A/N: Thank you so much for reviewing, each and every one of them sends me through the roof with joy. I'm really happy that you love the story, and I'm actually a bit sad that there's one one part left. I do have another oneshot in mind, but I'll post it as an individual fic, since it's mostly a speculation of things that could happen after the season finale.

Spoilers for episode seven. Enjoy angsty Matt.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, Jon Snow.

It's not so much that he needs band aid strips or prescription pain killers. He just needs her. They haven't talked at all, not since the incident with Vladimir, and his harsh parting words before that… He's felt ashamed for how he ended that conversation, and having to ask her for help saving the man who had ordered her kidnapping. He left her the message to let her know he was all right, but never heard anything back. He had treated his own wounds, but the gash in his heart where Claire used to be still ached, tonight more than ever.

Her presence has been like a soothing salve on his soul, she has tried to keep him grounded in his quest for justice. In all honesty, Matt is not surprised Claire hasn't called. He left her alone, telling her she shouldn't let herself fall in love with him, only to call her to ask for the biggest, most unfair favor one could ask someone for. He can't even find anything really redeeming in the message he left her. Her life would have been so much easier if he had not fallen into it. He's tried so hard to balance on the thin line that is his code, but now he's teetering on the edge, so close to falling. Maybe there's hope for you yet. He can't let Stick win this.

He needs Claire. He can't keep her out of his thoughts. Her genuine concern for his principles, her sensitive fingers and hands slowly putting him back together. He's not sure if she's aware of it, but sometimes, she hums under her breath. It's fragmented bits of melodies unfamiliar to him, but they speak of emotions he hasn't truly felt for a woman in a long, long time.

He starts sifting through the rubble, clearing paths, making mental notes where there are pieces of broken glass and wooden shards littered. Most of all, he's trying to recall one of the tunes Claire sometimes hums. It's a soft melody, calming and centering. He closes his eyes, imagines himself back on her couch several weeks ago, ribs bruised and a long cut that starts out on his lower abdomen and wraps around up his back. She smelled vaguely of copper and antiseptic, hidden under the scent of vanilla and orchids. Her voice was barely a whisper, but the melody still carried, the low notes like a touch in and of themselves.

The jittering knots in his own mind slowly begin to unfurl in response to the memory. He can do this. Stick has no power over him, he can make his own decisions. The code is in place for a reason, well, several reasons really, but the most important one is that he does not want to find out what kind of man he is when he crosses the line. He fears that man, the darkness in the soul that dwells in him.

The melody floats through him, and he briefly lets go of the remnants of his coffee table. Part of him wants to leave the apartment, go to the hospital and find her, just to be near her again, to hear her snark about him getting into trouble. Matt's body stills, as if ready to spring out through the window. No. She's too good. She doesn't deserve this. He slowly gets up, tipping the couch so it's once again upright, and sits down, burying his face in his hands. He feels like shit. His ribs ache, and any relief the memory afforded him is gone. Shit. He berates himself for trusting Stick. For leaving Claire alone, for the message, for not contacting her again, at all. He should've just called. Talked to her, maybe even patched things up between them. Things could have been so different.

Taking a deep breath, Matt resumes piling up bits of the table. It's there that he finds it, the bracelet. He's not entirely sure where it came from, and why he would keep it so close to him. He's got several boxes in storage, some of the stuff from his college days, a couple of pieces of furniture from when his dad still lived. He would have expected to find it there, not here in this… chaos. The waxed paper has become a little brittle, but the memories attached to it has suffered no such deterioration. His first instinct is to crumple it up and toss it away with the rest of the rubble, but he can't. It's why he fights the way he fights, why he tries to not kill anyone. Buried deep under the harsh training, he's still that little boy, who made a promise to his father not to fight. Circumstances has forced him into the ring, but there are other ways to win than to completely end your opponent. He needs to remember that. The bracelet is a start, and Claire…

Saying how much he needs her to no one but himself is not gonna fix the problem.

He gives up with clearing the living room, going straight for the bedroom. It's relatively untouched by the fight, the screen that separates the room from the living room was punched outwards. He'll have to get a new one. He put it in a couple of weeks after he moved in, after nights of hearing too much, of feeling like the entire apartment was filled with the despair of people he wasn't sure he could help. Granted, putting in a screen door, no more than a glorified frame covered with paper, did nothing to block out the sound, but it helped him feel more in control. In that small, enclosed space, he could deal with the world.

He double checks to make sure there's nothing on the floor before he unlaces his boots and undresses. He doesn't even try to peel off his shirt carefully. Each stab of pain is penance for his recklessness and stupidity. He can practically hear Claire in his mind, telling him to take a painkiller and not torture himself. The cut above his eyebrow has stopped bleeding, but it still needs a band aid. It can wait. He just wants to lie down and drift off, unplug from the world. His body feels heavy as he lets himself fall onto the bed, the silk sheets providing a small relief to his oversensitive skin.

He hums Claire's tune until he falls asleep.

A/N: Save a hobbit, leave a review! ;)