, they had fallen into a rhythm of spending time in each other's apartments, some happy medium that offered more physical contact than meeting each other during the day, but less stress than an official date.

"Oh, oh, it's from the office Christmas party," he told Claire, filling his glass from the fridge.

Karen had insisted that he wear them to take part in the Christmas spirit. Foggy had happily picked a Santa hat, while she claimed an elf hat. Matt hadn't been thrilled when she shoved the antlers into his hand, but at least the headband wasn't as obnoxious as the cheap felt the hats were made out of.

"Office party, huh?" Claire asked. "With three people?"

"Foggy is a master socializer," Matt explained. "It wasn't hard to involve people from the whole building."

Claire snorted. Matt grinned as he sipped his water, thinking back on the parade of goodies and guests in one of the open meeting rooms on the third floor. Most everyone had turned up, even the stuffy accountants upstairs.

"I so hope Foggy took pictures."

"Nooooo," Matt groaned, unable to keep from cracking a smile as he set his cup on the counter.

"Oh, you better believe that's gonna be my contact picture for you, Rudolph."

Matt rolled his eyes as he walked back to the couch. Claire sat in a tidy corner, cruising on her phone. She set it down on when he stopped before her. There was a quiet moment as they examined each other, then she went 'psst', just soft enough to make him lean closer.

Claire took hold of his tie, barely pinching the fabric between her fingers. She guided him closer, making him brace his hands on the arm rest and back of the couch to keep from falling over.

She gave him a kiss like all the delicate things in the world—milk chocolate and soap bubbles and butterfly wings. He kissed her back, each one a quiet 'I love you, I love you, I love you.' His favorite was the second, because that was when he felt her mouth curve up into a smile.

Matt liked days like these. They held moments that were sleepy and simple, precious for their mundanity. Because that was what his relationship with Claire was: a series of moments. Usually, when Matt dated a girl it was a blur. One moment he noticed they were actually together, and then days, weeks, months later she left and he had to wade through the wreckage.

But Claire didn't let Matt fall into his usual blissful, borderline obsessive daze. She expected—demanded—that their individual lives keep turning. Matt appreciated the pragmatism, but also delighted in how it made the moments when they were together far more sweet.

Matt rested a knee beside her on the couch, then straddled her lap. Claire laughed, flavoring her kisses with delight. She put her hands on his hips.

"So," she said after a moment, "what are your Christmas plans?"

"I'm going to celebrate with Foggy's family," he mumbled, brushing his lips against her jaw. He was fine not throwing his entire being into her existence. That didn't mean there had to be any less kissing.

"How's that going to be?"

"Loud," he chuckled. "The Nelson clan are all exactly like him."

Claire laughed and rested her head back into the cushions. Matt smiled against her neck, pleased at how the residual tension in her shoulders slip, slip, slipped away.

He wished he could explore every inch of her skin. He knew it was against the rules, if in spirit and not in actual practice, but Matt longed to run his hands over her. He wanted to trace every curve and plain with his lips, to map every inch of the body that had genuinely and truly saved him. She would enjoy it, if her current reaction was any indicator.

"How come you're not spending the holidays with your family?" Claire asked.

Matt hesitated. "What?"

"Like, does your family live out of town?"

"I—uhm, no—I—both my parents are dead."

"Oh no, I'm sorry," Claire said. Matt fought not to react when she flinched, hands pulling away from his hips. "I didn't mean to throw that in your face."

"No, no it's fine," he said, shaking his head, wishing he could steal the words back, could erase the sudden tension in the air. "My dad died when I was a kid, and my mom…I never got to know her. She wasn't ever really around."

"Who raised you, then?" Claire asked, tilting her head.

"I grew up in an orphanage," Matt said, trying to speak past the growing lump in his throat. If he could just maneuver her away from the subject, they could go back to having a good time and he would be fine.

"Seriously?" Claire's hands still rested on his thighs, a tantalizing reminder that they had literally had just been kissing. "That's kinda…storybook."

His smile was most kindly described as 'flat'. "I wouldn't have called it that."

It was hard to have the picturesque childhood Claire was undoubtedly thinking of when there were whole chapters involving a traumatic bit of bravery that resulted in him going blind, a persistent bit of maladjustment, and the holy terror that was Stick

Claire was quiet a moment, reading the resistance on his face. She let out a slow breath through her nose as she thought.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked.

Matt swallowed. His whole body clenched at the thought of revealing any of it, but he would rather eat glass than tell Claire about Stick. She already had a hard time with the things Matt did to himself. He wasn't ready to push her off a ledge with the austere methods of his old mentor.

"No, not really," he whispered. He grimaced at the strain in his voice.

"Okay." She sat still a moment, hands still on his thighs. Then she slipped her fingers through his. "I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to jump you with this conversation."

"It's okay, really."

His skin crawled even as he said it. He wanted out, he wanted to run from the subject and pretend this hadn't happened. He wasn't prepared to discuss himself, to peel back the many sad layers that composed his being. That only happened on his terms, his timeline, when he was certain that everything was absolutely safe.

They sat in silence a moment, Matt still straddling Claire's lap before he had the sense to slip off and sit beside her.

"I'm really batting a hundred with this," Claire sighed. Frustration with herself made her voice ragged. "Two times in a row, I just trash the mood."

Matt squeezed her hand, praying she understood he wasn't mad. "I—uh—I haven't had…a whole ton of practice talking about my family with girls."

"Yeah? How do you get around it?"

"Well, we don't really...talk," he said awkwardly. That wasn't a subject he was particularly excited to discuss, either.

Claire chuckled and shook her head. "Fair enough, that would do it."

She leaned her head against his shoulder.

"I guess this whole backstory thing would be bumpy for us, anyway," she murmured. "I mean, we've been dating for ages and I still haven't introduced you to my mom."

"What does she think of me?"

"She knows you're a lawyer, that you're polite and kind. But honestly, I think she's more focused on the fact that I haven't given her a whole Wikipedia page on you."

He snorted in spite of himself. Soledad Temple probably wouldn't appreciate her daughter dating someone that had a section entitled 'Known Aliases', much less 'Public Offenses'.

"Do you want to meet her?" Claire asked.

Matt opened his mouth, but he couldn't breathe, much less speak. After a long moment, he said, "Uh…yeah? I guess?"

"What a vote of confidence," Claire laughed. "I'm not talking right away. Just…soon. Within a month."

He gave a shaky nod, then swallowed hard. Meeting Claire's mother was less terrifying than cracking open his past, but it was still enough to put him on edge.

He couldn't help a flash of annoyance with himself. This shouldn't be so hard. Physical intimacy was a cake walk, even the reduced, more challenging sort they were practicing. Matt could touch Claire a thousand different ways and she would always know what each one meant. In one kiss, she would know all that he hadn't said.

But the moment Claire needed more, needed words and explanations and thoughts that were clearly articulated which coincidentally detailed the destruction he had inside, that was the moment he felt himself freeze.

Matt held Claire's hand, traced the bones and tendons under her skin. Claire threw her leg over his lap. It was so easy for her, everything mapped out so perfectly in her head. Claire might have protested and said she was doing a terrible job navigating the difficult subject of their relationship, but she at least could read it. Matt, on the other hand, was completely illiterate.

"Is she like you?" he asked, still absently tracing her hand.

"Mm, I guess. A bit more spitfire-y. Most of my temperament comes from my dad. What about you, you show much resemblance to Daddy Murdock? I mean, you told me once that he's where you learned how to take a hit. What's up there?"

Matt actually laughed, because how was he supposed to explain the madness that was the Murdock men? It waited very patiently, affecting each one in the way he was weakest. Matt's grandfather had started bar fights when he was restless and sick of the world never changing. Matt's father had boxed both men and the odds, even though his record was so pathetic a rational man wouldn't have even tried. And Matt battled his sins on the streets every day with defiance and the conviction that he would make himself better if he made the world better.

There was no logic that could explain them, nothing that would validate their actions outside of their own heads. He knew that better than anyone.

But Claire knew it, a little, a bit, with more grace than any he had ever met.

Matt took a deep breath. "I…I dunno, my dad…he was a good man," he murmured. "Life kicked him in the teeth and he kept on smiling."

"Did he get sick, or…?"

"No. No, he didn't get sick."

Claire was quiet for a long moment, waiting or thinking, he wasn't sure. But she heard the granite in his voice, sensed that the cause of Jack Murdock's death was best left for another day.

Her patience made him love her all the more. Talking wasn't so terrible with a person that didn't leap to too heinous a conclusion. She knew the shape of his soul, had earned the knowledge from weeks and months of watching and listening and making mistakes.

He wondered if he could say the same about her. Prayed he did, really. Matt had a strong sense of her character, but he barely knew the details of her face.

Claire raised their entwined hands to rub her cheek with her wrist. He hesitated after she put them back down, then lifted his hand again.

"May I?" he whispered, hand so very close to her face. Claire turned to look at him, and he could only guess her expression, could only hope she didn't think it strange.

She was quiet for a beat, then said, "Yeah. Yeah, I guess. Go ahead."

Matt's fingertips found the bridge of her nose, soft as a curl of steam. He swallowed, faced her full on, then touched her again.

Claire's skin was smooth, though it crinkled into a smile as he ghosted down her cheek to her jaw. He traced her ears, her hairline, and ever so gently touched her eyelids. Matt held her face in his hands, then kissed her again.

"I love you," he whispered, the words forming somewhere deep in his soul but only finding shape against her mouth.

Claire smiled as her hands settled on his hips again. "I love you, too," she whispered. "It sounds so easy when we say it like that."

"What's easy?" he asked, tipping his head back.

"Everything," she said, then pulled him into a hug. He didn't hesitate to hug her back. He breathed deep, almost tasting the luscious smell that hung around her skin, forever tantalizing like the touch of midnight and precious secrets.

They stayed there for a while, doing nothing more than breathing and feeling each other's heartbeat.

"You know," Claire murmured, "there was a time when I thought this would never happen. We could never happen."

"We're both too stubborn for that."

"Yeah, maybe."

Matt closed his eyes, thinking that, somehow, a tiny part of him had always known the vague and ever-changing concept of them would happen. Even though their current road had been tempestuous when not outright hellacious, Matt had always harbored the tiny belief that somewhere in time, they would meet and try again. But it wasn't until recently that he actually believed, deep in his soul, that they would work.

AN Part of the reason it took so long for me to update this was because it felt like I had stalled out, and I was just throwing variations of the same cuddle scenes at you guys. It felt so stagnant, and that was very frustrating because I needed to move us forward to other scenes I had planned out. But now it feels like I've regained the thread of the story, and we have an end goal to reach, rather than simple rehashings of the same snuggle fests ;)